The Right to Choose

by Andrey Vasilyev

  “Harriton, you’re late,” an overweight person I didn’t know said to me as he grabbed two glasses of champagne from a tray held by a waitress walking by and handed them to us. “Vika, you’re beautiful as always.”

  He hugged me, kissed Vika’s cheek, and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Do you know what that was?” I asked her. “Or who it was?”

  “No idea,” she shrugged. “I thought he was a friend of yours.”

  As it turned out, I had a lot of friends there, judging by how many people came over to wish me a happy New Year, clap me on the shoulder, and invite me over to their table. I didn’t know a single one of them

  “Getting to you?” Finally, a familiar voice; it was Kostya.

  “You have no idea. How do they all know me?”

  “They don’t,” he replied calmly. “It’s just that the Old Man pointed you out a week ago, and that’ll do it.”

  The confusion in my head broke. I thought I was losing it. “Where are Zimin and Valyaev?”

  “Over there.” Kostya pointed at a small dais in the corner, where a few tables were set up apart from the main group. Several of the figures sitting there were familiar. “I imagine that’s where you should head.”

  “What about you?”

  “Not yet. And you should check, just to make sure; I wouldn’t want you to get embarrassed. Ask Inna, the one running around over there.”

  In the crowd, I saw the nimble girl who’d taken care of everything at the corporate party. I grabbed Vika and was about to head in that direction when the bells started ringing. In the middle of all the hubbub, I’d missed the speech and the fact that my crazy and unpredictable year was about to be over.

  Go-o-ong! Go-o-ong! Go-o-ong! The people in the room counted along with the bells.

  Vika pressed close to me and whispered in my ear.

  “I know what I’m going to wish for!”

  “Me, too,” I replied, lying through my teeth. I had no idea what to wish for. Survival? No, you’re supposed to wish for something that could come true. Happiness? Even worse. I don’t know…

  Go-o-ong! The bells rang out for the tenth time, and the doors leading to the street, which should have been locked, opened.

  Go-o-ong!

  Wrapped in a winter coat and surrounded by hefty gentlemen with nondescript faces, the Old Man walked into the hall. Azov stepped in behind him, saying something as he did.

  Go-o-ong! The bells rang out for the final time, but nobody had the presence of mind to cheer.

  “Whoa!” someone called involuntarily. The Old Man froze in the doorway, his hand resting on a black cane he had planted on the floor, and looked around at everyone with a mocking look on his face.

  Just then, the national anthem started playing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  In which everyone has so much fun for New Year’s.

  “Hoorah,” the Old Man said quietly, and the hall resounded with the cohesive, friendly echo. Nobody was sure if we were happy that the New Year had arrived or that the boss had walked in, but none of the people there risked posing the question.

  I was more interested—confused, rather—by the appearance of Azov. Even if I hadn’t written him off completely, I’d thought that he was a piece that had already been taken off the chessboard. But there he was, in a good mood, shaved, and even wearing an ironed suit. It was almost as if he’d ridden in on a prancing steed.

  It had been hard work to make sure our last conversation didn’t give him any reason to come after me. At least, I don’t think it did.

  As the hoorah died away, a falsetto voice screamed, “Happy New Year!” The owner of the voice clapped but quickly fell silent.

  “Absolutely,” the Old Man said, waving his hands graciously. “Why is everybody just sitting there? We’re happy the holiday is here, too, and we’re going to have fun and, maybe, even dance. Ilya, what do you think?”

  “Oh, I had my fill of dancing in Spain.” Azov laughed. “Ever since, I’ve stayed away.”

  One of the Old Man’s black brows shot up inquisitively. “Oh, yes? Well, all right, then. Come on, let’s go get some wine.”

  The walking stick shot upward, as if on its own accord, and he grabbed it in the middle before calling out to the group.

  “Come on, have fun! Music, dancing till you drop, good food…you’ll have all of that, tonight. Some of you may even find yourselves lucky in love!”

