Val Karren - The Deceit of Riches

I sat still in my chair, incredulous at what the Dean had just admitted to. I blinked at him, hesitated and screwed up my face and shook my head back and forth. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood you. Did you say you, Dean Karamzin, would be helping him to establish a party of his own?”

“Yes. Who else is going to?” he conjectured.

“Why? Why would you help such a figure make a step into government office?” I asked in repulsion.

“He won’t make it of course, but this way I can make sure he doesn’t get competent help to make him into something he is not… and he is paying a big fee for my services,” the Dean chuckled victoriously.

“Aren’t you already consulting on a political party, The Left Front Party?” I reminded him.

“Yes of course, but that is finished now and they have their platform. Now we’ll put together a manifesto for “The Right Front Party.” We must create balance! There must always be an opposition party to check the other. Right?” he was searching for my approval.

“In theory yes, but it’s better if an opposition party has a moral compass,” I grumbled.

“In theory yes, but all politicians are dirty liars anyway,” Karamzin concluded.

“Touchez!” I conceded.

“Listen, Peter, I will set up an interview for you with Mr. P., Igor Ivanovich. You have already met, you said, so it will be a natural step. I will tell him that you are an eager student of economics and politics. Talk about the privatization if you want because he took over a restaurant recently that was state owned, but also talk about his trading company that imports goods. You’ll be surprised at all the legitimate sources of income that he has, that’s why he is a slippery eel. Talk about his political aspirations. You can tell him that I told you about forming a party. If you pretend to think he’s clever, he will try to prove it to you. Play to his ego. Challenge him a bit and he will tell you everything! You are a smart young man. Don’t talk about the organized crime aspect of his business. That will only cause you and me both trouble. I will let you know when you can meet him,” the Dean proposed.

“Dean, wait, wait! I have to think about this. This is really risky. I don’t know if I could keep my knees from going weak while I’m there talking to him while trying to trick him. What if he sees through me? What if he gets a sense of what we are really trying to do?” I pleaded.

“He’s in idiot,” Karamzin said dismissing my anxiety.

“An idiot with a gun and thugs to throw me in the river!” I reminded him.

“He wouldn’t do it to a foreigner. He couldn’t escape a real investigation with the US Embassy behind it,” was the Dean’s convenient conclusion.

“That’s comforting, thanks!” I muttered under my breath.

“OK, Peter, you think about it for one week, and then we’ll talk next week at the same time. If you don’t want to finally, I will tell Mr. P. that your focus is changing to International investment or something else that doesn’t matter to us in Nizhniy. Then you’re off the hook Yes, fine?” was the Dean’s offer.

“Yes, fine. I’ll consider it — but I know I won’t like it,” I mumbled even further under my breath.

I left the dean’s office without a congenial handshake over his desk as there was no deal to shake on this time. I was greatly flustered at the suggestion of doing what the Dean was suggesting I do. I stumbled down the stairs to the courtyard, through the tunnel on to the square and took a deep breath. I wandered over to the Chkalov monument and stood above the grand staircase that lead down the bluff’s steep slope to the river front.

The view was always one of great comfort. Whatever temporary problem or stress a person could be facing when standing over this river — the view gives one a great perspective.

If the Volga, the life force of Mother Russia can keep flowing through the heartlands through both the good and bad times, through all the decades of horrible bloody history that Russia has known, with even more murderous and corrupt men in power than today, why should I care so much to even consider doing what the Dean is asking me to do? Why don’t I just say ‘Hell no!’ and walk away? Was it because I wanted to save Russians from themselves as Els has suggested? Was I really another Don Quixote trying to restore a gallantry and honour code that has never even existed in Russia at the public level? Was I in it for myself? What was I looking for by going on a crazy quest and would I realistically be able to attain it?

I walked along the embankment above the Volga and through the Kremlin gates to the park inside, deep in thought, and walked the interior perimeter of the fortress, tracing the thick red walls and turrets with my fingers. I took a peek over the parapets every now and then watching out for invaders of a modern type. What was to be done?

With little incentive to be outdoors again, after a few warmer days of reprieve, I buried myself again in my research corner on Minin Street searching for additional documentation on the local privatization efforts of the government. I was hoping to manufacture a way to appease the Dean’s wish for a thesis about the local situation, with local consequences using something and somebody other than the town mob boss as my study specimen. I would work to keep my dream intact, but also my knees and face. I had one week to find an alternate thesis topic.

While skimming the databases I was reminded about the offer from Richard and Andrew at the World Bank mission to let me attend one of the monthly auctions in town, administered by the provincial government, who was divesting real-estate and business licenses for retail shops. I checked my watch.

“Where would they be at three o’clock on a Thursday afternoon?” I asked myself. I gathered up my notebooks and new print-outs and headed for the bus stop. I waved Olga good evening and slipped out the door quickly.

I found both of Richard and Andrew in their office this time, instead of at a local mafia establishment next door eating pizza, and rang the bell while I waved through the street window to them. Richard stood and came to the door to let me in and locked the door behind us. We stood between their desks, in an uneasy casual position half sitting, half leaning while I tried to remove scarves and hats without looking like I was setting up camp.

“We thought you had left town. Thought maybe you’d seen enough after six weeks and left without saying goodbye,” Richard broke the ice.

“Very sorry about that. I’ve been very busy with my research. I realized as well that I didn’t call my mother either on the first Saturday of the month. Can’t believe it’s April already,” I said concerned about my own memory.

“So how are you getting on? You look thinner,” Richard noticed.

“Thanks for your concern but I have a grandmother already,” I grinned and looked them up and down. “Speaking of thinner, you’re both looking like you’re ready to go home soon. Is New York Pizza serving dieters’ pizzas these days?”

“Gastly that place. You would think they would at least try to hide their real intentions next door. The cars that come and go from there. The clothes! They must be drug dealers!” Andrew chuckled.

“Ahhh, yes. I’ve learned some very interesting things about the goings-on in this town. Maybe too much,” I commiserated.

“So, you came and ate our pizza, picked our brains and then you never came back,” Richard brought us back to point.

“Sorry, I’ve been so deep in research and writing and with midterm exams, I really lost track of time. When did we have pizza together? Must have been mid-February. Sorry about that,” I apologized.