11
“Party for a Prosperous Russia.” Sparkling light-blue letters on a white background. Olga and Alliluyev’s political party was opening a new office on Petrovka Street with great fanfare.

Alliluyev planned to launder money using his own party and to lobby members of parliament. In this country politics was the key to success in business. Everything was in the politicians’ hands—taxes, licenses, sales of stock, and the purchase of land. Yes, Alliluyev thought, if we manage to get our deputies into parliament, then we’ll make the president and prime minister and mayor to dance to our tune.

Olga looked at the party in a different way, however. For her, money was a way to rebuild life. She saw it differently from those who thought a market economy was just a way to make money—they would divide up the country into pieces.

There was an endless line of people who wanted to join the party. Maybe they could find a job there. At least they could find something to belong to.

A bald, middle-aged man entered Olga’s reception room and looked around cautiously. Fixing his squinting eyes on the wall clock, he addressed Olga.

“Olga Yegorovna, I have a very important proposition. I’m a graduate of the Moscow Polytechnic Institute. I graduated with honors, you know, but then I was labeled a dissident and sent to a psychiatric hospital. After Gorbachev freed me I resumed my activities for the sake of the Fatherland’s renewal and for the sake of new ideas. I created a party—“Party for the Renewal of Russian Culture.” An excellent name, isn’t it? Your party is brand new. But if it unites with another party, it’s sure to clear the five-percent threshold in the elections. So perhaps you will unite with my party? Of course, I’ll agree to be the party’s deputy leader.”

“Well, thank you. And how large is your party’s membership?”

“For now, it’s just me. But that’s not so important. The point is that right now I’m considering a very important matter, Olga Yegorovna. Please hear me out. Do you believe that under our government’s current program things will go well for Russia? You don’t believe that, do you? Owing to the present amateurish policy our country’s economy is being destroyed. Therefore, the West should not support such a government. The backward Russian state needs to be controlled tightly for another fifty years, and its people need to be trained to work—otherwise nothing good will come of it. Aren’t you of the same opinion? It stands to reason, doesn’t it?

“Exactly. I’ve summed up all of this in an article I want to publish in the West. That will inevitably heighten interest in our party—mine and yours. That’s why your help is essential to me. The thing is that recently the protection of foreign embassies has been noticeably strengthened and I’m unable to go there. Olga Yegorovna, you’re a person with influence. Couldn’t you somehow give my article to the American and British ambassadors and tell them to publish it there in the West? After all, it’s the West’s duty to defend the human rights of dissidents. In this way your party will make my party its powerful ally.”

Before Olga could catch her breath a man claiming to have invented a time machine appeared. An inventor of an assembly that could increase the productivity of labor by twelve times followed him. He also asked for support. Olga sighed with weariness. Good Lord, all these people are just like a deepwater fish seeking freedom on the surface, which swells up and bursts if it shoots up too sharply from the bottom.

Suddenly Urina, Olga’s former boss, appeared. While constantly fixing straggly strands of her thin, gray hair, she began speaking in a smooth-tongued voice that emphasizes her deference.

“Comrade Makoshina—oh, please excuse me—Olga Yegorovna, life has turned out splendidly for you. Every time I read about you in the newspapers I feel proud. Olga Yegorovna, I’m guilty before you, I’ve come to sincerely apologize for what I did to you in the past. I really liked you, and I had big hopes for your talent. It ended up tragically only because of our boss Zabegin’s instructions. Don’t hold it against me.

“Olga Yegorovna, please don’t look at me that way. Please don’t send me away. Listen to me to the end. Oh God, what kind of life is this? In our time everything was clear and defined, wasn’t it? The Party… oh, but why am I talking about that? When you left work and took up business, deep in my heart I was happy for you. Those are people, I thought, who are capable of shouldering the new Russia. Only those like you are capable of creating a market economy based on the morality of common sense. And I wasn’t mistaken. You have achieved success in business and now you’ve created a political party with the purpose of reorganizing life. I may be already old, but I have far more experience and connections than young people. Therefore, I would like to ask you to please give me the opportunity to help your party.”

“I understand, Yelena Fyodorovna. What happened in the past I forgot long ago. However, there are no vacant positions in the party right now. Wait, I think on Prospekt Mira, where there used to be a hairdresser, there’s now a company called “Spektr,” which imports computers and linen. I’ve heard that the company’s president, Sokolov, is looking for people who used to work for the Party. Yes, it’s the same Sokolov who worked in the World Peace Association, making money in all sorts of ways. Would you like to meet him? I could make a call to him.”

Urina humbly thanked Olga several times in her ingratiating way, then left. Olga felt sorry and nostalgic as she watched Urina’s bent back and thinning hair. We drove such people out of society. A human being like all of us. No, she won’t find a job. She’ll just come back here again.

Olga heard the loud voices of the cleaning ladies in the hall.

“Tamara, are all the visitors gone?”

“It seems so. But who knows? The VIPs are unpredictable.”

“I wish they’d leave early. In any case, they should do a better job of grooming.”

A lonely night. Music was playing quietly. Settling comfortably on the sofa, Olga abandoned herself to unpleasant thoughts.

Good Lord, what a time this is. People are just trying to make contact with somebody who’s established, and they only think about how to arrange things so that they can live comfortably at his expense. And as for me? Am I really a free and independent person? I keep on the go for one reason only—to arrange connections and receive money and privileges from the government. What does my existence mean for, let’s say, that child over there in the apartment that’s lit up who’s talking to his mother? I’m just an aging woman. Yes, exactly. No husband, no children, and in ten years or so I’ll stop being a woman. I’ll have nothing to leave when I go. Ilya is the only man left. A real man. He doesn’t know my true feelings. He flits about like a butterfly. But, after all, you’re my cousin, Ilya. I long to feel your shoulder. Why, oh why, is everything turning out like this? Why was I given such a fate?

The chords of the violin and viola merged into a sensuous melody that spoke of love. Tears flowed from Olga’s eyes as she sobbed inconsolably.

Copyright ©Akio Kawato