‘Still,’ said Oleg, ‘if Vladimir Vladimirovich said the right word . . .’
‘Olik, for a start . . .’ Sheremetev stopped, trying not to get impatient. ‘Listen, I want to help. I’ll do anything for Pasha, but believe me, I could tell Vladimir Vladimirovich this minute to say that Pavel Olegovich Sheremetev should be released, and in thirty seconds from now he would have no recollection, not of the name nor or what he was meant to do about it. Nothing. That’s how senility works – he remember things from the past, things you wouldn’t imagine anyone could remember, but he retains nothing of the present. I’ve looked after him for six years, and he no longer knows who I am. Can you imagine? I shower him, I dress him, I feed him, I put him to bed and every day – five times a day, ten times a day – he asks me who I am.’
‘Get him to write something,’ said Oleg. ‘Write something for him saying Pasha should be released and he can sign it.’
Sheremetev considered the idea for a moment. ‘I could write something for him and possibly get him to sign it – you can never be sure what he’ll do – but then who would I give it to? No one listens to him. No one’s coming to him for his advice. Anyone who knows him would know that such a thing means nothing.’
‘The president was there only a fortnight ago,’ said Nina.
‘Did you hear what he said?’
‘I saw pictures.’
‘I was there, Ninochka. Let me tell you what was going on. Vladimir Vladimirovich thought Lebedev was his minister of finance, and you know what he was doing? He was firing him! Banging his fist on the chair, saying, you’re no good, the Ministry of Finance is a disgrace, out you go!’
‘I didn’t see him banging his fist.’
‘Well, I suppose they didn’t show it. Lebedev, let me tell you, used a few choice words in return. All the time he was smiling, but you should have heard what he was saying, real bar room stuff. Let’s just say I wouldn’t repeat it in front of present company.’
‘What about someone else?’ said Oleg. ‘One of the people who comes to visit him. Maybe they’d do you a favour.’
‘No one comes.’
Nina looked at him sceptically.
‘Ninochka, I’m telling you, none of his friends come.’
‘What about his family?’
‘The second wife . . . The last time I saw her I think was six months ago. She stayed for twenty minutes. And the daughters . . . Two or three times in the last couple of years. And even if one of them came tomorrow, and even if they agreed to help, if they pick up the phone and said to someone, I want you to release Pavel Sheremetev, is it going to make a difference? After what I saw the day Lebedev came to visit, it might be even worse for Pasha if someone close to Vladimir Vladimirovich makes an appeal on his behalf.’ Sheremetev paused. ‘Ninochka, how can I help? Tell me! I’ll do anything. Maybe you don’t believe what I’m telling you, but truly, Vladimir Vladimirovich is alone. There’s no family, no friends. No one.’
‘What about his money?’
‘I don’t know about that. I get my salary, that’s all I know. Turns out, people are embezzling hand over fist, the housekeeper —’
‘You didn’t tell me about that,’ said Oleg.
‘I only found out. It’s shocking. The cook, the driver, the maids, even the gardeners, everyone who can get anything. Only the security men haven’t got some kind of racket. The rest of them, they’re like rats in a corn barrel, trying to get as much as they can for themselves. Now there’s a terrible fight between —’
‘But not you,’ broke in Nina. ‘Oh, no. Not Nikolai Ilyich Sheremetev.’
‘What?’
‘You’re not trying to get anything, right? Of course not. Not brother Kolya.’
‘Nina . . .’ said Oleg, and he put a hand on her wrist, but she pushed it angrily away.
Sheremetev shrugged. ‘Maybe that’s my failing.’
‘Oh, so righteous!’
‘Nina!’
‘What, Oleg? The only man in Russia who’s never taken a commission, and he happens to be your brother. Tell me, is that something to be proud of?’
‘I don’t mean to say I’m proud of it,’ said Sheremetev. ‘I’m not a businessman. I wouldn’t even know how to start.’
‘How hard is it to know how to steal?’
Sheremetev bit his tongue, telling himself again that he had to make allowances for Nina’s distress.
‘No, not you. Not brother Kolya. Such a man of principle. A man who’d prefer to let his brother do the dirty work for him.’
