The Senility of Vladimir P (16 page)

‘If it wasn't for him, Pasha wouldn't be in jail.'

‘He wasn't the one who had Pasha arrested.'

‘Are you defending him?'

‘I'm sure Kolya's not defending him,' said Oleg.

‘Then let him say what he thinks! Well, Kolya? Are you defending him?'

Sheremetev thought of Goroviev. The gardener's attitude puzzled him. It seemed that he still blamed the ex-president, still hated him, and yet his hatred was directed to someone – or something – that no longer existed, and the physical shell of the man who had been Vladimir Vladimirovich, president of Russia, that part of him that still did exist, was no longer worth hating.

‘I'm not defending or accusing him,' said Sheremetev eventually. ‘I'm a nurse, Nina, not a politician.'

‘And you're a man! You're an uncle!'

‘Look, Nina, whatever you think of what he did to Russia, he's not the same man.'

‘He's
always
the same man, Kolya. Anything else is an excuse!'

Sheremetev shook his head. ‘No. He's old and sick and confused. Doesn't he deserve the care that anyone else would have?'

‘I don't know what he deserves! It's a judge who should decide that, and I'm not a judge. But even if he does deserve the same care as anyone else,
you
don't have to be the one giving it to him.'

‘I don't discriminate between those who deserve more or less. I give as one needs. That's my duty.'

‘So righteous!' sneered Nina. ‘What was your duty to your wife, Kolya? Can you tell me that? Did you give as one needed when it came to Karinka? Did you do everything you —'

‘Nina,
pleas
e
!' cried Oleg despairingly. ‘Please stop! How does this help? It has nothing to do with Karinka.'

‘No? Kolya should think about what he's doing when he looks after that monster!'

Oleg took a deep breath. ‘Nina, will it help Pasha if Kolya stops looking after Vladimir Vladimirovich?'

‘He should at least think about it!'

‘It's not up to us to tell Kolya what to think.'

‘Maybe I should go,' said Sheremetev.

Oleg shook his head.

Nina folded her arms and remained pointedly silent, not asking him to stay.

Sheremetev left soon after. Oleg walked with him to the metro. They stopped at the entrance. For a moment they just looked at each other.

‘I'm sorry I haven't got any money,' said Sheremetev. ‘All around me, all my life, people have been taking.' He shrugged despondently. ‘I never did.'

‘Nina had no right to say the things she said, especially about Karinka. We both know the kind of man you are. We know you have your principles.'

‘Are you any different? I didn't take from people who wanted to bribe me to favour their relatives. I tried to give care to everyone according to their need. What's so special about that? What kind of a country do we live in if that's so remarkable? Come on, Olik! Would you take from people who want to cheat to get a better grade for their child? If a pupil came to you with a bribe and asked you to bump up his score, would you do it? I mean even a big bribe, a lot of money? Of course not!'

Oleg looked at his feet.

‘Olik?'

Oleg was silent a moment longer. Suddenly he looked up at his brother. ‘Would I do it if my sister-in-law was dying and that was the only way I could get the money for her? Would I do it when she was gone and I was in debt because of everything I had given for her?'

Sheremetev stared at him. ‘Olik . . .' he murmured in disbelief.

‘What?'

‘You took money . . .'

‘Yes! Yes, I took money! I took money!' He shook his head miserably. ‘Do you think I'm proud of it? What a mess! What a fucking mess this whole country is in.' Oleg paused again and took a deep breath, unable to look his brother in the eye. ‘Look, I'm sorry Nina said those things, anyway.'

‘I won't hold it against her,' murmured Sheremetev, still stunned at what he had just learned.

People came and went around the two brothers standing at the entrance to the metro station.

‘So what's going to happen?' asked Sheremetev eventually.

‘I don't know. I don't see a way out of this.' Suddenly Oleg put his face in his hands. ‘They might put him away for years.'

Sheremetev didn't know what to say. He put his arms around his brother. Oleg buried his face against his shoulder.

For a moment they stood together like a rock balanced precariously against the tide, against the shameless, grasping bureaucracy of Russia, in danger of being knocked over and submerged.