  The TVs all clicked on at once, and everyone broke out of their trance. The noise of voices, glasses clinking, dresses rustling, and feet tapping filled the air again.

  A corridor opened up in front of the Old Man and Azov, some people bowing their heads, the women dropping into curtseys, all of them looking like they were doing it involuntarily.

  The Old Man nodded indulgently to several of the people there, greeted others, even shook some hands—you could tell he had a democratic side to him, a side that liked it when people talked and thought well of him. His black walking stick tapped dully against the marble floor.

  I didn’t bow my head, but I was one of the people who took a few steps backward.

  “Ah, my young friend,” the Old Man said, seeing me and smiling. “You’re here? Excellent.”

  Azov winked at me merrily from behind him. That cheered me up, especially since I was on his side then more than ever. That Edward…no, Ilya’s better.

  “Where else would I be?” I replied. “I live here, now.”

  “Yes, I remember, Ilya told me about the problems you’ve been having,” the Old Man said, his walking stick jabbing in Azov’s direction. “Don’t worry, though. It’s all just commotion. I’ve seen it many times before. When someone strong and sure of himself goes through something like this, it just makes him a smarter person.”

  “I’m not sure how much smarter a bullet in the head would make me. It would crack my skull open, sure, but it wouldn’t add much up there.”

  The head of the walking stick smacked me in the chest; an approving smile spread over the Old Man’s face. “Nice work—always with something to say.”

  “Although sometimes, he doesn’t say what he should say,” Azov added, but his voice told me he was just teasing.

  “The boy knows that words are silver, but silence is gold,” the Old Man said. “Join us, Harriton, let’s have some wine.”

  I felt a tug on my sleeve as Vika worried that I might leave her alone.

  “I’m not by myself,” I said softly, after which Vika appeared from behind my back and nervously smiled.

  “It would be strange if you were on a night like this.” the Old Man laughed. “Strange, and no good. What is your companion’s name?”

  “Vika,” Azov said to him. “An excellent girl, hard-working and intelligent.”

  “An unusual combination these days,” the Old Man said. “With people the way they are… Vika, I hope you’ll join us? I’d like your gentleman to accompany me to my table, but it wouldn’t be right to invite him alone. Your beauty would be an excellent addition to this great night, too, and I am a fan of all things beautiful.”

  “Certainly,” Vika replied, her voice unusually deep. “It would be an honor.”

  “You can skip all of that; I don’t like it,” the Old Man said a bit coldly. He gestured me to a position behind him with his walking stick, and we set off along the corridor between the dresses and suits.

  Our path took us to the same dais I’d noticed before the bells started ringing. The group there was standing with glasses in hand, their smiles a bit strained—Zimin, Valyaev, Marina Vezhleva, some other people I knew from a while before, Edward (wow, it certainly didn’t take him long to leapfrog into the elite), and… Oh, God, it’s Yadviga. She was back to her usual self, the last person I wanted to see.

  “Well, here I am.” The Old Man held out his arms as if to give the entire group a hug. “Didn’t expect me? Well, you should have. This is my favorite branch, really, the head organization, judging by what you have go
ing on here.”

  “Everything’s under control,” Valyaev said, his voice and appearance radiating strength and confidence. “All going the way it should be.”

  “I wouldn’t begin to doubt you, Nicky,” the Old Man replied, handing his fitted jacket to one of the people in his entourage. “You’ve always been a good worker; nobody could take that from you. These days, though, you have to do more than just be a good worker and follow orders. Times have changed, it seems like everything’s going along at the same pace it always has, but really, we have to run to keep up. If you can’t understand that, your life here will become much more complicated.”

  “Happy New Year, everyone!” Azov said cheerfully to everyone, a broad smile on his face. “It’s so great to see you all.”

  “You, too,” Valyaev replied as he downed a shot of vodka.

  To be honest, I felt very out of my depth, and for several reasons. First, I was witnessing a fight between other people. Everybody there knew approximately what had happened with Azov, leaving just Vika and me to guess who said what and pressed which levers. And there wasn’t any doubting that there would be a fight.