‘Nina!’
‘A man who’d let his wife die before —’
‘Nina!’
Nina stopped.
‘Before what?’ said Sheremetev. ‘What are you talking about? Let my wife die before what?’
Nina and Oleg exchanged a glance. ‘Nothing,’ muttered Nina.
There was silence. It persisted, heavy, tense.
‘Come on,’ said Oleg. ‘Let’s have lunch.’
Nina produced cold cuts, cheese and bread. Oleg opened a bottle of wine.
No one had anything to say.
‘Do you see Vasya much?’ asked Oleg eventually.
‘Not much,’ said Sheremetev.
There was silence again. Only the sound of sipping and chewing, but little enough of that. No one seemed to have much of an appetite.
‘How can you bear to look after him?’ demanded Nina suddenly.
Sheremetev frowned at the question. ‘Vladimir Vladimirovich? He’s an old man, Nina.’
‘Don’t you ever stop to think about what he did to this country?’
‘I’ve looked after him for six years. You’ve never said anything before.’
‘I’m saying it now! Pasha did – why shouldn’t I? Look at what he did to us! Look at what we are!’
The truth was, Sheremetev had begun to think about that since Pasha was thrown into jail, and the conversation with Goroviev the previous day had made the questions in his mind even more acute. But he knew that was a dangerous path to go down for someone in his profession, and he tried to stop himself. ‘I’m a nurse, Nina, and he’s an old, demented man who needs care. That’s all I’ve ever thought about. All my life I’ve looked after people who need help, and I’ve never asked what they’ve done or haven’t done in their lives. Vladimir Vladimirovich is no different.’
‘If it wasn’t for him, Pasha wouldn’t be in jail.’
‘He wasn’t the one who had Pasha arrested.’
‘Are you defending him?’
‘I’m sure Kolya’s not defending him,’ said Oleg.
‘Then let him say what he thinks! Well, Kolya? Are you defending him?’
Sheremetev thought of Goroviev. The gardener’s attitude puzzled him. It seemed that he still blamed the ex-president, still hated him, and yet his hatred was directed to someone – or something – that no longer existed, and the physical shell of the man who had been Vladimir Vladimirovich, president of Russia, that part of him that still did exist, was no longer worth hating.
‘I’m not defending or accusing him,’ said Sheremetev eventually. ‘I’m a nurse, Nina, not a politician.’
‘And you’re a man! You’re an uncle!’
‘Look, Nina, whatever you think of what he did to Russia, he’s not the same man.’
‘He’s always the same man, Kolya. Anything else is an excuse!’
Sheremetev shook his head. ‘No. He’s old and sick and confused. Doesn’t he deserve the care that anyone else would have?’
‘I don’t know what he deserves! It’s a judge who should decide that, and I’m not a judge. But even if he does deserve the same care as anyone else, you don’t have to be the one giving it to him.’
‘I don’t discriminate between those who deserve more or less. I give as one needs. That’s my duty.’
‘So righteous!’ sneered Nina. ‘What was your duty to your wife, Kolya? Can you tell me that? Did you give as one needed when it came to Karinka? Did you do every
thing you —’
‘Nina, please!’ cried Oleg despairingly. ‘Please stop! How does this help? It has nothing to do with Karinka.’
‘No? Kolya should think about what he’s doing when he looks after that monster!’
Oleg took a deep breath. ‘Nina, will it help Pasha if Kolya stops looking after Vladimir Vladimirovich?’
‘He should at least think about it!’
‘It’s not up to us to tell Kolya what to think.’
‘Maybe I should go,’ said Sheremetev.
Oleg shook his head.
Nina folded her arms and remained pointedly silent, not asking him to stay.
Sheremetev left soon after. Oleg walked with him to the metro. They stopped at the entrance. For a moment they just looked at each other.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t got any money,’ said Sheremetev. ‘All around me, all my life, people have been taking.’ He shrugged despondently. ‘I never did.’
‘Nina had no right to say the things she said, especially about Karinka. We both know the kind of man you are. We know you have your principles.’
