Solovyov and Larionov

by Eugene Vodolazkin

  he waved welcomingly with

  Comrade Kun suspected him

  his crutch. Sometimes he

  of being two-legged and

  bowed. Smiled at us

  ordered him to stand and

  toothlessly. And one-leggedly. produce his missing leg for One time Maman forgot

  inspection. When the

  money and was very upset.

  one-legged man began to

  When the old man realized

  refuse, Kun kicked him in the

  that, he approached her

  face and forced him to empty

  unnoticed and gave her

  his pockets, where there

  everything he had: a ruble

  happened to be more

  and a half in change. He

  change, beyond what had

  didn’t want her to leave

  been taken away earlier.

  distressed. ‘Well, isn’t that

  ‘What was I telling you?’

  just lovely?’ Maman said,

  comrade Kun asked those

  giving the money out to the present and everyone agreed

  paupers.

  with him.

  Snoring became audible in the hall when Tarabukin paused.

  The sounds were muted, like distant thunder, but that did not make them less apparent. Academician Grunsky put his hand

  to his forehead and peered out from under it at his neighbor sitting at the table. Sometimes he covered his eyes with his hand and shook his head as if lamenting the co-chair he had received. It truly was Baikalova snoring. The corresponding member had fallen asleep quickly and easily while squinting 580VV_txt.indd 230

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  at the texts that had been distributed, and now the microphone that hung over her head was broadcasting her snoring for the audience. This was first-class snoring, with a rumble on the inhale and a whistle on the exhale. With rolling and modula-tion, complaints and threats, sincere sighs and mockery.

  Unfortunately for Baikalova, Tarabukin could not find the

  example he needed and was feverishly flipping sheet after

  sheet. The ruthless academician took the table microphone, walked around the table on tiptoe, and brought it right to his co-chair’s nose. The hall shook with a thundering peal. The snorer awoke and looked, crazed, at the microphone the academician was extending.

  ‘We have a schedule to keep,’ said Baikalova in a husky voice.

  With an emcee’s gesture, Grunsky pointed at Baikalova

  and returned to his place.

  ‘What a jerk,’ said Dunya, beginning to laugh.

  ‘I won’t . . .’ Tarabukin was still shifting his papers

  around. ‘I won’t, because of the lack of time, read all the examples, I have twenty-three of them . . . But excerpt

  No. 19 . . . uh-huh, there it is . . . I’ll still cite this one.’

  Fragment No. 19

  Gen. Larionov

  D.P. Zhloba

  Notes for an

  Report Regarding Entry into

  Autobiography

  the City of Yalta

  One time I vanished. I was

  They’d already reported to

  around six years old. I left

  me that the general hadn’t

  our house without saying

  evacuated. We’d searched the

  anything to anybody and

  whole city for him. I rode to

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  E U G E N E V O D O L A Z K I N

  wandered aimlessly. Why

  the general’s house at the

  did I do that? I don’t know. I head of the advance party

  didn’t have any set goals, I

  but he wasn’t there.

  remember that. I walked

  ‘Vanished, did he?’ shouted

  downhill, along Botkinskaya, comrade B. Kun. ‘Vanished,’

  examining my surroundings. confirmed the maid. ‘He

  Laborers were placing a

  went out an hour ago.

  huge carved cabinet on a

  Didn’t say anything.’

  cart and the carthorse was

  Comrade Zemlyachka jabbed

  pawing at the ground, its

  her in the thigh with a pen

  flanks trembling. Both the

  knife and we galloped

  cart and even the horse

  downhill, along Botkinskaya

  seemed small compared to

  Street. A group of laborers

  the cabinet. The cart began

  was loading a cabinet with a

  moving heavily up the hill

  two-headed eagle onto a

  and the laborers supported

  cart. ‘Have you seen the

  the cabinet from both sides. general?’ I asked the laborers.

  This contraption moved

  ‘We saw him,’ said the

  jerkily, in time with the

  laborers. ‘He walked by here

  horse’s steps. With a sad

  in 1888. And it’s 1920 now.’

  creaking. I stared after

  ‘Ah, so that’s it!’ I shouted.

  them, until they disappeared ‘That’s your idea of a joke?

  around the corner. And

  Well, here’s mine.’ I lashed

  even then they continued

  their mare with my whip

  creaking, unseen, for a time. and she dashed off. The

  Later, I ended up on the

  cabinet fell on the roadway

  embankment. I stood,

  but didn’t break. A sturdy

  leaning against the fence at

  item. The laborers silently

  the Tsar’s Garden, and

  went after the cart. I ordered

  watched street musicians.

  that the cabinet be brought

  Cello, two violins, and a

  into the general’s house.

