October 14 – 24, 1993
Thursday threw a wrench in the plans. I’d just walked into the office when Zhorik burst in after me, blindsided me:
– Haven’t they beaten you up yet?
– Who?
– The demonstrators! Those poor dears over there.
I went to the window. By the nearby VychMekh a crowd of citizens was waving their arms. Either warming themselves up or summoning some hulking beast to a fair fight.
– Who are they? – I wondered.
– Failed investors, otherwise known as shaggy shareholders, – Zhorik smirked. – They were told in plain Russian that a force majeure arose, written into the contract. No! They want to profit to the hilt, the bark-beetles. They demand two hundred bucks a head. What a greedy people we have now! They won’t let a man work honestly. Oh, the bug-eyed one will get a mouthful. Good thing I made it clear at once: I know no «Russian Horizon», shoo! I hope they kick up a fuss for a couple of weeks and scatter. Though look, there are more of them. A minute ago there were ten. And now fifty, no fewer...
– Wonder if they’ll break the windows, – Zhorik puzzled a minute later, and decided: – I’m counting on bourgeois good sense, but I’ll call in the proletarian police just in case. We settled up with the district police chief in shares first thing.
– Can this be solved with them?
– With who? The protesters?
– Yeah.
– Solve it with what? Do the math. What came in in August went to booze. September was spent on salaries and August dividends. October’s cut got returned to the right people last week. Nothing left in the fund. So let them protest.
– And for how long?
– No idea, – Zhorik shrugged. – There’s another problem here: who was listed as acting director at «Horizon»? Beat it out of here so they don’t see you. Keep the Torus out of sight too. Roll it into the hangar, let it sit there. But first run over to Khryakino for an inventory check. Count what’s what. Make sure the reports match up. Then run over to the institute, study up. I’ll manage without you. In a month the whole ruckus will fizzle out. Either they break the bug-eyed fool’s windows and go home satisfied, or the cops break up the discontented crowd.
I slipped off to the lot, snuck up to the car, drove off. Noted the protesters had gathered into a crowd of two hundred, at least.
The drive to Khryakino and back took longer than the inventory itself. The pedant Gennady had organized the warehouse space into blocks, each corresponding to an item on the price list. By his account, the count was done every evening and took about five minutes. Being out of practice, it took me half an hour. The figures matched down to the last unit. Afterward I wandered the factory grounds for a look around, marveled at the desolation surrounding the warehouse. You could film twilight-zone movies out there.
I got back to Metallsnab late in the evening, drove the car into the hangar, and headed home.
The following days I devoted to my studies. Solved problems at seminars, took notes at lectures. Read textbooks in the evenings and on weekends.
I never managed to immerse myself fully in studying. Two weeks in, Zhorik changed the game.
He called me at home: the demonstrators disperse at one in the afternoon, leaving a group of blockheads who block Vadik’s work. After six in the evening, when it gets dark, I can come to «Metallsnab». Work is over the roof, Zhorik is drowning on his own. So after classes the second shift awaits me! Bang!
