The Russian Passenger

by Gunter Ohnemus

  And once she told me: At fifty the good Buddhist leaves all his possessions behind and goes roaming. We won’t do that, though. You won’t because you’ll have children and are made for love. A man like you couldn’t take a begging bowl and roam the world on his own. As for me, I won’t see fifty. You’d better get used to the idea.

  My mother was a fiery, energetic woman, even though her fits sometimes left her utterly drained. No one in our family could simply float and be happy. Only Ellen could. And sometimes I could too, in her company and for brief moments. For a brief instant, never longer. Ellen thought I was always looking for a fight, even though I pretended it was a game. I think she was absolutely right. I’m at my happiest when under pressure and compelled to fight – when I’ve almost lost. Then comes the moment when I’m utterly calm and happy, simultaneously indifferent and blissful. I probably get it from my mother. That’s my theory, at least. If it’s true that our long months in the maternal amniotic sac betoken the perfect security to which we always long to return – and when I consider that I was jolted while in that perfect security, heaven alone knows how often, by epileptic fits – then it seems pretty clear that, for me, security and physical shocks go together. For me, happiness is almost inseparable from such convulsions.

  Yes, it’s true what Ellen once told me: You’re always on the lookout for adversaries, for enemies. Your world is teeming with enemies, and if there’s no enemy around you manufacture one. It’s the only time you’re happy.

  Well, I ought to be superlatively happy now, because my world really is teeming with enemies. They could be anywhere. I ought to be genuinely happy now. I’ve nothing to lose, either – I haven’t had for a long time. But I’m scared and I’m running away. I’m scared I won’t make it.

  Friday

  We were feeling pretty shattered, Sonia and I, when we awoke in our room at the Christophe Colombe the next morning. Shattered but excited at the same time. In the breakfast room Sonia suggested we switch to the informal mode of address. English speakers have it a whole lot easier, I often think. No Du and Sie, tu and vous, just plain “you”, whether you’re talking to the queen or a road sweeper. We won’t see each other again after today, Sonia said, but I think we should. After all, we’re going to collect my pension. You don’t doublecross someone you’re on familiar terms with – not that I think you’ll run off with my money, you romantic.

  She laughed as she said it, and I laughed too.

  It was half past nine when I rose from the breakfast table, picked up her rucksack, and said: See you at the restaurant at eleven.

  Half past at the latest, she said with a nervous smile.

  We had arranged to check in at the Campanile, the airport hotel, if anything went wrong. I couldn’t simply hang around in a café or a restaurant, not with two suitcases. A hotel would be safer.

  It’ll all go like clockwork, I told her. Unless you raid the bank.

  Yes, she said, still smiling nervously. It’ll all go like clockwork.

  And it did, too. I didn’t park outside Sonia’s block of flats, although I could have, but drove into the underground garage and left the car in a vacant slot. I took my blue dungarees from the boot and put them on. Then I made my way to her neighbour’s storage section, removed the suitcases from under the blanket, which I used to dust off the cardboard boxes, and proceeded to transfer the money. It was all in bundles of hundred-dollar bills. The bills were neither particularly old nor particularly new – they’d been laundered really well. I roughly calculated how much money there was, and a voice inside me suddenly said, in an undertone: Man, oh man, it must be several million!

  A young woman was just getting out of her car when I returned to the underground garage with the suitcases. We had to pass one another, and I gave her a friendly nod. She smiled and said good morning. A wholly unexceptional occurrence in an underground garage.

  I drove into the restaurant car park shortly after half past ten. I got out and walked up and down for bit to calm my nerves. When you’ve got that amount of cash with you, the temptation is to sit on it – to remain in permanent physical contact. Suddenly, everyone you see is a potential thief. You’d like the money to become invisible. Best of all, you’d probably like to swallow it. But I forced myself to walk out on to the pavement and watch the traffic, and something made me peer into passing cars to see if anyone inside them looked Russian.

