He gave a crooked smile, as if apologizing.
His very simple hairstyle—combed to one side, like a child’s—added to the simplicity of his face.
“Do you have any idea who would want to kill you? Who might have ordered the murder? Who set off the bomb?”
Tolkovyanov looked right into his eyes. Attentively. Thoughtfully. He seemed to be taking Kosargin’s measure.
And then—he recognized him! Kosargin could immediately tell from his expression.
Yet Kosargin did not respond and said nothing to prompt him.
Tolkovyanov had no names to give him.
He was still pondering.
Folding the five arched fingers of one hand into the fingers of his other hand and then, with apparent effort, unfolding and folding them again, he replied: “I’m not certain that your department can provide any effective assistance in this matter.”
~ * ~
Alyosha had neither imagined nor anticipated an attempt on his life, and yet one had just taken place. Still, when he had set off on the rocky road through this twilight world, he should have expected it and been prepared for it.
As for the person who had ordered it, Alyosha suspected, though he had no proof, that it was the head of the Ellomas Company. His bank had a turbulent relationship with them, one that demanded great caution, and now Alyosha thought he understood where and how he had erred. Sometimes a single careless remark was enough to create a bitter enemy. Anyone who enters the world of finance must never give vent to his feelings or lose his self-control.
And as for the one who had carried it out, he would be much more difficult to find. Alyosha could not even speculate, although it was only through that person that he could begin to untangle it all.
Should he rely on the police investigation? Or, perhaps, simply wait things out?
What is it that pushes us into these vague and pointless speculations, such as: What if he had picked up Tanya’s second bag earlier and had not chosen to step back precisely at that instant? Both of them could well have fallen into the trap . . . Alyosha’s daily schedule was so regular that a murderer would have no difficulty finding the right moment. But why something so complex? Why not simply use a pistol, at point-blank range? Probably the plan had been to leave a false trail, not here in this provincial city but leading back to B—, from which Alyosha had once come, to study at the local university. Recently there had been two murders in B—, both committed in the same way—an explosion set off remotely. Their idea was quite clever. But how could he convince anyone that he had no debts or scores to settle in B—, only fond memories of his childhood and youth?
Among his fond memories were the well still being used in the yard of his little provincial house; the grass here and there in the yard that had not yet been trampled down; the whole residential district of little single-story houses with their gray, decrepit, carved gables; and the boys of this district. (And what he and these boys didn’t get up to! They pasted up posters all over the town with the slogan “Attack the priests!” They put together a plan for blowing up the last church in B—. And when there was some talk of going to war against China, they decided that if the battle came as far as the Urals, they would create groups of partisans in the forests right here, along the Volga.) Then there was his school—and what a fascinating place he found it, ever since he first stepped through the door. Five years later—physics! Later still—chemistry! What marvelous subjects, revealing things he had never seen or even guessed at, yet all the while they were right there in the world around him. The woman who taught chemistry was amazing, and so beautiful as well! All the kids were full of enthusiasm for chemistry, but Alyosha left the others behind: from grade nine he was working well beyond the school program and was ahead of the grade tens. But then there was physics. The teacher was quite useless. He was dull and he simply did not understand his own subject or realize what an amazingly iridescent treasure had been entrusted to his uncaring hands. He had no idea how to set up an experiment, so Alyosha prepared everything for him. At first, when he arrived at school well before classes and stepped behind the mysterious partition of the physics room, he would wander about and lose himself in dreams among the objects there: the rotating rings, the sparks that would fly from the contacts on the black cover of the coil, the blued-steel indicators behind the glass on the instruments, the inscribed measuring glasses and tubes, springs of all sorts ... A mysterious, invisible current seemed to flow through all these things, and even the movies with their galloping horsemen seemed scarcely on the same level as this bewitching world.
But soon, when Alyosha was a little older and had found his bearings, he realized that these were all childish, outmoded things: the real current of physics was moving much faster, and it was not moving here. His elders advised him to read magazines—Science and Life, Knowledge Is Strength, Nature—and he began haunting the town library, where he could read his fill. The things that were going on in the world! Imagine what was being achieved or was on the threshold of being achieved: Computers that could perform millions of operations in a second, that could direct entire industrial processes with no interference from humans! Computers that were capable of manufacturing more computers just like themselves! Computers in radio navigation! The transformation of heat into electricity with no mechanical operations! Solar batteries! The meteoric rise of quantum electronics! Lasers! The ability to see and take photographs in total darkness! It was as if the different branches of physics were a pack of hounds that had torn themselves from their leashes and were racing off in all directions. The molecular clock. The “frontier sciences,” the physical-chemical synthesis of substances with predetermined qualities. We were already on the threshold of a managed thermonuclear synthesis. Biotics. Bionics: technological devices that copied biological systems. And then, astronomy: the Big Bang Theory! The universe was by no means eternal; it had been created—all at once? And Black Holes that swallowed up matter utterly and without a trace—into nothingness!
