‘What for?’ I was surprised.
‘Just because. To make sure her number hadn’t changed. After all, I said I’d give it to you.’
‘Thanks. Although I don’t think I’ll have any use for it now. How is she?’
‘She has no complaints. She remembers you, and the others, too. And you know what else she said? That she was the one who sent that letter to Kurochkin and the rest of you. With the ultimatum.’
‘Natasha? But why?’ I looked, but Sinevusov had already vanished into the darkness. I had no intention of telling him anyway.
‘No special reason. She was just having a bit of fun. She wanted to play a joke on you all.’
‘Really?’ I asked stupidly. ‘A joke? It was one hell of a prank.’
‘She was going through some old papers a few months ago and came across the draft ultimatum. It made her think about old times, lost youth and all that, so she typed up the text. And when she came to the date, well, exactly twenty years had passed, so she wrote an e-mail, sent it to Kurochkin and copied it to the rest of you.’
‘Astonishing.’ I shook my head, great big drops of water flying off of me just like Sinevusov’s dog. ‘It’s the most brilliant practical joke I’ve ever heard of.’
‘I told her that. I said that over here people had taken her joke very seriously and that Kurochkin had jumped ship altogether and hightailed it to the Holy Land. To atone for his sins. Isn’t that right?’
‘That’s it exactly. You’ve captured the nuances very well.’
‘Don’t tease. So where are you?’
I looked at the empty rain-filled streets of the neighborhood.
‘The center, Vera. I’m in the center without a car. Are you at home?’
‘Yes, at home.’
‘Never mind, I’ll think of something.’
‘Have a think,’ said Vera easily. ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something.’
Our talk was long overdue. We should have spoken before all the madness in the hours before his departure when he’d started sending me terse e-mails asking me to get in touch urgently. Or later, after I’d talked to Sinevusov, and Kurochkin had already gone and stopped making demands. There had been plenty of time to dial his number, but still I put it off.
Ten days after our return from Crimea Vera left as planned to spend a year in Germany. I’d already received her first letters. After the buzz of life in Kiev, so bright and busy, she was finding it hard to get used to the quiet, deliberate, unhurried way of life in Lindau—twenty minutes from Hettingen, an hour from Hanover and two hours from Frankfurt.
Even before Vera left an e-mail had arrived from Natasha. I opened it with a superstitious shudder that surprised me. This Hotmail address was all too familiar. It was from this address that the letter signed by Emperor Karl had come on 9 March. It was difficult for me to read it; I’m sure it was no easier to write it.
‘I could hardly believe that what I’d thought was such a harmless little joke could set such events into motion,’ she wrote.
I have to admit that I didn’t believe Vera at first. I thought you just wanted to play a joke on me in return. It wasn’t until I’d gone through dozens of Ukrainian news sites that I could see she wasn’t making it up. And she might not have told me everything at that. Vera asked me to tell you how I got hold of the text. There’s not a lot to say. Korostishevski had borrowed my notes on the history of the party (I can’t even remember any more which of these words is capitalized—or perhaps they both are?) and misplaced them. He looked for them, but when he couldn’t find them he thought they must be in the folder Nedremailo had taken from him. It was obviously going to be easier for me to talk to Nedremailo—he was a relative after all, and we’d always got on well. Can you imagine how surprised I was when Nedremailo wouldn’t let me look in the folder, not even in his presence? He just said my notes weren’t there and told me to stop playing games with him. I remember being astonished and full of indignation at the time, and I decided to take a look myself. I staged quite a production to get my hands on that folder. I went back one morning a few days later. The only person at home was his wife, Elena Vasilievna, Vera’s mother. To distract her I asked my mother to give her a ring at a prearranged time. While they were chatting I found the folder and went through everything inside it. He was right when he said my notes weren’t there. I’d gone to such lengths and all for nothing. Then I took out one of the drafts of the ultimatum—there was more than one in the folder—and a couple of pages copied from a collection of pre-Revolutionary documents. As a trophy. I looked at it more carefully when I got home. It was the ultimatum made by Austria-Hungary to the Serbs in July 1914. Korostishevski had just amended it a little.
Then you all were arrested, and I was left without my notes. I should mention that Nedremailo figured out I’d been rifling through the folder, but he never mentioned it. And that’s the whole story.
