Stargorod: A Novel in Many Voices

Cat and Dregs

Anyone who, having taken out an extended warranty on his new car, has ever found himself in need of replacing a warrantied part, has experienced moments of acute anxiety: what if instead of a new part, the garage sticks him with a used one? Fifteen years of free market later, one can safely say the insurance system has developed significantly. Here in Stargorod, everyone knows the story of Cat and Dregs.

Vassily Andreyevich Spitsyn saved up his fees from group portraits of kindergarten graduations and finally acquired his first “Volga”.

He quickly painted it pink and equipped it with a pair of large brass wedding rings on the roof. Spitsyn Services, when it opened in 1991, was the first business of its kind in our city: Vassily Andreyevich worked as a hired driver and also offered his services as a wedding photographer, which maximized his earnings. He quickly became well known at the Wedding Palace as well as at the district wedding offices. Always a spendthrift, he paid the clerks there who referred couples to him with the chocolates and champagne that the newlyweds frequently shared with him.

He was always busy. The local gangsters, for instance, decided they liked hiring the only pink car in town to take them and their girlfriends to the Freedom Monument at night. They called it “trying the knot.” The locals refer to the monument – a large, upturned bell resembling a giant shot glass, at the edge of town – as “one big drink”. In 1014, the Novgorod army, after the battle at Soggy Tundra, expropriated our bells, but then the bells began to ring of their own volition, and the Novgorod folks promptly returned them, with their apologies. They had to drive them back to Stargorod upside down because the bells’ indefatigable clamor had made them all deaf. As soon as they handed the bells over to the Stargorod bishop, however, the Novgorod crew miraculously regained their hearing and to celebrate their joy threw a feast for the locals where both sides drank themselves silly. So, as you can see, my compatriots have known since the olden days how to punish their enemies and how to forgive them.

Soon, the transmission on Spitsyn’s pink Volga went out. Spitsyn went to the service shop Under the Bridge, which, according to his insurance contract, was obligated to fix his car for free. The prospect of doing so, however, held little appeal for mechanic Nikolai Perhavko. The freshly-minted entrepreneur was told, in no uncertain terms, that the transmission could be replaced, but first he had to get the car inspected all the way over in Gorky, which usually takes a month or two. In response, Spitsyn uttered four simple words: “See you in court.” That was a knock-down.

“All right, we’ll fix it up, come back tomorrow,” the mechanic said, apparently in consent. Of course, no sooner had the client disappeared around the corner, than the furious Kolya jerked the car up on the lift. He did replace the transmission, but personally dropped cat feces (“dregs” as folks around here call them) into the new transmission oil. The gears shifted smoothly, Spitsyn drove out of the shop triumphant.

In a week, he came back.

“When it’s cold, everything’s fine, but once I’ve driven around for an hour or so, the stench in the car is unbelievable. What did you slip me? I give up – replace the transmission again, I’ll pay cash this time.”

He put a bottle of cognac on the hood as a peace offering.

The client’s always right, as they say. Perhavko replaced the transmission with a used one; it creaked but worked. Since then, not a single person in Stargorod has called Spitsyn anything but “Dregs” behind his back.

Of course, the rules of the plot demand revenge. As luck would have it, Spitsyn heard that Perhavko was invited to an upcoming wedding as a friend of the groom; Spitsyn sent him a box with a present, making it look like it came from a friend of the bride, and enclosed a note asking Perhavko not to open the box until the big day. The box was delivered at lunchtime, after Perhavko had imbibed a respectable amount of vodka and was about to take his repose in the storage room. Intrigued, he untied the colored ribbon that held the box shut, and lifted the lid. A howling, catnip-mad female cat was instantly catapulted from inside the box and onto the mechanic’s face. The cat’s claws marked him for life, and the hero of this tale, as could only have been expected, was immediately christened with the name “Raggedy-Cat,” whose first part was subsequently lost.

Spitsyn went on working hard. When a chance presented itself, he bought two more cars, and then a few more. He now sells imported cars. All his cars are insured and repaired in his own garage.

Once, during a break at the meeting of the “Friends of Stargorod” society I overheard Styopa, the director of Timber Concern No. 2 complain to Vassily Andreyevich about the 450 dollars Styopa had to pay at Spitsyn’s garage for a routine oil and filter change on his new SUV.

“You bought yourself peace of mind,” Spitsyn replied. “Everything’s according to the law and your warranty contract. Or you could go to the Under the Bridge garage if you don’t care about your car.”

“But they say Cat now works for you,” Styopa needled him.

“Cat, once he started to earn real money, forgot about his drink. We’ve reformed that fellow, and we’ll change others too.”

Styopa had nothing to say to that. They rang the bell, and we went back to the meeting room. Spitsyn railed at our businessmen for not contributing funds for the beautification of the main square and the monument to the architect Barsov, which was in need of repair. And you know, he shamed, squeezed, and banged the three million he wanted out of them – although not until he put his own million in the till.

It’s been a long time since I heard anyone call Spitsyn “Dregs.” People like to make fun of his love of cleanliness, some even call him eccentric, but they still respect him.

After the meeting, Spitsyn and I went downstairs together. All of a sudden, he grabbed my lapel and whispered, “Let’s go get wasted – I’ve had it with them all, to be honest.”

I was in no position to refuse Vassily Andreyevich, and really didn’t want to. If I’m being honest.