The Smart Girl

To get to the unit, they had to walk all through the cardiology department. Everything here shocked Nina who was not familiar with the realities of public general hospitals. The crudely painted walls were dark and peeling with time and neglect, the ragged linoleum bore some horrible-looking spots. The wards, designed for six, were packed, and out in the corridor stood more beds with sick people, some of them on a drip. From one of the wards, a strong smell of urine was coming in combination with some other nasty stench; in another ward, someone was groaning loudly. At the nurses’ desk, two young nurses were chatting gaily, apparently not in the least concerned about the patients and their problems. Nina was appalled by the thought that her papa was lying, helpless and possibly dying, in such surroundings.

In the critical care unit, a fat middle-aged nurse blocked their way. When they explained who they were, she said irritably that there was no one to tell them anything about their patient yet and snapped, “Wait.” They settled down on hard corridor benches to wait.

Lydia Grigorievna said, “Did you notice…? I think I saw an ATM on the ground floor.”

“What? What ATM?”

“We’re going to need money,” explained Lydia Grigorievna.

“But I didn’t take my card along!” Nina exclaimed worriedly.

“I did.”

Lydia Grigorievna set off to search for an ATM and after some time came back carrying a sum of money. For another hour though, there was no one to hand it to.

Finally, the doctor came out. He was rather young, but unkempt and bald, with the face of a drinker.

The women rushed to him.

“It’s a stroke,” he said. “Rather a bad one.”

“But… He is going to live, isn’t he? Tell us he is,” Lydia Grigorievna uttered in an altered voice.

Without looking at them, the doctor shook his head.

“There’s no telling yet. There is hope, though.”

Nina plucked up her spirit and said, “Look, the conditions are awful here! Can we transfer him to another hospital?”

The doctor glanced at her in surprise. “You can if you mean to kill him.”

Lydia Grigorievna pushed Nina aside.

“We’re begging you, doctor, – please, do everything possible,” she said lowering her voice. “We will be very grateful. For now, please, accept this.”

She stepped right up to the doctor and slipped some banknotes wrapped up in paper into the pocket of his surgical coat.

“Well, with my salary, I have to accept whatever I am offered,” the man said without much enthusiasm. “But to be honest, it’s not me but your patient’s system that calls the tune now.”

He left, and they settled down to wait.

The nurse was displeased. “What’s the use of your sitting it out here? Go home and come back in the morning.” But going home was out of the question for them.

A clock on the wall counted time silently – five o’clock, six o’clock, seven o’clock in the evening. Nina and Lydia Grigorievna were fidgeting uneasily on the uncomfortable benches. Immersed each in their own thoughts, they hardly talked. Nina was trying to take in what was happening. Papa has had a stroke? He can die? But it’s impossible! As once her mind had been unable to accept her mother’s death, it was now unable to accept the danger that her father faced. Blocking the unthinkable, her brain brought up all sorts of rubbish – that the quarterly reports were soon due in her bank, and without Ignatiy Savelievich around, she was in for a rough spell; that she was hardly going to attend the driving classes which she had subscribed to; and that she needed different shoes for that dress.

When midnight was close, the nurse asked them again, “You are what – going to stick out here the whole night?” They assured her that they were. The nurse shook her head and sighed, “All right, then, come along.” She led them to the nurses’ room where she offered them some tea and biscuits. Then she pointed at two empty cots, “You can lie down here,” and gave them some pillows and blankets. “The roster says three nurses in each shift, see?” she said with vexation. “But one is off sick while another is having a baby. And I’m here, sweating my guts out for the whole bunch!”

Nina thought that she would not be able to have a wink of sleep, but the moment she laid her head down on the pillow she flaked out.

She was woken up by Lydia Grigorievna, “Ninochka, the doctor is coming any minute now.”

Nina jumped up. It was six in the morning. She had barely freshened up at a sink when the doctor came in. At the end of his shift, he looked even less attractive.

“Everything’s all right,” he said without any emotion. “The worst part is over. He is going to live, and there is hope that the main functions will be restored. It’s going to take time, of course.”

Nina and Lydia Grigorievna listened to that, clasping each other’s hands. Nina felt weak in the knees. Only now she realized how strong her fear for her father had been.

Afterwards, when Yevgeniy Borisovich was taken to expensive clinics and shown to luminaries of medicine, it became clear that the shabby doctor from the public hospital had done his job well, and it was due to him that Nina’s father retained speech and control of his body.

It was not until several days later that Nina and Lydia Grigorievna learned what had happened at the ill-fated session of the project acceptance committee. On the day after the stroke Yevgeniy Borisovich came around, and they were allowed short visits, but the doctor ordered that they avoid any topics that might agitate the patient. Finally, Nina’s father told them everything himself.

