Герман Садулаев - The Maya Pill

Semipyatnitsky turned the blue-handled faucet, filled his cupped palms with water, and, snorting like a horse, splashed his flat face. The cold water rinsed off the remains of sleep, and Semipyatnitsky instantly forgot the language in which he had just been thinking.

“What the devil?” Semipyatnitsky opined.

The abracadabra still remained, in the form of a jumble of sounds rattling around in his head, but their sense had evaporated. All Maximus could recall, or maybe he knew it from somewhere already, was that serkel meant “white house.” What house had he recalled that morning, why it was white, and what any of it had to do with Maximus Semipyatnitsky, leading import specialist, and all the rest of it, see above, remained a mystery.

The moon was waxing. During the time of the waning moon, Maximus’s facial hair grew slowly and reluctantly. He could shave every other day. But the moon was waxing, and the bristle had sprouted overnight and was prickling his palms as they washed his face. Any other morning he could yield to sloth and skip shaving; he could just scrape off the one longish strand of hair that sprouted out of a papilloma on his left cheek, but leave the stubble on for a Bruce Willis look. Cold Plus was not all that picky about how the staff in the Import Department looked; they really didn’t care. But today Maximus was supposed to meet the Dutch partners, and he needed to make an effort.

Maximus turned the red faucet, filled the sink with hot water, lathered his face with shaving cream, and mowed even rows into his chin and cheeks with a plastic disposable razor. When he was finished, he brushed his teeth meticulously, turned on the water in the shower, slipped off his boxers and tossed them directly into the basket under the sink, then stepped into the shower, sliding the plastic curtain closed behind him to protect the floor from spatters.

The Red Banner Chorus, which served as his standard wake-up call, continued to roar in the other room, their song now punctuated by the thumps of the neighbors banging angrily on the hot water pipes. Shower over, Maximus wrapped the towel around his dripping waist, went back into his room, and turned off the music. The whole building was awake now.

Maximus had gotten up earlier than usual so that he could pick up the Dutch visitors and get them to the office on time. Yesterday he’d been told that there were three of them and that they had checked into the Corinthia Nevsky Palace Hotel. Maximus immediately objected: He could fit three people in his car, but where was he supposed to put their luggage? The trunk could hold only one suitcase. But he had no choice; no one else could do the job. He’d have to figure something out when he got there.

Maximus dressed and boiled some water in the electric teapot, mixed a cup of instant coffee in his thermos, added some sugar and twisted on the lid, checked the contents of his briefcase, and crammed the coffee in along with everything else. Finally he slipped on his shoes, set the burglar alarm, and went out, locking both doors behind him.

The elevator arrived immediately. Maximus rode down to the first floor and stepped outside. The fresh air energized him, bringing on a light, celebratory mood. Such is the effect of morning sometimes: All that has come before remains in the past, out there beyond the dark Styx of the night, a million light years away, beyond the galaxy of sleep. A new day has arrived; everything will be different now. Yesterday’s failures will be successes today; whatever caused the sorrows of the past will no longer stand in your way. Quite the opposite: What you’ve been waiting for so long will finally come to pass, roaring in on an express train from the Province of Joy, tumbling exuberantly into your life with an armload of red roses and fistfuls of greenbacks.

Such is the effect, sometimes, of a new day.

Or could it be the effect of the pink pill that Maximus had swallowed just after brushing his teeth?

In his inspired state of mind Maximus cranked up the radio, pulled out of the parking lot, and started off in the direction of the hotel, periodically lifting the thermos of coffee from the cupholder between the two front seats to take a sip.

If you’ve ever stayed in the Nevsky Palace Hotel in Petersburg you know that it’s located right on Nevsky Prospect, just before it crosses Liteyny. It was too early for there to be much traffic, and Maximus made it to the hotel in under thirty minutes. But there were no parking spots left on Nevsky. As he passed the hotel on the opposite side of the street, Maximus spotted an open space right in front of the entrance, but by the time he U-turned at the stoplight and wheeled back, it had been already taken by a long, sleek white limousine.

“What the devil?” For the second time that morning Maximus blurted out the name of the unclean spirit, and slipped his automobile in between the limousine and a bus stop. He waited ten minutes, until it was precisely the time he’d agreed to meet the Dutch visitors, then clicked on his hazards, got out, locked the car, and made his way into the hotel lobby.

They weren’t down yet. Maximus paced back and forth by the glass doors, checking at the end of each lap to be sure his car was all right. A bus could come along and crush his tiny vehicle at any moment. Or else the demonic hordes of the traffic police could summon their hellish tow truck, every driver’s nightmare, and drag his darling off to the impoundment lot… from which it would be about as difficult to retrieve as to extract a soul from Hades after it had made its descent.

At last three thin, young-looking men appeared at the front desk and began to check out. Maximus recognized them immediately and tried to catch their eye, smiling, moving closer, holding out his right hand:

“Good morning!” he said in his best English. “My name is Maximus, I’m taking you from here to our office.”

“Oh, great! Hello, I’m Peter. You wrote me several e-mails.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you, Peter.”

“Nice to meet you too, Maximus. Here are my two colleagues, Nick and Joseph.”

“Hello, Nick! Nice to meet you, Joseph.”

The two silent Dutch colleagues smiled broadly at him, baring their glistening white metal-and-ceramic-capped teeth.

“My car is right here, near the entrance. The only problem is your luggage. I’m afraid my car is too small for three big suitcases, if you have any.”

“Ah, no worry. See, these bags are all we have.”

“Oh, fantastic! You are traveling light!”

“It’s true.”

The Dutchmen were indeed traveling light, just three small carry-ons. Maximus tucked the bags in his minuscule trunk, hustled his guests into the car, and set off. The three visitors spent the entire trip to the office chattering loudly in their own language, which Maximus didn’t understand. They only reverted to English when they had one of the standard tourist questions for their driver:

“Do you always have traffic like this?”

“What you see now we call the open road. Real traffic will start in couple of hours.”

“Oh, horrible! Nick and Joseph have to fly back to Europe this evening.”

“They’d better plan to leave extra time before departure. And you?”

“Me? I’m going to Moscow. I have a ticket for the train tonight.”

That meant that the two dumber ones would go back to Europe today, and Petya would head for Moscow on the night train. Which one of them would take the pills? How would they do it, and where would they take them? Well, thought Maximus, everything will become clear at the office.

Three people would be meeting with the Dutch visitors: the Import Director, Diana Anatolyevna—whose acquaintance we’ve already made; the Commerce Director; and someone from Marketing. Maximus was not invited. Management decided what, how much, and how, to import; all the Import Department did was carry out the orders that came down from Management, whatever it took.