Apricot Jam: And Other Stories (62 page)

No beard, and keeps up with his shaving. Face and neck look brown, with a wart on his cheek.

Only Ivan Ivanych extended him a hand, and shook it.

“
So tell us, Nikiforych, how many head do you have?
”

“
Oh, used to raise three hundred. Nowadays, if we
’
re not counting the leased-out cattle, seventy are left.
And a score of horses.
”

Hard to believe he could run all this.

“
So how do you manage?
”

“
Oh, I
’
d be managing a lot better if not for the scoundrel speculators. The regional co-ops fell apart. The meat plant cheats you. The milk plant cheats you. An honest buyer is what we need, but where do you get one? We can
’
t get to market without our own engines, either.
”

Ivan Ivanych put his questions to Nikiforych, but set his eyes on the visiting boss.

“
So how do you get your bread?
”

“
I can get up to twelve hundred pounds off an acre sometimes, after it
’
s been fallow; that
’
s enough for us. We grind it, and we bake it.
”

“
Where are your sons?
”

“
Over on those islands.
”

“
Two sons?
”

“
There were three. One drowned. Age sixteen,
”
he sighed.
“
His boat capsized,
”
he sighed again. His eyes, not wide to begin with, compressed further.
“
God gave him. God took him away.
”

He fell silent—and everyone stayed silent out of politeness.

Nikiforych, as if none of these arrivals was present, as if not seeing anything, faded out and quietly concluded, persuading himself:
“
I do love God.
”

Everyone became uncomfortable and awkward. They stayed silent again.

And now hobbled over his old lady, in a dark skirt and warm, brown knit sweater.
She was carrying a clay pitcher, careful not to trip, and two mugs. These she placed on a wide log.

She bowed:
“
Fresh hot milk. Care to sample it?
”

Valentina Filippovna:
“
Do I ever, missus. Thank you.
”

She poured, and began to drink, even closing her eyes:
“
Can
’
t get this in the city anymore.
”

No one seemed to be drawn to the second cup, and so the quiet captain walked up from the back row, with an innocent look.

Yet he exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Valentina Filippovna.

He poured in silence, and began to drink.

Ivan Ivanych, meanwhile, had found a way to continue:
“
So, say, Vasily Nikiforych: How do you view the new life?
”

Eyes alive again, he answered:
“
Seems it
’
s taken a turn for the better. They never dispossessed my father, but they sent him, age seventy-five, to work under some kid.
‘
I am a landholder,
’
my father would say,
‘
and they stuck me under that pipsqueak.
’
He died of the bitterness.
”

Even while answering, Zabolotnov realized that these guests had not come to listen to his stories. In that case, it was obvious what brought them. So he continued:
“
Such a merry folk we had here, a working village. Fields were sown on
every bank.
A place full of life.
Rye stood two meters tall.
Every island in green.
Hayfields.
Cropfields.
Potatoes sprout here—thirteen-fold. Now, all have quit.
Hopeless.
You break your back not knowing what comes next.
”

This boss seemed to be a listening one; he understands it all, nodding his head. What
’
s not to understand here? Such a land of plenty—and to abandon it, put it under shallow standing
water ..
. But he answered cautiously:

“
The government in Moscow has its reasons. One can
’
t see them from here.
”

Zabolotnov didn
’
t lose his nerve.

“
So what about Moscow?
I
’
ve been to Moscow once. The sky there is low. And people walk about in a herd.
”

Thus they stood, in a cluster on a random slope, some higher, some lower, beside two pits. The odor of smoke beckoned from the bank below, where the barbecue and fish soup were coming along well.

Zabolotnov finished his thought:
“
What course has been set—for river or for man—is the one to follow.
”

The untidy mechanic reared up from behind, walked around the others and fired off, looking straight at the minister:
“
And do we have any say?
”

The boss readily turned with a receptive look:
“
Of course you have a say. We have democracy now. That is what campaigns are for.
”

It seemed the mosquitoes avoided the cast-iron figure of the mechanic—was it because of his smell? But then they flew past Nikiforych, too, like one of their own.