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  flute. They played there for

  We saw some musicians by

  many more years, I saw

  the Tsar’s Garden. I halted the

  them on each of our trips to squad and listened,

  Yalta. My back could feel the spellbound. They were

  cool rhombuses of the

  playing on two little violins

  fence. I admired their

  and one big one. Plus a wind

  ancient Jewish faces, nubby

  instrument flute. ‘The

  fingers with fine hair on the

  soldiers’ hearts have coarsened

  phalanges, and dusty black

  from war,’ I told the

  clothing. Their leader was

  musicians. ‘Play something

  an old violinist. The wind

  touching for them.’

  brought his long gray hair

  A violinist stepped forward

  to his lips, flattening it there. and said, ‘Soldiers, have a listen He would blow the hair

  to Oginsky’s Polonaise.’ He

  away or toss it by nodding

  swung his bow and the

  his head. He made horrible

  musicians simultaneously began

  grimaces as he played, and I

  playing. The first violinist’s face

  watched him, unable to tear changed as he played.

  myself away. Everybody

  ‘He’s full of emotion,’

  knew this was an expression comrade Kun told those

  of devotion to the music.

  present, a large tear flowing

  Nobody laughed. The

  down his own cheek. As I

  musicians pl
ayed music by

  listened to the heartfelt music

  request or for no particular

  of the Polonaise, I thought

  reason. Copper coins

  we’d missed the general after

  scattered into the open

  all. He couldn’t, in his right

  violin case. There was

  mind, stay in the city of Yalta.

  nothing they couldn’t play.

  We stayed there a fairly

  To this day, I think most of

  long time. Several privates

  them when I hear the word

  dismounted and sat on the

  music. I listened to those

  ground, listening to the

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  E U G E N E V O D O L A Z K I N

  musicians for a long time—

  music. I didn’t prevent them.

  the entire time they played

  And didn’t say anything. And

  there. I didn’t budge, even

  comrade Kun didn’t say

  when they were taking their anything, either, though he

  ceremonial bows. Only

  wanted to in the beginning.

  when their instruments

  That’s how it seemed to me.

  ended up in their cases was

  And the horses stood still

  the magic gone. I knew then and didn’t stomp their feet

  that not another sound

  because an animal

  would be heard.

  understands everything,

  I continued my journey

  even music. It’s a medical

  along the embankment.

  fact. Horses have never failed

  The embankment was

  me, that’s a fact, too. But

  narrow then, not like it is

  people have failed me more

  now. I walked right next to than once. I place little hope the cast-iron railings; the

  in them.

  sea’s edge was just on the

  Then we went to ride

  other side. My hand slid

  along the embankment. It’s

  over the lower crosspiece

  narrow so we re-formed into

  of the railing: it was black

  columns of two as we rode.

  with silvery, hanging

  A horse loves that formation.

  drops. I collected those

  I rode silently. Generally I’m

  drops in my hand and they quiet when I’m on the move,

  ran along my arm, flowing so I don’t get distracted from

  up my sleeve. That was

  my thoughts. And I look at

  nice.

  the horse’s mane if I’m not in

  I turned on Morskaya

  battle. I finger the mane with

  Street and ended up by a

  my hand. Now and then you

  pharmacy I knew. It was

  burrow your face in the

  cool inside the pharmacy. It mane, too. The mane has a

  smelled of oak cabinets and special smell.

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  medicines. ‘What can I do

  From the embankment,

  for you?’ the pharmacist

  we turned on Morskaya

  asked and patted me on the Street and went to the

  head. The tip of his nose

  pharmacy. Comrade Gusin

  was bulbous. I was proud

  and I. He needed a new

  to have come here by

  bandage because the old one

  myself. I was quiet because was soaked with blood.

  I didn’t need anything at

  Comrade Zemlyachka had

  that time. After showing

  licked away the blood that

  me a chair, the pharmacist

  soaked through. ‘What can I

  disappeared into the next

  do for you?’ asked the

  room. The chair was huge,

  pharmacist. It seemed I’d

  with leathery folds. It

  seen this person with the

  reminded me of an old

  weather-beaten face

  bulldog. I have not seen

  somewhere.

  such a good chair since.