The review procedure started auspiciously. It had been the fear of Nina’s father that the head of the technical inspection would not let him present his project in full brilliance by finding faults and interfering with his presentation. But the chief technical inspector was absent, and his proxy was as silent as a fish. The other members of the committee seemed to be in a benevolent mood.

Yevgeniy Borisovich got carried away and gave them a whole lecture. He was especially glad that he was able to draw the committee’s attention to some ingenious technical solutions which were his brainchildren. Thanks to those solutions, the object was built to higher standards of safety and at the same time, some economy was obtained.

After the presentation, a field review of the object was scheduled. On the site, though, the members of the committee behaved in an indolent and disinterested way – viewed everything quite formally, without prying, clearly impatient to wind up and go to lunch.

The meal took place in a modest café in the municipal administrative building. In former times, it had been a canteen where the staff of the district Soviet administration had had their lunches, and the establishment had not changed much since. Grey-haired female cooks served the same cabbage salads, borsch and meat rissoles as twenty five years before. Nina’s father was glad to see the members of the committee eat with appetite. He could not eat anything himself, the food sticking in his throat. He was watching the others closely trying to figure out whether everything was going well or whether somebody was bearing some kind of grudge against the project or himself personally.

In that same café, he had once drunk vodka with the chairman of the committee – they had ‘washed down’ a closed contract. Now, emboldened, Nina’s father mentioned that episode to the man, “Do you remember you and me landing here for a…” He checked himself and bit his tongue realizing suddenly that it was indiscrete of him to bring up memories like that, and the chairman might not like it. However, the chairman did not seem to mind – he smiled and said, “Yeah, that was a nice little session we had here.”

A bomb went off after the lunch. The committee gathered in the conference room.

“Well, my dear colleagues, go ahead, have your say,” said the chairman.

The technical inspection man took the floor and asked some questions. The questions were not of a dangerous kind – Yevgeniy Borisovich had anticipated them, and answered each with confidence.

A pause followed.

The chairman prompted, “So? … No more questions?”

Everyone kept silent. Then the chairman took the floor himself.

“Well… Isn’t it sad, my dear colleagues? It’s really sad. None of you seems to see that the project is almost completely failed.”

Nina’s father who had already prepared to hear a favorable conclusion which was the chairman’s business to make took some time to grasp what the man was saying. And the chairman was saying that the company of Yevgeniy Borisovich had messed up all the works and failed to deliver on the contract it had made with the city.

The members of the committee were motionless and speechless. The chairman took out a note-book and opened a file containing the documents on the project. While leafing through one and the other, he started pouring down charges. It appeared that the company had violated certain regulations that were in force in the construction industry, and failed to observe the environmental law. The technological solutions which Nina’s father was so proud of had not gone through proper certification, and thus, implementing them could be classified as arbitrary practice in breach of the law. And so on, and so forth – over two dozen points.

All that was total rubbish. The regulations, adopted forty years ago, had nothing to do with the modern realities. They were universally violated, as it was impossible to build anything otherwise. In contrast, the environmental law was brand new, but it was also universally violated because of its being totally unrealistic. In fact, the object built by Nina’s father was more environment-friendly than most objects of the same category. It was true that his inventions had not been formally certified, but their merits were obvious to any specialist, and the necessary certificates could be tagged on post factum, as was common practice.

The chairman of the committee, himself an engineer, knew all that perfectly well. And yet, as if playing some evil game, he went on slashing the project, distorting shamelessly the true facts.

Summarizing, he said, turning to Nina’s father, “You let us down, Yevgeniy Borisovich – you did, in a big way. I didn’t expect that of you. Now I really don’t know how all this mess can be sorted out. Honestly, if it were someone else but you, I would just kick them out and throw the book at them. But out of my good feelings for you…” His face and tone expressed his righteous indignation, and at the same time, his wise humaneness. He turned to the members of the committee, “I believe, we should grant our contractor a deferral so he can fix the said faults. Two months must be sufficient. In any case, we cannot afford a longer delay. So, I move a two-month deferral. Will the members of the committee vote, please.”

The ‘faults’ that the chairman had listed could not be fixed in two years, let alone two months. That was sheer mockery. Trying to protest, Nina’s father opened his mouth, but no words issued from it.

In total silence, the members of the committee raised their hands one by one. That was the end of the project and the end of the company of Yevgeniy Borisovich Kisel.

Even if there had been some speaking going on around, Nina’s father would not have heard it because of a furious, deafening pulse that was pounding in his ears. Then a voice in his head said loudly, “Gradbank.”

That word struck him like a sledge hammer. He saw the chairman and all the members of the committee slide most weirdly backwards and upwards. The briefcase which he had been clasping dropped out of his hand, and the papers got scattered about. Then Yevgeniy Borisovich saw a table leg just before his nose and realized that he was lying on the floor. Then everything went dark.

