June 29, 1993
Tuesday
In the morning we drove to Cheryomushki, to the Research Institute of Physical, Mathematical and Special Sciences. We shook hands with the director, who listened with half an ear to Zhorka’s speech about mathematical America. As soon as Zhorik promised that in eight years the first interplanetary mathematical symposium in the history of creation would be held here, he waved a hand: «To the deputy for general affairs. Dmitry Yefimovich has the information.»
– It’s rotten to be an old fart and a Komsomol member in one person. You have just seen a man who needs no dollars, nor pounds, francs, bundesmarks nor any other hard currency, – Zhorik summed up on the way out of the office. – Leksanych got all the pleasures of this life in the days of the mathematicians’ best friend, Comrade Stalin. He was the institute’s Komsomol organizer then, and his knees shake to this day.
We walked through the empty corridors in silence, but at the end Zhorik dropped a warning:
— Yefimych is a fighter. A flint of a man. Don’t be surprised by anything.
The fighter turned out to be an old man of about fifty. He grasped the point in an instant, the second Zhora said: «We’re here from Leksanych about the lease question. What papers do we need for the contract?»
Yefimych worked his lips, suggested that maybe no papers would be needed, no guarantee there’d even be a contract, needed to run the numbers, as they say, oats are pricey these days. Glanced at Zhorik.
— There’ll be oats, — Zhorik stated flatly, and added: — Tomorrow. And clover too, because it’s green.
— No need to rush. Let’s think it over first, and then, maybe in a week or so… — Dmitry Yefimovich started circling.
— We’ll meet tomorrow, — Zhorik cut in firmly. — We’ll discuss our mutual interests and settle on a price, then you can deliberate till the cows come home. Pleasure meeting you. See you then.
— See you then, — the property manager answered, blinking.
We went outside. Not a joyful feeling. Heavy and gloomy, if I’m honest. Zhorik was cooking up some scheme with no obvious upside in sight. I asked right away:
— Why do we need an office here? We were planning on Nagatinskaya.
— To get set up at VychMekh, we need money, which we don’t have. We’ve got bodies, we’ve got a ring, and no money.
— So what? — I asked, puzzled.
Zhorik jabbed a finger back over his shoulder at the building behind us:
— That’s where we’ll cook up our starting capital. I told you about Fowler’s scheme: money makes money. Any business starts with starting capital. If your capital’s a hundred bucks, your business is going to be the same size, a hundred bucks, two hundred tops. And we want to do something serious. Need to hustle up a little million to start… or even just a hundred grand. But where from?
— No idea.
— Good thing I do. Head home, I’m going to swing by a couple of newspaper offices.
