The Kukotsky Enigma: A Novel

5

ILYA IOSIFOVICH HAD DECIDED LONG AGO THAT HE WOULD go to Moscow when his great-grandson was born. The visa was ready. Valentina at first was categorically against it, but then gave in—under the condition that she go along. All that was left to do was order the tickets. Their older daughter, born four months after Zhenya, had her own place. The younger one, the sixteen-year-old, brought from Russia when she was just an infant, they never left alone. She was a shy, rather strange little girl who loved cats and aquarium fish. They decided that it would be good for her to spend ten days living on her own.

There was a bit of difficulty with Valentina’s job. She taught at Harvard University and could not just up and take a vacation. But her class was over in three weeks. As for Ilya Iosifovich, he had retired long ago, and although he was an honorary member of a dozen or so various societies and editorial boards, he could pick up and leave whenever he wanted.

The last three years he had been reading the Torah in German and English, upset that his parents had not sent him to heder as a child. Learning Hebrew at eighty-six was not easy. On the other hand, he’d never been frightened by difficulties. He didn’t have and would never again have a conversation partner like Pavel Alekseevich. He spoke and even argued with him frequently in his head. Although he had to admit that a certain rapprochement was taking place between them: Ilya Iosifovich was now inclined to believe in the existence of a Universal Higher Reason and was toying with the idea that the Bible represented a grandiose encryption, that Universal Higher Reason’s cosmic message to humankind. But humankind had still not matured to the point where it could decipher this encryption. He constantly attempted to discuss questions of theology with Genka, who lived in New York, but Gena had a decided preference for all varieties of Eastern hogwash—beginning with Chinese food and ending with karate. When he found out that Zhenya had given birth to a son and his father was planning to travel to Moscow as a result, he was alarmed.

“A trip like that at your age! You’re better off sending her the money! And I’m ready to . . .”

But Ilya Iosifovich said firmly: “Don’t teach me how to live! The girl has a grandfather. I have a great-grandson. Too bad Pasha didn’t live to see the day.”