He really did behave like an old acquaintance. His eyes were concealed by dark glasses. Lena put on dark glasses as well; the day was bright and sunny.
“Your political commentators used to like to call New York the city of contrasts,” Michael said when they were walking down the disfigured Old Arbat. “But even in Cairo and Bombay I haven’t seen contrasts more striking than in Moscow. It’s amazing. You had the Arbat, this marvelous, cozy street that had so many names and historic events associated with it. And what did you do to the poor Arbat? It’s like a cheap nesting doll, a mockery of the city. Listen,” he suddenly caught himself. “Why’s your friend so quiet?”
“Veniamin doesn’t speak English.”
“So you can interpret. I’m curious to talk to someone who drives in a Mercedes. Isn’t he one of those ‘New Russians’?”
“Venya, are you a New Russian?” Lena asked.
“I don’t know. Yes, probably. Depending on what you mean by that.”
A few minutes later, lively, sophisticated chatter had sprung up between Michael and Volkov. Mechanically interpreting from English to Russian and back, Lena thought about how, looking at this sweet, not unintelligent, well-bred man, you couldn’t possibly imagine him as a gangster, or a thug. Or a lover.
“We still don’t have business in the pure sense of the word,” Volkov said. “It’s so saturated with criminal elements that there’s no drawing a line between them.”
“You mean to say there’s no practical difference here between a businessman and a gangster? What about politicians?”
“Same thing. Our funds, including political funds, are criminal at base.”
“What do you think? Is that the result of the Bolshevik regime or some completely new, independent phenomenon?” Michael actually pulled out his small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket as he walked.
“Both. What’s happening right now didn’t materialize out of thin air. I don’t know which regime is better, the Bolsheviks’ or the criminals’.”
“Don’t you think they’re related concepts?” Michael squinted. “Lots of Bolsheviks were bandits. And they came to power on the backs of the proletariat and the criminals.”
“My grandfather was a commissar, a Bolshevik.” Volkov smiled. “And I’m in business. Everything in life is relative and interconnected… Are you freezing? Your hands are like ice. I want to hold you and warm you.”
Lena was interpreting mechanically and accidentally interpreted those last two sentences. Michael’s eyebrows shot up.
“I’m sorry?” The professor didn’t understand.
It turned out Volkov was holding her hand, firmly and tenderly, discreetly stroking her palm with his fingertips. And she was so busy with simultaneous interpreting that she hadn’t noticed.
“Oh, McDonald’s!” Michael exclaimed happily. “I heard there were a lot of them in Moscow, but this is the first time I’ve seen one. I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat.”
“Is he hungry?” Volkov asked quietly.
“Yes.” Lena nodded. “And so am I.”
“Well, we’re not going to eat there.” Volkov nodded contemptuously at the McDonald’s. “Tell him we’re going to a private club where he’ll see real New Russians in all their splendor.”
They returned to the car, and ten minutes later, an iron gate separating a nobleman’s old mansion from Herzen Street opened for them. The letter K, an intricate, twining monogram, solitarily graced a stone pillar by the gates.
“What an interesting place,” Michael chattered while a smooth, broad-shouldered young man in a formal suit helped him off with his jacket. “Is this a real private club? And what does the letter K mean? Everything here must be very expensive. Hey, hold on, my scarf, too!” He ran after the young man who was carrying away his light-colored jacket.
“My happiness,” Volkov whispered, removing Lena’s leather jacket and quickly pressing his lips to her ear. “My joy. I have a live broadcast on ORT today, so I have to get to Ostankino by eight. It won’t take long, just an hour. I’ll take you and the American home after we eat, and then I’ll come for you from Ostankino. I have an apartment not far from here. I can’t go on without you. We need to make the most of this precious time while your husband is away on business.”
How does he know Seryozha’s not in Moscow? Actually, I shouldn’t be surprised at anything. But I didn’t tell him. Or did I? In any case, he’s overplaying this, Lena thought. Or else he’s so into his role that he can’t let it go anymore.
“No, Venya, today won’t work. It’s inconvenient. Michael is my guest, and not only that—”
You have to tell him we’re leaving tonight. He can’t catch me in a lie. I can’t quietly disappear. How much longer can I lead him by the nose like this? I can say we’re flying to Siberia. Siberia’s big. The main thing is not to mention Tobolsk. But what if he already knows? All this raced through Lena’s mind while the waiter seated them at a round table covered with a pink cloth and set with silver utensils.
