We had snow in Palermo for the first time in fifty years, and the young barman in a truck stop where I go for coffee whenever Signor Baldo, my provider of choice, is indisposed, finally spoke to me of something other than the weather. “You’re Russian,” he said, because that’s what I’d told him the day before. Then, in a confidential tone, as though imparting some lifesaving news, he continued: “In Russia, you beat Hitler.” I often wonder about what the average man knows. Reading Russian viewer comments on YouTube the other evening, after watching some stupid police drama, I...