I am a microwave-oven repairman here in America, but back in Russia I was a cellist, and not a bad one at that. Now? Now I ring the doorbells of strangers. They let me into the glory of their spacious homes. I wipe my grubby shoes on the doormat and politely greet them in my best broken-English accent. I sweep back my oleaginous locks from my forehead and step in to meet the day’s challenges.