Sheremetev straightened up. ‘We'll solve this, Oleg.'

Oleg nodded, but not with any show of belief. He took a deep breath and stepped back, wiping at the tears on his cheeks. Then he turned and walked way.

Sheremetev watched his brother leave, his head bowed, his pace barely more than a shuffle.

By the time he
got back, Vera, the stand-in nurse, had heard about Pasha from someone in the house. Sheremetev shrugged helplessly when she asked if they would be able to get him out.

‘You look upset about it, Kolya,' she said.

‘Well, it's upsetting.'

She gave him a meaningful look. ‘Can I do anything to help?'

Sheremetev shook his head.

‘Really?'

‘Vera . . .'

‘If only you'd let me in, Kolya!' She gazed at him imploringly. ‘I really wish you would. You're such a good man. You need someone. How long is it since your wife died? Six years?'

He didn't reply.

Vera smiled wistfully, then sighed. ‘I'll see you next week, but if you need anything, Kolya, call me, huh?'

‘Thank you.'

‘I mean it. Please.'

He watched her go down the stairs. At the bottom, she turned and waved to him. The guard in the lobby saw the gesture, looked up at Sheremetev, and winked lewdly.

Sheremetev helped Vladimir with his dinner and later put him to bed. For his own dinner, Stepanin proudly presented him with a dish of chicken fricassee, made from chickens that his own supplier had delivered. Barkovskaya had refused to eat it, he announced, grinning broadly.

‘She knows when she's beaten!' he crowed.

‘What did you do?'

‘I made her see sense, that's all.'

‘How?'

Stepanin grinned again and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Don't worry about that, Nikolai Ilyich.'

Sheremetev didn't. He had too many other things on his mind. He went to bed. From Vladimir's room, through the baby monitor, came the stirrings and snorings and murmurings that went on all night. Sheremetev thought about the things Nina had said to him that day. He knew that Oleg didn't blame him for what had happened to Pasha. He might have wished that things were otherwise – that Pasha had grown up differently, or that Sheremetev had the money or knew someone who could get him out – but he didn't blame him for any of this. Nina, on the other hand . . . when the initial pain and shock, and the desire to find someone to blame, blew over, he couldn't tell how much of her anger would be left.

Karinka had always believed that Nina was jealous of them. She said that Oleg idolised him, and Nina saw that and was resentful. Sheremetev, for his part, had never considered that Oleg idolised him, or anything like it, knowing there was so little to idolise. Karinka used to laugh at him. You can't see what's in front of your nose, Kolya, she would say.

Karinka . . .

Nina's words had sliced through him like a knife. Had he let her die? His own wife?

Karinka had developed kidney disease when she was only ­forty-four. After a couple of years, her kidneys had stopped working and she needed dialysis. That was when the doctors really started asking for bribes. A thousand dollars to go on the clinic list, for a start. A hundred dollars for each treatment. Not for them, of course – oh, no, of course not – but to help pay for the equipment and consumables, which anyway were supposed to be free for the patient. First, Sheremetev used his and Karinka's savings. Then he sold all but the most necessary of their household possessions and furniture. Then he was forced to ask Oleg for help. Getting Karinka on the list for a kidney transplant was out of the question, that would have cost thousands. Oleg's money ran out. The dialysis wasn't stopped completely, but it was fitful. Instead of three or four times a week, it was once or twice. Karinka would become bloated by the time each treatment came around, her blood pressure soaring. Then Oleg would somehow produce more money and for a few weeks the treatments would be more frequent.

This went on for another couple of years. And then Karinka died, suddenly, one day, from a heart attack.

And had he really never asked himself where Oleg's windfalls were coming from? Was it only today that he had found out?
Really
?

And why had he never said, okay, if this is how it is, I'll take bribes too? Take from others, as he was being forced to give? How was it possible, he thought, that he hadn't done that? Even
thought
about it?

Perhaps he hadn't thought that Karinka would die. But eventually, what is going to happen to a person who needs dialysis three times a week and gets it once?