‘Are you any different? I didn’t take from people who wanted to bribe me to favour their relatives. I tried to give care to everyone according to their need. What’s so special about that? What kind of a country do we live in if that’s so remarkable? Come on, Olik! Would you take from people who want to cheat to get a better grade for their child? If a pupil came to you with a bribe and asked you to bump up his score, would you do it? I mean even a big bribe, a lot of money? Of course not!’
Oleg looked at his feet.
‘Olik?’
Oleg was silent a moment longer. Suddenly he looked up at his brother. ‘Would I do it if my sister-in-law was dying and that was the only way I could get the money for her? Would I do it when she was gone and I was in debt because of everything I had given for her?’
Sheremetev stared at him. ‘Olik . . .’ he murmured in disbelief.
‘What?’
‘You took money . . .’
‘Yes! Yes, I took money! I took money!’ He shook his head miserably. ‘Do you think I’m proud of it? What a mess! What a fucking mess this whole country is in.’ Oleg paused again and took a deep breath, unable to look his brother in the eye. ‘Look, I’m sorry Nina said those things, anyway.’
‘I won’t hold it against her,’ murmured Sheremetev, still stunned at what he had just learned.
People came and went around the two brothers standing at the entrance to the metro station.
‘So what’s going to happen?’ asked Sheremetev eventually.
‘I don’t know. I don’t see a way out of this.’ Suddenly Oleg put his face in his hands. ‘They might put him away for years.’
Sheremetev didn’t know what to say. He put his arms around his brother. Oleg buried his face against his shoulder.
For a moment they stood together like a rock balanced precariously against the tide, against the shameless, grasping bureaucracy of Russia, in danger of being knocked over and submerged.
Sheremetev straightened up. ‘We’ll solve this, Oleg.’
Oleg nodded, but not with any show of belief. He took a deep breath and stepped back, wiping at the tears on his cheeks. Then he turned and walked way.
Sheremetev watched his brother leave, his head bowed, his pace barely more than a shuffle.
BY THE TIME HE got back, Vera, the stand-in nurse, had heard about Pasha from someone in the house. Sheremetev shrugged helplessly when she asked if they would be able to get him out.
‘You look upset about it, Kolya,’ she said.
‘Well, it’s upsetting.’
She gave him a meaningful look. ‘Can I do anything to help?’
Sheremetev shook his head.
‘Really?’
‘Vera . . .’
‘If only you’d let me in, Kolya!’ She gazed at him imploringly. ‘I really wish you would. You’re such a good man. You need someone. How long is it since your wife died? Six years?’
He didn’t reply.
Vera smiled wistfully, then sighed. ‘I’ll see you next week, but if you need anything, Kolya, call me, huh?’
‘Thank you.’
‘I mean it. Please.’
He watched her go down the stairs. At the bottom, she turned and waved to him. The guard in the lobby saw the gesture, looked up at Sheremetev, and winked lewdly.
Sheremetev helped Vladimir with his dinner and later put him to bed. For his own dinner, Stepanin proudly presented him with a dish of chicken fricassee, made from chickens that his own supplier had delivered. Barkovskaya had refused to eat it, he announced, grinning broadly.
‘She knows when she’s beaten!’ he crowed.
‘What did you do?’
‘I made her see sense, that’s all.’
‘How?’
Stepanin grinned again and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Don’t worry about that, Nikolai Ilyich.’
Sheremetev didn’t. He had too many other things on his mind. He went to bed. From Vladimir’s room, through the baby monitor, came the stirrings and snorings and murmurings that went on all night. Sheremetev thought about the things Nina had said to him that day. He knew that Oleg didn’t blame him for what had happened to Pasha. He might have wished that things were otherwise – that Pasha had grown up differently, or that Sheremetev had the money or knew someone who could get him out – but he didn’t blame him for any of this. Nina, on the other hand . . . when the initial pain and shock, and the desire to find someone to blame, blew over, he couldn’t tell how much of her anger would be left.
Karinka had always believed that Nina was jealous of them. She said that Oleg idolised him, and Nina saw that and was resentful. Sheremetev, for his part, had never considered that Oleg idolised him, or anything like it, knowing there was so little to idolise. Karinka used to laugh at him. You can’t see what’s in front of your nose, Kolya, she would say.