“
And when there
’
s no campaign? When a bear tears a cow to death, he doesn
’
t just eat it; he lets it lie around, so it has an aroma.
”

The minister didn
’
t understand, and crossed his brows:
“
What question are you talking about?
”

The unkempt portly mechanic stared familiarly at the equally portly, albeit taller and carefully coiffed, minister.

“
We have questions piled up taller than that rye, which used to grow here. You want a question: How about the timber complex, why did they rip it into forty enterprises? Now they have all stopped. For every man there are three foremen, and all are out of work. Meanwhile, those who broke it up lined their pockets with millions. And not in rubles, either. They steal in a big way, not like us—and they know how to hide it and not get caught.
”

The modest captain looked at the mechanic with reproach, but the latter didn
’
t see him. He had been afraid of his getting wound up and rabid, ruining everything. All was coming together, and the boss seemed amenable: So speak gently to him. And not about everything all in one go.

The minister
’
s lips grew willfully curled. And for the first time he said in a scolding voice:
“
Without direct proof, you have no right to make such statements.
”

But Khripkin was not a bit fazed:
“
Make statements or not, no one will hear us. Now then—all that is left of the Angara is this middle stretch, so let it go to rot, too? Whoever had a brain could produce electricity just by turning wheels in the current, without any dams. Instead they put up a whole series of them. And now we
’
re going to finish it off? The water is not even warm enough for the fish any longer.
”

Valentina Filippovna fixed her gaze on the minister. No, he wouldn
’
t just ignore this, would he? Hadn
’
t it touched him? How could he not be inspired by the doomed breadth of this proud river, standing here over this reach? He must be feeling something.

He was sure to be feeling the bites of the mosquitoes, because he kept slapping at them, but even then his arm didn
’
t twitch nervously, as if sure that it would reach and crush its target.

As for this greasy troublemaker, you cannot explain everything to him—and why talk specifically to him, anyway?

The mosquitoes were getting the better of the others too, just when the ever-present Scepura quietly reported that the food was ready. But—with the mosquitoes, and not to invite extra people—why not repair to the salon?

They descended to the bank.

Nikiforych stood as he had
stood,
legs apart. No motion. No surprise.

Zdeshnev found a moment to say to him:
“
Maybe, old man, we will get somewhere with this.
”

The mechanic walked alongside the captain. They had not been invited to the salon.

“
This tourist?
No-o, Anatol Dmitrich, you need to know their type. They are not going to reverse anything, no matter what.
”

But the melancholy captain kept hope.

Valentina Filippovna walked uncertainly, head bent down, trying also not to trip on her heels.

Down by the bank the boss caught up with her and said quietly, with sympathy:
“
Don
’
t be downcast. All your arguments have been noted. They are going to be taken into account.
”

She threw up her head toward the minister joyfully:
“
Thank you!
”

The cutter reversed course and started upstream.

The bluffs along the bank reappeared in the distance,
then
drew closer. Later, a crag passed by.

Back in the salon, the men boisterously savored their fish soup, with vodka.

Scepura held court the loudest:
“
Oh yes, I was, you might say, a manager with a future. But now, they broke me under.
”

Who doesn
’
t let loose a bit with vodka, served with soup and a barbecue? The minister
’
s face grew softer, redder,
even
more youthful. In a high position, you simply have to comport yourself with dignity. But here, we
’
re all people; and there is a hot meal, too.

“
I had more troubles at work than you
’
d expect, for my age,
”
roared Scepura,
“
but I don
’
t skulk about it. And I hate to hear how people say now that
all that
was unnecessary, the wrong path. What do you
mean,
wrong path? What about all our victories?
What about Bratsk and
Ust-Ilimsk
?!
”

It made for a good riverboat tour, all in all. That evening, board the plane and fly to Moscow.
Then, in a couple days, a trip abroad.
All these arguments, these doubts—they make sense, too, of course. But he remembered, quite suddenly he recalled, the words of that woman:
“
the
latest
decree of the government.
”
. . .

“
When was that?
”
he asked of the Irkutsk fellow.

“
Three months ago, in confirmation of the previous one.
”

We-e-
l
-
l
, what was the purpose, then, of lunging toward the top, contesting the point: You would only harm yourself.

After all, he knew the lay of the land in the halls of power. If a decision is adopted, and even reconfirmed, there is no changing it anyway, no matter what. All will proceed according to plan.

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