‘You know, Alex,’ Natasha went on, and I really felt that I could hear her voice,
I’ve been thinking about all of you quite a lot of late, the way you were all chasing after me, trying to not give yourselves away but trying to get my attention at the same time. Usually we reminisce when things aren’t going too well—although things are going quite well for me—but it’s not nostalgia either. Far from it. It’s just that it was such a long time ago. Rather, it seemed like such a long time ago, I felt sure of that. But, you see, time has ended up being finer than a thin sheet of paper. It only takes a little pressure and, there you go, the past is right beside you. Maybe time isn’t real at all. Maybe we’ve only invented it.
Kurochkin rang. In the morning the phone began tinkling delicately. I picked up the receiver and he said, ‘Hi, Alex, how goes it? Kurochkin here.’
‘Hi, Kurochkin. Every day I’ve been meaning to call you …’
‘How could you? I’ve changed my numbers. I’ve changed everything—from my wife to my country. Just joking. A new and wonderful life is just waiting.’
‘Why change everything? What with your parliamentary immunity—’
‘Davidov, don’t start. I’ve already thought, changed my mind and changed my mind again. Of course, I could have stood my ground and fought back, I could have pulled rank, but what for? They would have crushed me all the same. And it would have been more painful. For me and everyone around me, including you. In short, I’m okay now. What about you? I looked for you before I left. I wanted to tell you it was all off—the searches, investigations, all those letters, ultimatums—it’s a false trail, a deception. I wanted to tell you to lie low for a while until everything got back to normal, to go away somewhere. So, then, how are you doing? What have you been up to?’
‘Well, I’m not selling water any more if that’s what you want to know.’
Kurochkin understood. ‘So Malkin gave you the sack, did he? You should have expected as much. It’s not such a bad thing—it’s even good. You’re a free man now. We have something in common to commiserate over … Have you had any other problems?’
‘Nothing new.’
‘So everything’s all right, then? Hey, what do you mean by “new”?’
‘I saw Sinevusov a few days ago. He said that back in ’84 you were the one who reported us to Volodymyr Street.’
‘Ah, yes. It was me,’ he confirmed tersely.
‘So just what can the two of us have in common, Kurochkin?’ I asked after a short pause.
‘Alex, hang on. I’ve been wanting to tell you everything for a long time. It was me, yes, but what can I do about it now? Forgive me. I was an idiot, a boy. I didn’t understand the gravity of what I was doing. I didn’t understand what it was going to cost. And then … well, it all went wrong. One thing on top of another. It’s weighed on me all my life, and I didn’t know how to tell you. And now you can see for yourself how it’s ended.’
‘Kanyuka is complaining about you,’ I went on. ‘He says you ruined him.’
‘You don’t hit a man when he’s already
down, do you? It was Kanyuka’s own fault. He shouldn’t have been so greedy. I felt no obligation towards him, but you … I swear to you, I always meant to … Back then I planned to give everyone a hand and make up for what I’d done. You don’t know it, but I even went to Nedremailo to get the file he’d taken from Sashka Korostishevski.’
‘I do know.’
‘Then you know I’m not lying. But he wouldn’t give it to me. That’s when I realized Nedremailo was going to turn us in.’
‘And you wanted to get a jump on him.’ I laughed.
‘At the very least so I could pave the way and make it a little easier on everyone.’
‘Yes, of course. By the way, I found out who sent you the ultimatum.’
‘What does it matter now? What? Really? It wasn’t one of Sinevusov’s cronies? Then who was it?’
‘Guess.’ I suddenly felt unbearably hot. I could hardly breathe. One bead of sweat trickled swiftly from temple to chin, followed by another. ‘You ought to remember this person well.’
‘What? Who?’ Kurochkin stammered helplessly. ‘Who was it?’
I almost said, ‘Sashka Korostishevski has come back, and he wants to see you. He wants to finish the game. And the rest of the guys wouldn’t mind seeing you either.’
I should have said it. I really should. Instead I drew a deep breath and told him about the e-mail from Belokrinitskaya.
‘That is absolutely mad,’ he was saying a minute later, gasping from laugher. ‘I mean, really? Belokrinitskaya? That has got to be the funniest thing I’ve heard in my life. Just think. Classy, huh? Who’d have thought?’
I was no longer listening. I put the receiver down and rubbed my face, trying to wipe away the sweat. But my palms just slid across my cheeks, spreading oil and venom.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALEXEI NIKITIN was born in Ukraine, USSR, in 1967. He studied physics at Kiev University, spent time in the army, and worked in the gas and nuclear industries—including devising an emergency system for suppressing dust contamination from the Chernobyl sarcophagus. He is the prize-winning author of many novels and novellas. Y.T. is his first work to be translated into English.
Y.T. Page 12