Meanwhile, young Alyosha was wasting his time in this lackluster school lab, memorizing some old rubbish paragraph by paragraph!
The whole thinking world was rushing ahead, flying, circling about, being transformed in a breakneck rush. He could not stay here any longer; he could not be held down in this backward town of B—, even if it did now have some factories. Would other people discover it all, invent everything, reach the very limit of what could be done and leave nothing for Alyosha?
He rushed to the university in the city, excellent student record in hand. He entered the Faculty of Physics, and for his first two years, he was delighted by all the subject areas that were waiting for him. He had to grab everything he could—more than just one area of specialization—not only because they were utterly fascinating but also because the more areas he covered, the greater his chances for success.
These were the two happiest years of his life. Alyosha threw all his energy into his studies, trying to learn and investigate everything he possibly could.
He was always confident of one thing: Whatever I take up, whatever job I set out to do, I will always succeed! (He also found time to be a Komsomol activist, never resting and always consumed by one task or another. He even restored an old car, a regular boneshaker, from what was no more than a pile of scrap someone had discarded, and every evening he would carry the battery up to the third floor of the student residence to be charged and then carry it down in the morning. The other kids laughed and jeered, but they were the ones who would ask him for a lift when they were late.)
Then in ‘86, after his first two years at the university (just at a time when new hopes for society were stirring!), something happened that seemed to break his life in two: he was drafted into the army for two years.
Couldn’t they have done this earlier? Or waited until he graduated? Why did it have to happen right in the middle of his studies?
It was as if his air supply had been obstructed.
Never to be restor
ed, perhaps.
Life had never been easy in the army, but this was the very height of the practice of hazing—dedovshchina. You could expect no mercy from anyone senior to you. Still, in those years Alyosha was not skinny as he was now; he was heavy and strong, knew how to throw a punch, and could hold his own.
The army assigned him to communications. Even there he tried keeping up by reading books on physics. But there wasn’t much chance for that. He gave up trying.
Then he turned to reading the newspapers and watching television: he had to try to keep up with the life that was changing at such dizzying speed during his two years in the army. All sorts of “informal” organizations were springing up; people were spontaneously getting involved in unauthorized activities—something unheard of!
He came back from the army to his third year at the university—”his” university, though perhaps it was no longer his. Was it the right place for him? Yet it no longer seemed to be so. (He realized, though, that among the multitude of self-styled colleges, universities, and even research institutes that were now springing up, their university still maintained its traditionally exalted place.) It seemed as if the army had pulled out the pivot point of his soul—his love of science. He still earned only the highest grades, but what was missing was the constant sense of the beauty of science, a beauty that at times even sent shivers down his spine. What remained was not beauty but merely the opportunity for practical application. Or was it just the pursuit of whatever was profitable, as in all areas of our life now?
At this same time, the students were caught up in the rush to organize these now permitted societies and movements, and many were drawn into them. Alyosha was as well: If it’s possible to seek justice for people, then how could he remain on the sidelines? This was a sacred dream he had cherished since childhood: to live not just for himself but for everyone! What he saw around him were only ramshackle structures groaning under their own weight and simply waiting to be torn down by a new generation with a new vision. The meetings! The associations! Some were permitted, others not; protest marches with banners would be allowed one day and forbidden the next. Much of the energy of protest went to these things and even to brawls with the neighboring cadets. Then came the interrogations by the state security organs. (Not long before he would have simply been packed off to prison, and no one would have said a word.)
Yes, indeed, life was now moving along many different courses. Then came a law permitting the creation of cooperatives. But to get permission to set up a cooperative, you needed a bit of influence somewhere higher up. At this point, right in the midst of these student disturbances and just after Tolkovyanov had been dragged off to the KGB, the first secretary of the party Oblast Committee came to speak at the university. He allowed questions, and Tolkovyanov stood up: The university is being remodeled, but it’s not being done economically. There are cost overruns and wasted materials. Authorize us to form a student cooperative, and we’ll make the repairs—better and more cheaply. And permission was granted! The kids rushed to their work. This was his first chance to test his business acumen, doing work he believed in, that could realize an actual profit. But then a wave rolled across the country from the opposite direction: Shut down all the cooperatives! And they were shut down.
In fact these were not real cooperatives, begun with no resources and no starting capital. A “cooperative” succeeded when its owners were backed by ready cash of undisclosed origins. Some of them produced intricate locks for metal doors or doorbells that rang with various melodies, or even dish antennas for satellite TV. These things were ready and waiting, but the consumers didn’t rush to buy them: they didn’t fully trust “Soviet” goods and wanted foreign products.
