Eugene Vodolazkin - The Aviator

I’ve begun keeping a more watchful eye on Innokenty. An uncertainty has appeared in his gait. It’s unnoticeable if you don’t look closely, but it wasn’t there before.

TUESDAY [NASTYA]

Entrepreneur Tyurin called us yesterday. That’s how he introduced himself: Tyurin, entrepreneur. Evidently an oilman. Platosha spoke with him, putting on the speaker phone so I could hear (our Platonov is adapting by the hour, not the day). Tyurin said he’s arranging fireworks in the evening on Yelagin Island and wanted very much for us to come. I suddenly remembered: mamma mia, he’s in the top ten on the Forbes list! A Moscow person – there aren’t any like him in Petersburg. Or Siberia, either, where he pumps his oil. If you toss aside local patriotism, then all the money, careers, and everything else, too, it’s all in Moscow. That should be recognized as an indisputable fact; it’s not even an issue to get distracted by, like I am now.

Anyway, according to Tyurin, entrepreneur, he stopped by Petersburg today and felt like arranging fireworks in the evening, at the last minute, no advance preparations. He asked if we were offended that this essentially unknown person popped up out of nowhere. Unknown, Platosha agreed, but we’re not offended. Life, said Tyurin, should be casual: if you feel like fireworks today – and on Yelagin Island in particular – then there will be fireworks. Those words would be music to the ears of the homeless man who rummages around in our bin: he simply doesn’t know what life should be, otherwise he’d have arranged for fireworks on Yelagin.

Platosha conversed unenthusiastically with Tyurin but I made an energetic sign to him, to pull himself together. I understand that all that shooting things off on Yelagin is horrifically money-oriented and ostentatious, but even so… I really wanted to go. ‘I really want to go,’ I wrote on a slip of paper and put it in front of Platosha’s eyes.

‘Fine,’ Platosha told him, ‘we’ll come.’

We didn’t have to come: they sent a limousine for us… Just now, he, my sovereign master, came up behind me. He read the word ‘limousine’ and started laughing.

‘Stop,’ he said, ‘stop writing about limousines.’

You’re right, sweetie, you’re right… No, I’ll say two other things anyway. After the main fireworks there was a salute, and the volleys were named. The first volley, of course, was dedicated to Tyurin, and the second one was for Platosha. And also – maybe the most surprising thing – I noticed a fantastically beautiful diamond ring on Tyurin’s finger. I told him that, in front of everybody, so it would be nice for him. And he took off the ring and held it out to Platosha, as if it would suit him better. And he winked at me. Platosha refused but Tyurin placed the ring in his palm and closed his fingers over it. A very showy gesture, regal, as one of the journalists said (I already saw that shot in several newspapers today). Though Tyurin, I repeat, is probably money-oriented, and not a king. The ring, however, truly is amazing – I examined it all morning. Platosha, the silly man, doesn’t want to put it on.

[INNOKENTY]

What an appropriate abbreviation that is anyway, LAZARUS, even if you consider that I didn’t lie there for four days. I have seen icons depicting Lazarus’s resurrection: he’s walking out of a crypt and the people standing nearby are covering their noses. Fine… According to Geiger’s description, I didn’t look so good when they took me out of the nitrogen. I did not, however, smell.

Lazarus’s first death was not sudden: he was sick, very sick. My departure for freezing was not unexpected, either. It works out that we both had time to prepare ourselves. And his and my thoughts before departing were possibly the same, too. And then the Lord resurrected him: so how did he live with that? Even I, after all, who was returned to life by the mere mortal Geiger, cannot fully realize the extent of what happened. I arrived at the only thought possible: that the Lord thawed me, employing Geiger’s hands.

How did Lazarus’s life turn out after his resurrection? Yes, it is allegedly known that he lived another three decades and was a bishop in a Cypriot city, but I don’t mean the details that are called biography. What concerns me is what he felt after having already once departed the world of the living.

After all, it is not accidental when a person returns from wherever he was. It is a change to the natural course of events or to a decision that has been made. There should be weighty reasons for any return. A person has special tasks when the return is from the great beyond and not just anywhere. Lazarus of the Four Days attests to the Lord’s omnipotence.

What do I attest to? In the final analysis, to the same thing. Beyond that, though, probably also to the time I was initially placed in. Those living in that time of mine did not yet know what to attest to for their descendants, did not know exactly what would prove useful decades later. But I know. This helps me to some degree, though of course it is only to some degree because my attestations are futile anyway. For all that, it’s good if they serve the resurrection of my previous time, even if a resurrection like that is incomplete.

I think ever more often about resurrection. Nastya’s name speaks to that, too. Sometimes it seems to me that Nastya has resurrected Anastasia, that they are seamless and compose a common life, purposely created for me from two different lives. At times, that thought seems like insanity to me because it denies the uniqueness of any separate life. I can speak with certainty about only one thing, that I love them both.

THURSDAY [NASTYA]

Platosha received a proposal to host a corporate event for a gas company. He turned it down. Put bluntly, I was a little blown away when I heard the amount of the fee. I didn’t reproach Platosha, not one word: he’s a man, it’s his decision. The gasmen, however, didn’t back off. They contacted me and explained that they’re drilling test holes in the Arctic, meaning that, under the circumstances, they needed Innokenty Petrovich – even if they had to sweat blood. If not in the capacity of leading the corporate event, then at least in the capacity of a guest. And the fee would not even be reduced. All that was required of Innokenty Petrovich would be to show up with the Order of Courage, propose a toast to the company’s general director (and his wife), and wish everyone success in extracting gas. That was already a different matter. It’s funny, of course, about the toast and the director, but not burdensome or shameful. Platosha agreed. I asked him to tell Geiger that this decision was made without my knowledge, otherwise our mutual friend would simply devour me. It’s interesting that Geiger understands the meaning of banknotes but when talk turns to methods for earning them, that’s when the grimaces and all that ‘You see, Nastya,’ and the like start. I don’t want to look more mercantile than everybody else – maybe I dream about being Lady Hamilton, too – but someone has to arrange the means for existence. Really, it’s strange the German’s not the one doing that.

Be that as it may, we went, the sun scorching us, to that corporate event. The scene for the action was the Yusupov Palace, where – at the entrance and on the staircase (wow!) – there were black servants in livery and cut flowers everywhere. In the foyer were members of the board of directors, Duma deputies, movie actresses, bandits, zombies with a Soviet look, fashion models, correspondents, and professional schmoozers. In short: everybody that loves gas.

Vadim, head of the company’s PR department, greeted us. He embraced us both around the shoulders and reported to us in a loud whisper with no introductions whatsoever: