ABSTRACT

My memories of Yakov Borisovich Zeldovich (Ya.B. as his friends called him) go back to the moment when I first became aware of myself. When I was about three, he gave me a basket on wheels, at the bottom of which I found a glove puppet that bore a great resemblance to a fair-haired chap in blue dungarees with his trousers tucked into shiny black boots. Using three fingers of one hand to operate the puppet’s head and arms and two fingers of the other to work its legs, Ya.B. performed a sketch in which the doll’s legs took on a life of their own, vying to see which could kick the highest while the top half of the puppet fell into a slumber. One booted leg tried to get the better of the other, which in turn came out on top, and finally they started kicking each other. At that instant the puppet woke up, irritated, and quieted its pugnacious legs. I loved that little play and performed it successfully in front of my friends afterwards.