“I don’t see any New Russians,” Michael commented, surveying the small restaurant.
Indeed, the room was empty. Modern abstract paintings in heavy antique frames hung on the pink walls.
“They’ll turn up,” Volkov promised. The waiter lit the candles on the table, spread a pink linen napkin on Lena’s lap, and handed them enormous leather-bound cartes de vins and menus.
“Oh, it’s all translated into English,” Michael rejoiced. “Lots of vegetarian food. And prices in dollars. I hope they take credit cards here. It would be my pleasure to treat you both.”
“Tell him I’m the one doing the treating here,” Volkov asked when Lena interpreted. “He can order for himself. The waiters speak English.”
“You’re feeding everyone again, like that time in Tobolsk,” Lena said quietly.
“Do you remember Tobolsk?” he asked, gazing into her eyes.
“Vaguely. It’s been many years.”
“How have you been all these years? Is the police officer your first husband?”
“The third. But the first two don’t count.”
“And the colonel does?”
“The same way your wife does.” Lena shrugged. “You know, I’ve never had an affair with a married man. I always thought that having an affair with a married man was worse than stealing. Even now, I’m scared. The day before yesterday, someone put a bomb in a bag hanging from Liza’s stroller. It’s a miracle we survived. The device went off a few moments early. And last night someone tried to open the door to my apartment. Michael heard a scratching at the lock. And then my neighbor came out with his dog and saw a tall woman in a dark coat. She was waiting for the elevator on our floor at about two in the morning.”
“Could it have had something to do with your husband’s job?” he asked in a whisper. He sipped his mineral water, put the glass down, and accidentally knocked his fork off the table. “How could he ever leave you alone? If I were him… How could he leave in this situation?”
“What situation? This all started after he’d left Moscow.”
“Did you call and tell him what happened?”
“No. I didn’t want to frighten him for no reason. He may be a police colonel, but he can hardly put Liza and me in a steel-clad bunker. If this does have something to do with his job, then his return will only increase the danger. He’ll start searching for the perpetrators, who aren’t likely to remain idle. You know, Venya, it’s very scary when a stroller that your child is in might have been blown up. I just can’t go through that again. I can’t live in a constant state of tension and fear.” She looked into his eyes. “Are you sure your wife doesn’t know anything?”
“Nothing else is going to happen to you or your child,” he said firmly, and his hot fingers grazed her hand. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”
“How do you know?” Lena grinned bitterly.
“I just do. Take me at my word. That won’t happen again.”
The waiter appeared, bearing silver trays lined with ice and generously filled with black and red caviar, salmon, enormous tiger shrimp, and other delicacies.
“I don’t know whether vegetarians eat caviar,” Volkov said with a charming smile. Lena interpreted.
“No, vegetarians don’t eat caviar, but I can’t bear to refuse,” Michael admitted. “I’ve never seen it in such quantities. It’s absolutely fantastic!”
The stroller bombing wasn’t news to him. He didn’t attempt to feign surprise and horror. He didn’t even attempt to conceal the fact that he knows a lot, Lena thought, spreading pressed caviar on a slice of rye toast. I tossed out the topic of Tobolsk memories. He didn’t pick up on it, but he could have. What is all this for? The private club, the mountains of caviar, the hideously expensive brandy?
Suddenly she became aware that she was lying more to herself than to Volkov. Olga was right. The great and powerful producer Venya Volkov had fallen in love. It wasn’t about caviar and brandy, sighs and confessions. It was about a feeling you can’t quite put your finger on.
What do I need this for? I don’t understand what to do with this, how to act. I could cope with a logical puzzle, but what am I supposed to do with a besotted Volkov? He’s probably good for his word. As long as I pretend I’m ready for anything, I’m safe. And so is Liza. But what if he realizes his love is like a bone stuck in my throat? He might even kill me himself. He might. If I say that Michael and I are flying to Siberia tonight, he’ll definitely ask to what town. I’ll say Tyumen, and that will be the truth. But if this is all just about his jealous and cautious wife, do I really have to go digging around in Tobolsk?
