June 23, 1993
Wednesday
The next day, at eight in the morning, right when the tender sleep of students creeps up on the first building of the MEPhI dormitory and gathers into its arms bodies hollowed out by studying and by poverty — in that fragile hour of half-dream, half-oblivion — bulldozer-like, unceremonious Zhorik shook me out from under the blanket, rinsed me off with cold water, dressed me in my brand-new clothes, shoved a sandwich into my mouth, stuffed me into the car, and drove off. He forgot to wake me up.
I pried my eyes open in an enormous apartment, bright and spacious. It had a bare minimum of furniture: two stools, a stained gas stove, a small kitchen cabinet, a nightstand finished to look like walnut, and a red telephone. The smell of glue hung in the air.
I looked around.
The wallpaper gleamed with freshness and opulence. Catching my glance, Zhorik explained:
— Painters put it up overnight. Cost three hundred bucks.
I was staggered by that fantastic figure: three hundred bucks!!! You could live on that for a couple months, maybe three if you didn’t go overboard.
Zhora laid out the task:
— Here’s the phone book. Look up research institutes along Varshavka, Profsoyuznaya, Leningradka, and Mira. Call the front office, tell them you’re a deputy department head from the Committee on Science and Technology doing a review. There’s a kid there, Albert Igorevich. Your voices sound alike. Go for it! Introduce yourself as Alik from Moscow Committee for Science and get the full names of the directors and their deputy heads for administration and supply. Pay attention to the secretaries’ voices. If she sounds young, get her name too. Write down whatever you find out here, — he tossed a notebook onto the phone book, brand new, never used.
After watching me flip through the directory for a bit, Zhora gave a little hand-wave «adieu.»
I scratched my ringing head. Wandered around the apartment, feeling something uncomfortable in my pants. Reached into my pocket and pulled out a grenade: whoa there! Where’d this come from?
A minute later I realized I’d been carrying it around in the sands. And after that? Didn’t remember.
Wait! Zhorka had moved it to the nightstand yesterday. So why was it back in my pocket today?
Doesn’t matter! Time to get rid of it!
Shoved the grenade behind the stove... moved it out to the balcony... rehid it in the box of textbooks... Calmed down and remembered Zhorka’s assignment.
Moved the nightstand with the phone over to the window. Sat down on a stool, set the directory on my lap, flipped through, found the section on research institutes. Scanned the columns of little letters and landed on Varshavskoye Shosse, building 8.
— There we go. Just the thing, — I spun the phone dial. After two long rings, I heard an energetic woman’s voice:
— All-Russian Institute of Blahblahblahblahblah...
Without hearing even half of it, I wilted, broke a sweat, and, wheezing and rattling, forced out of my parched throat:
— Good afternoon, this is the Committee on Science and Technology calling.
— Yes!
— This is Albert Igorevich.
— Yes, pleasure to meet you.
I forgot what I was supposed to say. It got awkward and scary. Terror shot through me — any second they’d catch on, drag me out into the light by the ear. Ugh!
I hung up the phone and tried to calm down: «Easy, Roma. Get a grip. It’s nothing, just chirping with a secretary. Come on, be bolder. What’ll Zhorik say if he finds out I can’t manage even this? Not even introduce myself as Albert!»
I pumped myself up with a modest dose of nerve and dialed the next number:
— Hello. Good afternoon, calling from the Commission on Science and Technology. Albert Igorevich.
— Yes, I’m listening.
— Could you tell me the director’s full name?
— Sorry, I didn’t catch it, which commission is this?
I froze up, sweating and speechless while I hunted for an answer. Forced out:
— The Moscow one. Science and technology.
There was a snort on the other end of the line:
— Nothing better to do again, huh?
— Exactly. Routine review. Nothing serious, — I rattled off, ready to float away with joy: «Phew! It’s working!»
— Write this down. I’ll dictate...
I wrote it down. Didn’t even forget to note the secretary’s youthful voice in the notebook. With the next secretary I talked more calmly, and — wonder of wonders! — didn’t forget to ask for the name of the deputy for administration and supply.
Half an hour later I was tossing lines into the receiver with a swagger:
— Greetings. Albert Igorevich, Moscow Committee for Science. Is the man himself in?
In response to, «He’s busy. And what’s this regarding?» I rumbled in a little baritone:
— Nothing important, we’ll sort it out on our own. By the way, what’s your name? Pleasure to meet you, Svetlana Georgievna. Between us — we’re drawing up a list of luminaries who haven’t yet fled for greener pastures in the West. We’ll be offering support. Could you give me the full names of your director and your deputy for administration and supply? Someone will be in touch with them.