  ‘Change his dressings,’ I

  The pharmacist brought me told the pharmacist and

  a cough drop. I popped it

  pointed at Gusin. While the

  in my mouth and went

  pharmacist bandaged Gusin, I

  outside.

  sat in a soft chair. It was cool

  Finally, I ended up at the

  and calm. I could have stayed

  jetty. I stepped onto it

  there forever.

  because that, it seemed, was

  ‘Try not to lose blood,

  where my road lay. When I

  comrade,’ the pharmacist told

  reached the end of the jetty, Gusin in parting. ‘A person I saw that the sea

  only has six liters.’

  surrounded me on three

  ‘Two three-liter jars,’ joked

  sides. I didn’t grasp that

  comrade Zemlyachka.

  when I was walking. But I

  We set off along the

  saw it after stopping. Wet

  embankment again. Where

  green stones rocked from

  comrade Kun touched me on

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  the waves, the wind droned

  the leg—there!—with the

  somewhere at the top of the crop. Lightly. And pointed at lighthouse but—and this was the jetty with that same crop.

  most important—there was

  I looked around and couldn’t

  no more road. I stood,

  believe my eyes: the general.

  pressing my back against the In the flesh. Just standing, at lighthouse, and I was scared. the edge, arms on his chest.

  I thought the jetty had

  The general!

  pulled away and started

  Our sailors were already

  moving out from under my

  keeping watch at the jetty.

  feet. I froze with horror

  That’s why we were in no

  when I sensed the pitching.

  hurry. The general already

  I got down on all fours,

  had nowhere to go but into

  pressed into the warm,

  the water. Comrade Kun

  rough wall, and crawled to

  proposed tying up the general

  the opposite side of the

  along with two critically

  lighthouse. Only there did I

  wounded Whites and tossing

  dare rise to my feet and

  them into the sea, but

  slowly, step by step, head

  comrade Zemlyachka

  toward the other end of the

  condemned that method as

  jetty. When I raised my

  ultra-liberal and bloodless.

  head, I saw my father: his

  Comrade Kun was offended

  anxious face, his arms open

  and later drowned all the

  wide for an embrace. I knew critically wounded without

  that those arms would not

  consulting comrade

  allow me to perish now. I

  Zemlyachka. They galloped

  ran the rest of the distance.

  on to the jetty and I stayed

  I ran to my father and cried. on the embankment. The

  I threw myself into his

  gener
al walked slowly

  arms.

  toward them.

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  Tarabukin poured himself some water from a pitcher as

  he finished excerpt No. 19. He drank thirstily and with a

  light moan, like a person who still has a lot left to say.

  Grunsky sensed the speaker’s frame of mind and stood up

  from his chair: this was an eloquent appeal to finish up.

  These gestures were inaccessible for Baikalova, who was

  lodged in her throne and limited to ostentatious glances at her watch. Tarabukin had been standing half-facing the

  co-chairs but now quickly turned in the opposite direction, toward the second-tier loge (left side), and began expounding on the results of his intertextual analysis.

  And those results—paradoxical to the highest degree!—

  consisted of the following.

  First. The events described by the general (1888) preceded, chronologically, what Zhloba (1920) recounted. That said,

  however, the time when Zhloba prepared his report preceded the time when the general created his memoirs (presumably

  the late 1950s to the early 1960s).

  Second. Notwithstanding the obvious resemblance of the

  chosen compositions, textual borrowing from either author

  could not be ascertained. Further. From the scholar’s point of view, there was not even a hint of one author being

  familiar with the other’s text.

  Third. Both texts were also impossible to trace back to

  a common source because, despite their closeness, they

  recount (and here the speaker pounded his fist on the

  lectern) different events.

  Tarabukin poured from the pitcher again. Standing as

  before, with his back to the co-chairs and his side to the audience, he proceeded with the second glass. The noise of Tarabukin’s deep swallows rang from the hall’s loudspeakers, 580VV_txt.indd 237

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  sounding like a gigantic metronome. Grunsky, who had just

  sat down, stood again and tapped at the microphone.

  ‘We have a schedule to keep,’ said Baikalova, in order not to yield the initiative to the academician.

  Powerless to ignore what was happening, Tarabukin

  turned sharply toward the co-chairs and grazed the pitcher with his elbow. After a slow-motion, almost infinite moment of flight, the pitcher shattered to smithereens on the stage.

  ‘I understand,’ said Tarabukin, quietly but tragically, ‘that standing between a person and his lunch is a thankless

  matter but I still have a fourth point. And I ask that it be heard out.’

  Grunsky and Baikalova stared wordlessly at the same

  point in the distance, as if they were in the finale of some sort of play. The falling pitcher had drawn them together

  a little. Both they and the audience members understood it was best to hear everything the speaker had to say. Grunsky sat down, in a clear expression of submissiveness.