Karinka . . .
Nina’s words had sliced through him like a knife. Had he let her die? His own wife?
Karinka had developed kidney disease when she was only forty-four. After a couple of years, her kidneys had stopped working and she needed dialysis. That was when the doctors really started asking for bribes. A thousand dollars to go on the clinic list, for a start. A hundred dollars for each treatment. Not for them, of course – oh, no, of course not – but to help pay for the equipment and consumables, which anyway were supposed to be free for the patient. First, Sheremetev used his and Karinka’s savings. Then he sold all but the most necessary of their household possessions and furniture. Then he was forced to ask Oleg for help. Getting Karinka on the list for a kidney transplant was out of the question, that would have cost thousands. Oleg’s money ran out. The dialysis wasn’t stopped completely, but it was fitful. Instead of three or four times a week, it was once or twice. Karinka would become bloated by the time each treatment came around, her blood pressure soaring. Then Oleg would somehow produce more money and for a few weeks the treatments would be more frequent.
This went on for another couple of years. And then Karinka died, suddenly, one day, from a heart attack.
And had he really never asked himself where Oleg’s windfalls were coming from? Was it only today that he had found out? Really?
And why had he never said, okay, if this is how it is, I’ll take bribes too? Take from others, as he was being forced to give? How was it possible, he thought, that he hadn’t done that? Even thought about it?
Perhaps he hadn’t thought that Karinka would die. But eventually, what is going to happen to a person who needs dialysis three times a week and gets it once?
Nina’s words lacerated him again. ‘What was your duty to your wife, Kolya? Can you tell me that?’ The question left him flailing and bereft. There was no way to address it and reconcile the answer with what he had done – or failed to do.
Eventually Sheremetev fell into a fitful sleep. A couple of hours later he awoke and immediately fe
lt that something was wrong. He lay for a couple of minutes, trying to put his finger on it. Then he knew. The baby monitor was silent. None of the usual rustlings and rumblings.
He checked it. The volume was turned up to its usual level. He put the speaker to his ear. Only the faintest, staticky hiss of the machine itself. Otherwise – nothing.
For another couple of minutes he lay in bed, the monitor pressed to an ear. A thought struck him: what if Vladimir had died?
He considered that for a moment. Would it be so terrible? What kind of a life did he have? And whatever he had now, it was only going to get worse. It would be a blessing if he had slipped away peacefully in his sleep.
He got up and went to Vladimir’s suite.
The door to the bedroom was ajar and the light was on. Sheremetev peeked in. The bed was empty. Sheremetev shivered. Vladimir was probably engaged in a battle with the Chechen, hiding somewhere, keeping still, waiting to pounce.
‘Vladimir Vladimirovich?’ he called quietly.
No response.
Cautiously, Sheremetev went into the bedroom, bracing himself for Vladimir to spring up from somewhere and come hurtling towards him.
Nothing.
Crossing to the bathroom, Sheremetev turned on the light and quickly drew back. Then he peered around the doorway. Nobody there. He turned and went to the dressing room.
‘Vladimir Vladimirovich?’ he called, loudly this time.
He went to the sitting room. Empty as well. ‘No . . .’ he said to himself. He should have locked the door as Professor Kalin had said.
He ran to the closest phone and called down to the security guard in the lobby. The phone rang and rang. Eventually a sleepy voice said: ‘Yes?’
‘Have you seen Vladimir Vladimirovich?’ demanded Sheremetev.
‘Vladimir Vladimirovich?’
‘Have you seen him?’
‘No. Isn’t he—’
‘He’s gone. Stay at your post in case he’s on the way out. Get people to look outside. Quick! I’ll check upstairs.’
Still in his pyjamas, Sheremetev ran along the corridor, throwing open door after door onto cold, dark, empty rooms, turning on lights and calling Vladimir’s name into suites that had not been used in years. Where had he gone? He must be fighting the Chechen, but where had the fight taken him?
The Senility of Vladimir P Page 17