Nina's words lacerated him again. ‘
What was your duty to your wife, Kolya? Can you tell me that?
' The question left him flailing and bereft.
There was no way to address it and reconcile the answer with what he had done – or failed to do.

Eventually Sheremetev fell into a fitful sleep. A couple of hours later he awoke and immediately felt that something was wrong. He lay for a couple of minutes, trying to put his finger on it. Then he knew. The baby monitor was silent. None of the usual rustlings and rumblings.

He checked it. The volume was turned up to its usual level. He put the speaker to his ear. Only the faintest, staticky hiss of the machine itself. Otherwise – nothing.

For another couple of minutes he lay in bed, the monitor pressed to an ear. A thought struck him: what if Vladimir had died?

He considered that for a moment. Would it be so terrible? What kind of a life did he have? And whatever he had now, it was only going to get worse. It would be a blessing if he had slipped away peacefully in his sleep.

He got up and went to Vladimir's suite.

The door to the bedroom was ajar and the light was on. Sherem­etev peeked in. The bed was empty. Sheremetev shivered. Vladimir was probably engaged in a battle with the Chechen, hiding somewhere, keeping still, waiting to pounce.

‘Vladimir Vladimirovich?' he called quietly.

No response.

Cautiously, Sheremetev went into the bedroom, bracing himself for Vladimir to spring up from somewhere and come hurtling towards him.

Nothing.

Crossing to the bathroom, Sheremetev turned on the light and quickly drew back. Then he peered around the doorway. Nobody there. He turned and went to the dressing room.

‘Vladimir Vladimirovich?' he called, loudly this time.

He went to the sitting room. Empty as well. ‘No . . .' he said to himself. He should have locked the door as Professor Kalin had said.

He ran to the closest phone and called down to the security guard in the lobby. The phone rang and rang. Eventually a sleepy voice said: ‘Yes?'

‘Have you seen Vladimir Vladimirovich?' demanded Sheremetev.

‘Vladimir Vladimirovich?'

‘Have you seen him?'

‘No. Isn't he—'

‘He's gone. Stay at your post in case he's on the way out. Get people to look outside. Quick! I'll check upstairs.'

Still in his pyjamas, Sheremetev ran along the corridor, throwing open door after door onto cold, dark, empty rooms, turning on lights and calling Vladimir's name into suites that had not been used in years. Where had he gone? He must be fighting the Chechen, but where had the fight taken him?

Sheremetev ran down the stairs and found the security guard in the lobby.

‘Did you see Vladimir Vladimirovich come through?'

‘No.'

‘What about before I called you?'

The guard shook his head.

‘Were you asleep?'

The guard quickly shook his head again.

Sheremetev didn't believe him. ‘Have you told people to look outside?'

‘Yes.'

‘Who?'

‘The whole security detail.'

‘How many is that?'

‘Everybody, Nikolai Ilyich.'

‘
How many?
'

‘Two,' murmured the guard sheepishly, gazing at his feet.

‘Is that including you?'

The guard bit his lip. ‘Me and Gorya.'

‘Where's everybody else?' demanded Sheremetev indignantly.

The guard shrugged.

‘What about Artur? Is Artur here?'

‘Artur's . . . I don't know where exactly.'

‘And Lyosha?'

‘Lyosha . . . also . . .'

Barkovskaya came out of the corridor that led to the staff quarters, wearing a dressing gown and slippers. ‘What's going on?' she demanded.

‘Vladimir Vladimirovich has disappeared,' said Sheremetev.

She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Mother of God! Has someone taken him?'

It hadn't occurred to Sheremetev that Vladimir might have been kidnapped.

‘Shall we call the police?'

Sheremetev reacted strongly against the idea. ‘He's probably wandered, Galina Ivanovna. Let's see if we find him. I've been through the upper floor. We've got the security detail – I mean, what there is of it – looking outside. Can you check down here? And get some of the others to go outside. Eleyekov, Stepanin . . .' Sheremetev paused at the look of distaste that crossed the housekeeper's face. ‘Anyone you can rouse.'

‘What about you?' said the housekeeper.

‘I'm going out as well!'