“Lena! Why aren’t you interpreting?” She heard Michael’s voice. “We’re deaf and dumb without you!”
“I’m sorry, it’s all so delicious,” she smiled guiltily.
“I’m trying to ask Veniamin exactly what kind of business he’s in,” Michael explained.
Lena tuned back in to the conversation, interpreted, laughed, and joked with her companions. But she couldn’t relax. The same desperate question kept pounding in her brain: What am I supposed to do?
The combination of vodka, brandy, gin and tonic, and Baileys turned out to be too much for Michael.
“I think your friend is about to fall off his chair,” Volkov noted quietly when the waiter brought the coffee. “I’ll stop by your place at ten or so, after the broadcast. Your professor’s going to sleep through the night. He won’t even notice you didn’t spend the night at home. And if he does, he’s not going to tell your husband.”
“That’s impossible.” Lena shook her head. “Tonight we’re flying to Tyumen. Our plane leaves at one thirty. At eleven my coworker is going to pick us up and take us to the airport. And it’s already five forty-five.”
“You’re going to Tyumen?”
His face turned to stone. A strange look flashed in his eyes.
Well, that’s it, Lena thought, terrified. I’m not going anywhere. I may not even make it home. And Michael? What an idiot I am! Volkov’s in love. He’s lost his mind. I’m the one who’s lost her mind! What Gosha told me was enough for me not to believe a single word from Veniamin Volkov’s mouth. That alone was enough. And I know much more and I still believed him. But what do I actually know about him? He’s playing a complicated game with me. He undoubtedly has serious reasons for not doing away with me immediately.
“How many days will you be gone?” He sounded like he was talking through cotton wool.
“Ten.”
“That’s an awful lot.” He said in a voice made gloomy by melancholy.
Trying not to look him in the eye, Lena took a cigarette out of her pack. He flicked his lighter, and she noticed the flame trembling in his hand.
“Actually, this Siberia trip was why Michael came to Russia,” she said as calmly as she could. “His specialty is Russian history, and he asked me to help him, to work as a consultant and interpreter. It’s two hundred dollars a day. Very decent money.”
“I won’t see you for ten days,” he said quietly. “You’re only going because of the money?”
“Why else?”
“I can give you all you need.”
“Venya, I’m used to earning my money, not taking it.”
“But wouldn’t you just take it from your husband?”
“My husband and I share our money. Don’t you and your wife? Let’s drop this subject.”
“But I don’t want you to leave.”
“Venya, you’re not a little boy. Ten days will fly by. Before you know it, I’ll be back. And, this isn’t just about money. I promised Michael, and you understand that promises have to be kept.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Where did this sense of being helpless and lost come from? These imploring looks. He actually has tears in his eyes! Lena thought, looking at his pale face and trembling hands. After all he’s been through, all the dead bodies he’s stepped over, now he’s sitting in front of me like a little boy being left at day care for the first time. Either he’s a brilliant idiot or I’m an utter fool. I don’t understand anything about him. When I’m with him, I feel like I don’t understand anything about people at all.
“Who will your Liza stay with?” he asked, lighting up and calming down a little.
“Her nanny. We have a very good nanny.”
“Are you just going to be in Tyumen or will you go somewhere else?”
“I don’t know yet. Michael’s interested in Siberian villages. Why?”
“I could get away for a couple of days and go to Tyumen. Do you already have a hotel? Do you know where you’ll be staying?”
“Venya, I’m not going to have a free moment there. I’m going to be working. Venya, you’re not a little boy.”
“You don’t want me to go there?”
“I’ll call you. Now take us home, please. I have to put Michael to bed. And I still need to pack.”
The professor was snoring quietly, leaning back in his chair. Volkov took Lena’s hand in his and cautiously began kissing her fingers.
“You’re slipping away,” he whispered. “You don’t believe me. It’s okay. I don’t believe anyone, either. Except you. You can’t imagine how I love you. No one has ever loved you like this. I used to think love like this wasn’t possible, but when I saw you… fourteen years later… there’s been so much filth, blood, and shit since then… before… and now. I’ll die without you.”
He spoke as if delirious. Out of the corner of her eye Lena noticed the waiter poke his head around the door and then immediately retreat. There was no one else in the restaurant besides them. The New Russians Venya had promised Michael would see never did come to the K Club that evening.