  Obviously, there wasn’t going to be any stomping or pointing at the door. Everything would be quiet, peaceful, family-style, though that didn’t make it any more pleasant for a random interloper. I also didn’t know if my status would go from “random interloper” to “unwanted witness.”

  Second, it didn’t look like anybody had been planning to invite us up there. The tables were set, unlike for the rest of the hall—silverware, plates, all different kinds of glasses, and just enough chairs. It didn’t look like there were any empty places, either. Not that it bothered me; I would have been only too happy to sit elsewhere.

  Third, I was obviously going to have to choose, yet again, whose side I was on. Somebody would appeal to me, leaving me with just two options: for us or against us. And even if they all made up later, they’d all still remember that there was no trusting me; I was capable of betrayal. Certainly, that was the truth, and they were all more than capable of betraying me, too, but I had nothing to do with what was going on then and there. This isn’t my war!

  While all those thoughts turned around in my head, I watched everyone below enviously. They were all a couple shots in, with some people getting up to dance. The TV broadcast had been turned off, and there was just a series of music videos showing on the screens, intermittently interrupted by a goat running across the screen playing the accordion to the rhythm of the music. Laughs broke out whenever he made an entrance. Some people were off smoking in a special room, others were pairing up and starting to flirt.

  They had their lives to live. And I have…

  “It doesn’t look like you have places set for us,” the Old Man said sadly. “That’s a shame. Here, I just wanted to spend some time with you all, with the people. On a night like this, you always want to be in the middle of the action.”

  “Just say the word,” Vezhleva called over. “A minute, and it’ll all be taken care of.”

  The Old Man nodded, Marina whispered something to a pair of waiters standing by the wall, and the latter ran off, presumably, for chairs and place settings.

  “I didn’t want to inconvenience you,” the Old Man said, leaning on his walking stick. “Although, I do kind of feel like Odysseus, coming home from his travels—everyone’s happy to see me, but I could’ve picked a better time.”

  “How could you think that?” asked Yadviga, a bit drunk. “Nothing works around here without you. And I know that better than anyone!”

  “Oh, yes? That’s not at all what Ilya said. He told me how everything’s whirling away, how decisions are made quickly and on time. That goes back to what I mentioned to you, Nicky. Maximillian is a great example: he already realized how in-tune he needs to be with the speeds of the day, and he makes sure he never wastes time. He makes decisions himself without coming to me and puts them into action. That’s true across the board, for all kinds of decisions—the game, HR issues, and even problems with our opponents. All on his own, all very quickly. Bravo!”

  Azov’s face was inscrutable, while Zimin’s was so white, someone walking by might have thought he was an alabaster statue. Valyaev clearly wanted more vodka, but he didn’t risk it.

  “Take Ilya, for example,” the Old Man continued, pointing at him. “All he did was take one little trip with me, the way we always used to, and what happened? Maximillian decided that our family couldn’t do without its protector for even that short timeframe, so he pulled out his cousin and gave him the job. Well done, right? Some might call that nepotism, but I would tell those narrow-minded people that he was just looking to see how a promising employee would perform in the line of fire. That’s what you were going for, right, Maximillian?”

  Zimin smiled with just the very edges of his lips. “Absolutely. Ilya left, I didn’t know how long he’d be, and that triggered some—”

  “I’m aware,” the Old Man broke in. “Or, take our young friend.”

  I felt myself pushed to the fore, where it was my turn to be pointed at.

  “Sure, he may have found himself in some minor danger a couple times. Yes, we may have had a hand in creating situations where he was…well, a stool pigeon, so to speak. But look at the result!”

  Yes, that’s so wonderful. They had their result, and I had my first gray hairs. Although it wasn’t a given that I’d actually been a decoy for… I don’t know who. Sarcasm, threats, the truth, and lies mingled and flowed through everything the Old Man said, to the point where I had no idea what was what. First, he had me feeling guilty, though I had nothing to feel guilty for; then, he had me feeling proud of myself.