In the meantime, the news from Alyosha’s former classmates now completing their studies was depressing. Graduation from the prestigious Faculty of Physics had always guaranteed a move into at least a corner of our triumphant world of science; it meant a place under the majestic arches of its thought, an entry into the separate regime of its leading scientific research institutes. But now these young folks had to look for work, trying for certain jobs and failing to get them. Something had happened to Higher Science; it was as if the air had been let out of it (the most severe blow came when funding was cut). Graduate students were in an even greater state of shock. You mean there are vacancies? Even more of them? That was because scientists were leaving the university and going away. Something enormous had come crashing down; the collapse had blocked the roads and left the students unable to breathe. Institute hallways stood empty; there were spiderwebs in the corners of the laboratories; dust built up on the desks.
Could you believe it? The whole of life had suffered a great fracture. It was an outrage! For what?
Alyosha, who had endured the break caused by his army service, was now better prepared to endure this one.
Yes, it was clear enough: he would have to find an entirely new way to live.
The buy-and-sell era had already begun. There were all sorts of new, unheard-of “business firms.” Some had contrived ways to deal in state property, but within the framework of laws not yet equipped to deal with such things; and such firms immediately became hugely profitable. How could he stand apart from this era? He had to live on something, after all, and buy an apartment so he could get married (to Tanya, who was in her final year in the Faculty of Literature).
Alyosha tried to find a way to join one of these firms, then another— to find a place on their margins, as a helper. But he felt only disgust at the waste of his time and effort. How could he possibly devote his life to such rubbish, just farting around with no hope of doing anything creative?
But given the times, there seemed no other way. He could only marvel at how some of the party brass who had formerly been unapproachable, stonily standing guard over “the people’s property,” had suddenly been reincarnated as resourceful and rash entrepreneurs, eyes peeled for any chance to make a profit and any opportunity to scoop something up.
And what of these stock markets popping up everywhere like mushrooms? When he first visited them, Alyosha was stunned and deafened by it all so that his brain seemed to pulsate: the brokers, the middlemen, the speculating buyers and sellers of vouchers, stock certificates, foreign currency, the blinking indicator board, the rapidly changing legends on them—and everyone rushing here and there (guarding their attaché cases, afraid that someone might follow anyone who’d had a stroke of luck and knock him off). How could anyone live like that?
Yet you’d have to get used to it. Their company was formed of three clever friends, one also a physicist, the other a mathematician. They were all almost the same age; they thought alike and had similar views and hopes. They had many ideas, but ideas aren’t money. They saw commercial banks springing up around them, some of them quite small. This business was totally foreign to them, though it appeared tremendously promising and ripe with possibilities because the former stringent regulation of state credit had made development all but impossible. But it was very difficult for a small bank to establish itself, since it was shaken by every tiny shift in the economic or political wind. Even before starting, one needed a good deal of bribe money to get a license to open a bank. And once it opened, one had to have some start-up capital. Fortunately, someone (a “sponsor” in the current parlance, and one with his own aims in mind) appeared to help them get started. They chose an impressive name: the Transcontinental Bank. They found themselves a spot in two basement rooms, and they explained to their first, startled clients: “This is just temporary. Our main office is being renovated at the moment.”
No one could have predicted how it might have ended had not Alyosha met one of his old classmates, Rashid, who had dropped out of the university but had not gone into the army. They had been good pals in the past. Now they met, had a drink together, then another drink, and Rashid became a partner in the Transcontinental Bank. His own countrymen were behind him, and here, in this city, the links among these c
ountrymen were stronger than elsewhere. His countrymen were also able to put them into contact with sources of money and help them work hand in hand with the oblast administration, which was also seeking out new ways of doing things. Before long they built themselves an impressive seven-story building, rented out the upper floors, and established their bank in the two lower ones.
Rashid was well connected, Alyosha had a clear head, and they complemented one another; the four partners lived in harmony, though they each held different equity in the bank. Tolkovyanov, like the first astronaut on the moon, was treading on unknown ground. But here too he figured out a new approach: how to manage clean and speedy clearing so that the rapidly disappearing Soviet trade links could continue to work for him. What helped more than anything, of course, was pure chance. With the constantly jumping foreign exchange rates, an accurate sense of the trends in the money markets could bring in amazing profits. Here again, Alyosha turned out to have a gift for correct guesswork.
Once the wave of success had begun to roll in, there was nothing to do but hang on as the wave rose higher and higher. (He had to concoct some explanation for his friends, who couldn’t understand who had helped him rise this high.)
Apricot Jam: And Other Stories Page 34