  It was a long time before Sonia showed up. I was just beginning to worry when I spotted a slim figure coming towards me a few hundred yards along the street. When it drew nearer I saw it was Sonia. She was walking pretty fast.

  What’s happened? I asked when she reached me. She was looking rather distraught.

  That damned Peugeot wouldn’t start, she said. I tried umpteen times.

  I suggested driving back into town. I could try to get it going again. Or we could tow it to a garage.

  She thought about this briefly. No, she said, it would take too long. I must get out of here. Then something occurred to her: You have got the money, haven’t you? And nobody saw you?

  I said nothing, just nodded. She looked at me. Can you stay with me for another day? she asked.

  I waited awhile, then I said: I’d have to buy myself a change of underpants in the next town. And some shaving kit.

  You’re very methodical for a romantic, she said.

  Yes, I said. German romantics are renowned for changing their underpants every day. And for always being clean-shaven.

  * * *

  We headed towards Sedan. It wasn’t a very pleasant drive because there were a lot of trucks on the road. On the way I told Sonia: I’m not interested in your money, but I do think I’m being a bit underpaid.

  We stopped at a small town and parked near the church. Sonia stayed in the car while I went off and acquired two pairs of underpants and some shaving things. Then we drove on.

  After about twenty minutes Sonia said: Do you see what I see?

  No, I said. She was referring to a green BMW that had overtaken several trucks but not the one immediately behind us, although it could have done so long before.

  Okay, let’s see if you’re right, I said, and overtook the truck ahead of us. Two minutes later the BMW pulled out and tucked itself in behind the truck we’d just overtaken. We drove on like that for ten minutes. The BMW made no move to overtake the truck behind us. Very odd.

  You could be right, I said. Villains always drive Mercedes or BMWs. “Bad Man’s Wagon” – that’s what the blacks call them in the States.

  I don’t feel like laughing, said Sonia.

  Shall I lose it?

  On the open road? A BMW?

  I’ll have a go.

  I overtook the truck ahead of us, then several cars and another truck. The BMW maintained its distance. If they really were after us, they either felt very sure of themselves or didn’t want to arouse suspicion.

  We were passing a longish stretch of woodland when I spotted a track that led off into the trees and ended in a small clearing. I slowed, turned off, and coasted towards the clearing. The BMW drove past, travelling at the same speed as the car ahead of it. No one looked out of the window. They didn’t appear to have noticed. Sonia was trembling all over. I put my arms round her and held her tight. We remained sitting there like that.

  All at once the BMW reappeared, coming the other way. It turned off and drove a little way along the track, then backed until it was blocking the exit with its bonnet pointing towards Luxembourg. We couldn’t see the licence plates. The driver switched off, but no one got out.

  Police? I whispered, as if there was some reason for whispering.

  Have you ever seen a French policeman in a BMW? Sonia whispered back.

  The car stood there for at least fifteen minutes, and still no one got out. They really were trying to throw a scare into us. There was no way out of the clearing, just a narrow path leading back to the road.

  Have you got a gun? I whispered.

  Sonia s
hook her head.

  I could ram them, I said. We might get lucky.

  All we’d get is an airbag in the face, she said.

  You’re right, but maybe I should try it.

  Then we saw the passenger door slowly open. A man in a dark brown suit got out and walked the few yards back to the road, so at first we only saw him from behind. He looked up and down the road, then turned and walked back to the BMW. Propping his chin on the roof of the car, he stared in our direction. His movements were those of someone with all the time in the world to spare.

  That’s Dmitry, Sonia whispered. Aliosha’s brother.

  Who’s Aliosha? I whispered back.

  Aliosha is my husband.

  A few minutes later a man emerged from the back of the BMW and stationed himself beside Dmitry.

  That’s Viktor, said Sonia. One of Dmitry’s hit men.

  What’ll they do to us?

  To me, nothing, Sonia said. It would be against orders. They’ll take me back to Aliosha.

  What about me?