  “All right, everything’s ready.” Vezhleva gestured toward the head of the table, where nimble waiters had brought over an enormous chair and laid out sparkling silverware and dishes.

  “Excellent,” the Old Man said with a smile directed at Marina, though his face quickly darkened. “What about places for my young friends? In case you didn’t notice, I didn’t come alone.”

  “They’ll bring over a separate table for them,” Vezhleva said with a charming smile. “They’ll put it up against this edge of the table, and—”

  “I’ll wait here,” the Old Man broke in. “It’s okay, I’m not very hungry, but that’s just me.”

  He turned to Vika.

  “Liebes Kind, are you very hungry?”

  “Yeah, no...” Vika, I thought, was completely lost in the flow of events. She’d been expecting anything to happen that night, only not what actually did happen. And there was a lot!

  “Is that a yes or a no?” The Old Man turned back to the Raidion elite. “How are there some answers you can give that don’t actually mean anything. What’s there to guess here?”

  He took Vika by the hand and led her over to the chair that had been brought for him.

  “I imagine you’re pretty hungry after all the time you spent preparing for tonight, so enjoy whatever you’d like.”

  Vika sat down in the chair and looked up at the Old Man. He looked back, a fatherly smile on his face, and nodded approvingly.

  “Maximillian, you’re the host here,” he said suddenly. “Why aren’t you tending to your guest? Not very polite of you. Give her some meat and bread, pour her some wine. This is your house; you’re in charge. Or have you forgotten what the word hospitality means?”

  Zimin stepped over to her. “Vika, what can I get for you?”

  “I’m not sure,” she replied softly. “Fish, I guess.”

  Zimin picked up a long, two-pronged serving fork and stabbed a mid-sized sturgeon that was already lying on a plate without its head.

  “Maximillian, Maximillian,” the Old Man said anxiously, “you could get the sleeve of your beautiful suit dirty. No, we can’t have that happen. Quickly, find a towel. Oh, there’s a young man over there, the waiter; I’m sure he’d be happy to lend you his.”

  He waved his hand, and the waiter ran
over to drape his towel over Zimin’s sleeve. With a crooked smile, Zimin placed a piece of the sturgeon on Vika’s silver plate.

  “Lemon, too,” the Old Man said with a stern wag of his finger. “Eating that sweet fruit of the seas without lemon would be a crime.”

  A piece of lemon and some parsley appeared on Vika’s plate.

  “And now, wine.” The Old Man looked over the array of bottles on the table. “Hmm…what would work, what would work? Ah, Vinho Verde. I hope it’s the real thing, young and tart? These days, they knock off everything—wine, books, even feelings.”

  Zimin stood there without blinking, Vika was slowly turning green as she realized that the evening wasn’t going to end well, and I couldn’t help but wish I was saving the Snow Maiden from the evil Kosh and going off to dance with Kro. I would have been running things, not being run…

  “Go ahead, pour.” Zimin filled Vika’s glass with the golden, delicious-smelling liquid. “Well, Vika, give the sturgeon a try and tell me how it is. And what do you think of the wine?”

  Vika stuck some of the white meat in her mouth and took a sip of wine. Zimin was about to set the bottle on the table and step away, but the Old Man stopped him.

  “Maximillian,” he said a kindly reproach in his voice. “What if our guest wants more wine? Or what if she doesn’t like that one? No, just wait by her chair. Don’t get rid of the towel, yet, either; you might need it. What if she wants something else to eat?”

  The Old Man looked at Vika, who was automatically taking bite after bite, and rubbed his hands together, finishing with a clap.

  “That looks so good, I’m practically drooling.” Suddenly, I got a poke in the side. “You, too, my friend, you look hungry. When I was young, we had a rule that travelers who’d come from a long distance could make themselves at home. A lot was simpler back then. What was I saying? Oh, right, we’re travelers so we can relax.”