Алексей Никитин - Y.T.

‘Well, that just figures.’ I crossed my arms and laughed. ‘It just figures.’

‘A lot of people in the department thought otherwise. A few people had words with me. They criticized me, and I couldn’t even deny it. I was in a ridiculous position, you’ll agree. But my hands were tied. I’d sworn an oath.’

‘I see.’

‘In short, yes, the KGB did come after you but not through me. You may think it ironic, but I really was summoned for interrogation a few days after your arrest, and that’s when they took the folder. It was an unpleasant discussion.’

‘Let’s say that’s what happened. But who was behind it, then?’ I sensed suddenly that he wasn’t lying. ‘No one gained from it. There was absolutely nothing to be gained.’

‘I don’t know. I do not know.’

‘But you knew what was in the folder. You did open it, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I opened it—although I actually forgot about it at first. I dumped it on the window ledge at home and forgot about it. Then a few days later your Kurochkin came along and asked me to give it back.’

‘Yurka went to see you?’ I was surprised. ‘He didn’t say. He’s never even mentioned it.’

‘Of course, I can’t remember our exact conversation, but he came for the folder, that’s for certain. I didn’t give it to him. I said Korostishevski should get it himself. And afterwards, as you might expect, I had a look inside the folder.’

‘And what did you think?’

‘I didn’t think anything. What was there to think about? I mean you were adults, second-year students, but you had butterflies fluttering around in your heads. You were just like nursery-school kids, I swear.’

‘So you still had it.’

‘Yes, I still had it. Korostishevski never turned up, and I had worries enough of my own. Really, was I to think of this folder to the exclusion of all else? Right. But they reminded me later on. “Where did you look? It was right under your nose. For ten days it was in your hands, and you couldn’t even take a look …” ’

‘So you don’t know who turned us in?’

Nedremailo shrugged.

‘Can’t you even guess?’

‘Guesses aren’t worth much in this business. No, I don’t know.’

‘All right, then.’ I got up. ‘Hello to the radiophysics students.’

‘I haven’t taught there for nearly fifteen years.’

‘Then what are you doing? You’ve got a long wait for your pension.’

‘I do church work.’ He jerked his shoulders again. ‘That’s just how it is.’

‘I see. Well, enjoy your meal…’

‘Davidov, wait. Like a bad student you lack patience. God only knows what you’re trying to make yourself out to be. A private investigator or something.’

‘I’m not a private investigator. I’m a private individual.’

It was a bad pun, but Nedremailo scarcely noticed.

‘If I were you,’ he was saying, ‘I’d make a list of everyone who showed any interest in the matter. The broadest possible list. Maybe nine out of ten people on your list will only be there by chance. What matters is that the tenth doesn’t go unnoticed. That’s what I’d do. Then gradually narrow it down.’

‘What exactly…?’ But then I understood. ‘You mean it’s not only Kurochkin and the KGB?’

‘No, they’re not the only ones.’

‘So who else wanted the folder?’

‘There was a girl in your group, if you remember…’

I knew whom he was talking about even before he gave her name.

‘Natasha.’

‘Yes, Belokrinitskaya.’

‘Something’s wrong here. Kurochkin and Belokrinitskaya had nothing to do with the KGB or our arrest. Kurochkin was arrested himself, and Natasha… When did she come for the folder?’

Nedremailo sat quietly, arms folded across his chest, biting his lip intently and staring at the ceiling.

‘Listen,’ I said, surprised. ‘Why did you tell me about Belokrinitskaya?’

He wasn’t happy with the conversation. It would have been unpleasant for anyone in his situation. He could have cut it short, but he didn’t.

‘Because we both want the same thing. You want to find out what happened back then, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘So do I.’

‘But what’s it to you?’

‘As a result of that business I had to leave the department.’

‘Excuse me, but I find that rather hard to believe. You worked there for another six years.’

‘I did. And it became harder with every year.’

I feigned sympathy. ‘I see. The orgy of glasnost, the bacchanalia of democracy.’

‘You don’t see anything.’ Wearily he waved his arm. ‘When they take you by the throat and make you choose between your health, inasmuch as you’ve got any, or the life of your daughter and some treaty or other… you’ll agree to whatever they want. Not that… And then, later, I didn’t take any initiative. They asked; I answered. They said “Do this”; I did it. But as for me going to them and making a statement against someone else, that didn’t happen. You can be sure of it.’

Nedremailo’s mobile began ringing.

‘Yes, yes,’ he said, ‘I’m free now. Come on over… to the metro.’ He put his phone away. ‘That was my daughter calling. Let’s go.’

We went out on to the street. He gave me his business card.

‘One more thing, Davidov. You can think whatever you want about me, but I want everything to be completely transparent. I need it as much as you do. Trust me. If there’s anything you need, give me a call.’

Nedremailo made for the metro. Near the tram stop a woman in a dark coat and shawl went up to him, and together they descended into the underground passage.

‘Did you see Reingarten yesterday?’

Kurochkin’s call got me out of bed. Dawn was just beginning to break.

‘Do all deputy premiers telephone at this hour, or is it my privilege to be dealing with an exceptional state servant? What time is it?’

‘Did you go to the hospital or not?’

Finally I was awake, and awake I caught the note of barely checked irritation in Kurochkin’s voice.

‘No.’

‘Why not? You told Sinevusov you were going to see Mishka.’

‘I might have done. Or maybe that’s just what he wanted to hear. Kurochkin, I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again, stop telling me what to do. I don’t work for you. I’ll do what I want to do. And I’m on leave.’

‘Don’t get carried away, Davidov,’ advised Kurochkin after a weighty silence. ‘I’m counting on you anyway.’

‘Yurka, I promised to try to find out what’s going on, not to run around buying cigarettes for Sinevusov. Let’s talk tonight. Better still, tomorrow. I might have something to tell you by then.’

‘Okay, then. Check your e-mail.’ Kurochkin sighed and hung up.

He had woken me up and for no good reason. I had hoped the conversation with Nedremailo would settle overnight and I might grasp the implications that had evaded me the evening before during our conversation at the Home Cooking Café. I was certain they were there. It often happens this way: I push a conversation into a distant box of my consciousness and forget about it until morning, then in the morning I take it out, cleaned and pressed, laced up and numbered. I have no idea what happens in there. I can’t do it consciously. However much I try it doesn’t work. But there had been something in the conversation with Nedremailo, a riddle that flickered past like a fleet shadow and disappeared. I’d been hoping to find it in the morning in an open box. But Kurochkin spoiled it. Damn him!

There had been curious flickers at several points in the professor’s story. I was surprised to learn that Kurochkin had gone to him for Korostishevski’s folder. Kurochkin knew Sashka wouldn’t ask Nedremailo to return it. We all knew it, but Kurochkin was the only one who acted, even though they weren’t close friends.