  I’ll tell them you don’t know a thing. You’re just a common or garden cabby.

  Thanks, I said. And who’s the type behind the wheel?

  I can’t tell, said Sonia. Another hit man, probably.

  Dmitry and the man named Viktor left the BMW and strolled towards us. I felt terrified. Sonia wasn’t the only one trembling now. We got out and positioned ourselves so my car was between us and the two mafiosi.

  They stopped about five yards away. Sonia said something to Dmitry in Russian, and he stared at me. He was a good-looking man, well over six feet tall and pretty broad-shouldered. Whatever he said to Sonia, it sounded angry. Then he went to the boot of my car and opened it. His expression changed to one of amusement. He tried to open one of the suitcases, then held out his hand imperiously. He wanted Sonia to give him the keys. The silly thing was, she didn’t have them. I did. I took the keys from my pocket and tossed them to him. He grinned triumphantly. No one on earth would entrust an innocent cabby with the keys to two suitcases stuffed with dollar bills.

  He opened one of the suitcases and grinned still more triumphantly when he saw the contents. Then he got angry again – absolutely furious, in fact. He yelled something in Russian and lunged at Sonia, but I darted between them. He simply pushed me over, but that gave her time to say something to him. All I caught was Aliosha’s name. He’d already raised his fist, but he didn’t hit her. By the time I’d scrambled to my feet the man named Viktor was prodding my back with an automatic.

  Sonia was now talking heatedly to Dmitry. He stood there, stiff and motionless, merely glancing at me from time to time.

  I’ve said they’re not to harm you, Sonia told me. They’re to bind and gag you, but that’s all.

  Viktor transferred his gun to my ribs, gripped my neck with his other hand, said Come!, and propelled me into the trees. Sonia was crying.

  When we were a little way into the wood and couldn’t see the cars any longer, Viktor said: On your knees! I was trembling all over now. Hands behind your back! There were two possibilities: I could kneel down and wait for the inevitable, or I could defend myself. Viktor wasn’t carrying anything he could bind and gag me with, so his intention was clear. I was in pretty good shape, and not just for someone over fifty. I was in good shape, period, and suddenly I felt quite calm. I made as if to kneel, clenched my right fist, gripped it with my left hand, spun round, and lashed out. I was in luck. My fist caught Viktor full in the throat. It must have felt like a bomb going off. He dropped the gun and clutched his throat with both hands. I kicked him in the stomach and he went down. Everything in me exulted, but I had no time for exultation. I saw the automatic lying on the ground and hurled myself at it. When I straightened up Viktor was taking a second gun from his jacket. Hearing the click of the safety catch, I didn’t waste time aiming. I simply pointed the gun in his direction and fired.

  An instant later I heard Sonia cry out. She yelled something in Russian, yelled like a maniac. She must have thought Viktor had shot me, because she broke away from Dmitry and dashed to the spot in the wood where Viktor and I had disappeared from view. I ran back to the clearing.

  I was nearly there when I saw her running across the grass towards me. I also saw Dmitry, who had drawn his gun and was aiming at her. I shouted something, I can’t remember what, but I wanted her to hit the ground. She did so just as Dmitry fired. Then he saw me. He raised his automatic and I raised mine. I simply walked towards him and pulled the trigger. Stop it, stop it! I shouted, and the tears ran down my cheeks and I went on firing. So this is what it’s like, I thought. This is what it’s like to kill a man. You shout and yell and weep, and you’re filled with sorrow and compassion, and you walk towards him firing again and again.

  This must also be what it’s like to go permanently insane. I fired at the face on the driver’s side of the BMW, which started up and drove out on to the main road.

  I went over to Sonia, who was lying on the grass, sobbing. She wasn’t hurt, just in shock. I knelt down beside her and took her head on my lap. She looked up at me. My God, she said, you’re weeping.

  So are you, Sonia, I said. We’re both weeping. He meant to kill you, though.

