Евгений Водолазкин - Solovyov and Larionov

It is possible that Petr Terentyevich might have backed down (meaning he very likely would have backed down) under different circumstances, but the struggle over the move seemed like an unexpected struggle for his very life. He exhibited an inflexibility that did not really typify his relationship with his wife. He had his name removed from government registries (for which his wife cursed him, daily), resigned from his previous job, and anxiously groped at the lymph nodes around his armpits.

Galina Artemovna, who had already mourned her husband mentally, even before his Crimean trip (she regarded his illness in all seriousness), was perplexed by Petr Terentyevich’s obstinacy. The hope of maintaining the housing that was provided to him as a civil defense representative (and, according to rumors, an employee of certain other government agencies), reconciled her to her husband’s possible death. Frightened by his feverishness to move, she stealthily clarified her right to their aforementioned living space and bitterly established that in the event of her husband’s death or departure, the real estate would automatically return to the government. Galina Artemovna’s stance softened as a result. She preferred departure to death.

The Kozachenko family initially received only a room in a dormitory through the Magarach Wine Institute. Vexed, Petr Terentyevich began seeking out support from other government agencies and even offered to compile reports regarding intellectual ferment within the establishment that had hired him. Those government agencies reacted fairly listlessly. According to information from senior employees who had contact with Petr Terentyevich, all that was fermenting at the Magarach Institute was young Massandra wine. The intellects at the institute resided in a state of complete serenity. In and of itself, however, Petr Terentyevich’s vigilance was acknowledged as laudable and so, as a form of incentive, he was assigned a room that had freed up in a communal apartment.

‘And they moved in with us,’ sighed Zoya.

She straightened her sheer dress and Solovyov’s gaze settled unwittingly on her knees. The first evening breeze touched the crown of the Chekhov cypresses.

The Kozachenkos had packed light for their move. They sold their furniture in their native Ternopol before heading into the unknown. All they carried into the general’s spacious room was three folding beds, several basins of various sizes, and a ficus purchased at a Yalta flea market. They hung a portrait of Ukrainian poet Taras G. Shevchenko (1814–1861) in the corner furthest from the window, underneath Ukrainian towels embroidered in traditional red and draped on the wall. A great deal of empty space remained.

The sense of expanse was enhanced because their neighbor Ivan Mikhailovich Kolpakov had removed all items from the general’s room the day before the Kozachenko family moved in. This operation for seizing the deceased’s property was conducted with military rapidity. One night, Ivan Mikhailovich unglued from the general’s door the strip of paper bearing an official seal and, with his wife, Yekaterina Ivanovna Kolpakov, aiding and abetting, transferred everything into their room, right down to the general’s glasses and Grigory V. Ursulyak’s book The Stone Foot . Back in the day, the general had agreed to browse through the book, at Nina Fedorovna’s request.

An oak cabinet with carved two-headed eagles presented particular complications: the couple found themselves unable to lift it. After an hour and a half of fruitless efforts (a blow was inflicted upon Yekaterina Ivanovna’s back, for her lowly lifting capacity), they managed to drag out the fairly mutilated cabinet after placing plastic lids under it. Yekaterina Ivanovna meticulously swept the floor in the general’s room.

Needless to say, the actions undertaken by the couple ended up being too naïve not to be disclosed. However, they ended up being disclosed, at the very least, because of the cabinet’s magnitude: the door to the Kolpakovs’ small room would not close. The newly visible area contained stacked beds and bundles of books, which the Kolpakovs never read. Yekaterina Ivanovna’s concluding attempt to cover their tracks certainly could not have deluded anyone.

The civil defense worker’s inquisitive mind imagined what had happened in detail. After accusing the Kolpakovs of appropriating property that had been transferred to the state, he announced that he intended to inform the state of the loss inflicted. The undiplomatic Kolpakov immediately inflicted a blow upon Petr Terentyevich’s face. The boy, Taras, who was standing in the doorway of the allocated room, began to cry. Infliction of serious bodily harm was added to appropriation of government property.

Ivan Kolpakov felt cornered and drank himself into a stupor. And, oh, was he amazed when Petr Terentyevich himself woke him up in the morning, a glass of beer in his hand. Kolpakov might possibly have considered his neighbor an extraterrestrial when he looked at the iridescent bruise around his eye. At first, Ivan Mikhailovich even deflected the hand holding the glass. Only after drinking the beer and coming to grips with his initial agitation did he prove capable of hearing out Kozachenko.

Petr Terentyevich let it be known too that there were potential options in the matter. The deceased’s items that were crammed into the Kolpakovs’ room—Kozachenko’s hand soared over the alienated belongings—should be divided evenly among the conflicting parties. As a prominent item, the cabinet should be given to the state, to avoid a scandal. In addition (and here Kozachenko’s voice took on a prosecutorial tone), the general’s books were being transferred from the Kolpakovs’ portion to the Kozachenko family, as compensation for the maiming that had been inflicted.

Kolpakov approved Petr Terentyevich’s draft treaty unconditionally. The items were divided in half, the Kozachenkos took full possession of the books (with the exception of The Stone Foot , whose title had intrigued Kolpakov), and the cabinet was offered to the state.

The state initially displayed interest in the cabinet but was forced to refuse it in the end. The cabinet had been brought in before the apartment was renovated to accommodate more residents and now the cabinet simply was not fit for removal. It turned out that the entrance to the apartment had diminished during the elapsed decades of the Soviet regime. Kolpakov refused to keep an item that hindered closing the door, and it was reinstalled in its previous territory after Petr Terentyevich’s lengthy doubts concerning the presence of the two-headed eagles.

The fate of the trophy literature proved more complex. After determining that there was not one single edition of Taras Shevchenko among the general’s books, Petr Terentyevich lost interest in them and furtively brought them to a second-hand bookstore. He kept sulkily silent afterwards, when Nina Fedorovna returned and persistently questioned the neighbors about the general’s books. When the truth came out later, Nina Fedorovna rushed off to the bookstore, to at least buy up what was left. Unfortunately, not very much remained.

As for The Stone Foot , Ivan Kolpakov attempted to begin reading it but was quickly disenchanted. Being unfamiliar with the basics of versification, he could not comprehend why the texts inside were arranged in columns. Ursulyak’s imagery turned out to be equally unfamiliar to him: it was, as a matter of fact, pretty unadorned. Finally, he could not ascertain why the publication that had found its way to him had been given its name. Without making any arrangements with Petr Terentyevich, he brought the book to the secondhand bookstore where, it would seem, its story came to an end, but habent sua fata libelli . [1] Books have their own destinies (Latin).