  I know, she said, Dmitry’s unpredictable. But he wouldn’t have survived in any case. If he’d shot me Aliosha would have killed him.

  His own brother? I said.

  It makes no difference, she said. Aliosha is the only one entitled to kill me. That’s how it is in the Firm.

  We had to get away fast. We couldn’t afford to be seen, and the driver of the BMW might be going for reinforcements. I collected the dead men’s guns, put Dmitry’s into Sonia’s rucksack and shoved the other two under the front seat. Then we drove on towards France. We didn’t speak for a long time.

  Suddenly Sonia said: You realize what this means? They’ll hunt you down for evermore. They’ll never give up until they get you. You’ve killed the boss’s son. His eldest, first-born son. Even if you’d only killed Viktor, they would still keep after you until they find you. Anyone who crosses the Mafia, the way you have, can never rest easy again. The same goes for me. She gave a sudden smile: I guess we’ll be buying plenty more underpants before we’re through.

  Let’s hope so, I said.

  I had fired at a human being for the first time in my life – two human beings, and I’d killed them. I would never have believed it possible. I know a bit about guns and I’m a pretty good shot, but I’d never aimed at anyone before, even in fun – except, of course, when playing cops and robbers as a boy. I’d never even killed an animal. I’d always considered myself incapable of doing so and found that very comforting.

  Ellen’s best friend lived in Scotland. We often spent holidays there, and one summer night I went shooting with five other men. One of them owned a pheasantry which was always being raided by a fox. The six of us piled into a big station wagon and set off to shoot the fox with our pockets full of shotgun cartridges. In summer the daylight takes a long time to fade up north. We spread out and concealed ourselves behind the dry-stone walls surrounding the property. The cows continued to graze peacefully nearby. We waited and waited, and I became more and more impatient. I’d come to shoot a fox with my pockets full of cartridges. I could hardly endure the suspense. After two hours my trigger finger was so itchy, I felt like putting a charge of shot into the nearest cow’s backside.

  The fox was too smart for us, and we eventually gave up. Because we were all infected with the same bloodlust, however, the others decided to go rabbit-hunting instead. They knew where rabbits were to be found, so the six of us lay down on the grass and waited for them to appear. The first of them emerged from their holes a few minutes later. Shortly afterwards the guns to the left and right of me went off. I sighted a rabbit that should have been mine, but I couldn’t fire. I simply couldn’t pull the trigger.

  The others collected their rabbits and we walked back to the car. It was strange. I’d been so gun-hap
py, I could have pumped a charge of shot into a cow, but then, when it came to killing, I couldn’t pull the trigger. I was consoled and reassured by the fact that we obviously have some inhibition that prevents us from killing. Yes, Ellen said at the time, one person out of six has it.

  She was right. Five had opened fire and one hadn’t, but I wouldn’t have bet on that one either.

  Saturday

  Sonia and I debated what to do. We had to make for some largish city where we wouldn’t be too conspicuous. That meant Rheims. We found a medium-sized hotel on the outskirts and I parked the car so it couldn’t be seen from the street. Then we took a bus into town. I got some money from a cash dispenser and we bought a few things to wear. After dinner we asked for a bottle of wine and two glasses and went up to our room. We’d been in a kind of trance ever since leaving that clearing. We did everything quite automatically, like robots. We were both suffering from shock. It only relaxed its grip, and then only gradually, during the meal.

  We lay on our beds and watched the news on television. Dmitry and Viktor had not been found yet, it seemed. That was something at least.

  What’ll happen now? I asked. What will your people do? What comes next?

  Aliosha will come, said Sonia. He’ll come looking for me, and when he finds me he’ll kill me.

  Me too, I said.

  I’m so sorry, Harry, she said. This is awful. Terrible.

  Sonia felt sure that Aliosha would come on his own, not with a couple of hit men. This was something that concerned him alone. His wife had decamped, cheating him out of several million dollars, and her new lover (he was bound to think that) had killed his eldest brother. It was quite clear what Aliosha had to do.