Chapter 9

Yevgeniy Borisovich was recovering slowly. First, the danger to his life was over, then he regained his memory, and gradually, his speech. He was in control of his body, although his left arm and left leg did not obey him very well.

He was transferred from the critical care unit to a regular ward. The money had its effect, and he was placed in a small, two-bed room rather than a common, six-bed one. For a neighbor, Nina’s father had a man who had had a bypass surgery. The man was recovering, too, so the atmosphere in the room was not bad.

Nina and Lydia Grigorievna visited their patient every day – by turns, or sometimes, together. The doctor hardly talked to them – he had a lot of new concerns on his mind. “It’s all right,” he would reply to their questions. “Everything should be all right now. You know, you should consider yourself lucky – things could’ve been much worse. You’re doing the right thing by visiting him. He needs to be talked to. But of course, he must not be agitated.”

Lydia Grigorievna established her own order in the room – she cleaned it herself, replaced the grey, threadbare hospital sheets with some good ones which she brought from home, put some flowers in a vase and then changed them every day. “All that is important. Small things like that are very important,” she kept telling Nina. And, of course, she was feeding Yevgeniy Borisovich herself – having agreed the menu with the doctor, she was cooking everything at home and bringing the food to the hospital in small pots.

Following the doctor’s recommendation, Lydia Grigorievna did a lot of talking to her husband; in fact, she would have done that without any recommendations. Sitting by his bed and holding his hand, she talked for hours – about the weather, her cooking plans for the next day, and so forth – just about anything that came to her head.

Yevgeniy Borisovich hardly ever made any response – it was hard for him to speak, and maybe, he was not inclined to, either. Without taking away his hand, he kept gazing at the ceiling – either listening to his wife, or being immersed in some thoughts of his own. After he told Lydia Grigorievna and Nina what had happened at the committee session, he never talked about that again – in fact, he never referred to the project, his company or anything that was outside the hospital walls. Whenever he opened his mouth, he spoke about something very specific and momentary such as another pillow he wanted to be put under his head, the meal brought by his wife or a sparrow chirping outside the window. Lydia Grigorievna kept watching his face anxiously trying to detect signs of mental anguish or depression. However, the man’s face did not reflect anything at all – it looked aloof and serene.

Nina did not possess Lydia Grigorievna’s talent for idle talk. Also, she had had little contact with her father in recent years and was at a loss not knowing what to talk to him about. She tried reading to him instead – she read stuff from papers and magazines or just anything that fell into her hands. Her father did not seem to mind her reading but he hardly listened to her and barely responded when she said goodbye to go home.

When the first fear for the life of Yevgeniy Borisovich had passed, the question arose which nobody wanted to let into their mind let alone discuss openly. The company. What was going to become of it? What were they supposed to do? Nina’s father would not breathe a word about it – as if he had clean forgotten that he owned a business in which he had invested years of his life and all his means.

Nina phoned Nikolai Nikolayevich, her father’s assistant in the company. That was an engineer of the same age and the same background as Yevgeniy Borisovich – formerly, the two had worked in the syndicate together. Nikolai Nikolayevich was a pure technician – he did not know the first thing about business. When Yevgeniy Borisovich was in the office, the man was always on some site or other, so Nina barely knew him. With Nina’s father in hospital, Nikolai Nikolayevich took over the company’s current affairs.

When she learned that the company was not left unattended, Nina calmed down a little. In contrast, Nikolai Nikolayevich spoke very anxiously. He asked Nina for an immediate meeting.

The moment Nina stepped into the office, the engineer rushed to her. “What a misfortune, Nina Yevgenievna! We here are out of our mind with worry for Yevgeniy Borisovich! Believe me, not only we respect your father – we love him, too…”

“Yes, sure, thank you, Nikolai Nikolayevich,” Nina replied absent-mindedly. She had a lot on her mind and was not in the mood for exchanging sympathies. “Tell me, how are things with the company? How are the works going on?”

“The works…” The engineer sighed heavily. “Why don’t we sit down, Nina Yevgenievna?”

He sank into a chair. Nina sat beside him.

Nikolai Nikolayevich put Nina in the picture. According to him, he had managed to maintain the works on all the projects except for the main one – the one that had been killed by the committee. Nothing was being done on the big project, and nobody knew what should or could be done.

“You know, Nina Yevgenievna, I’ve visited Yevgeniy Borisovich in the hospital. You didn’t know? I have, they let me in for five minutes. I expected him to give me some instructions.”

“Did he?” asked Nina.

“At first, I thought he did not recognize me,” the engineer recounted dejectedly. “But then I saw that he did – he even called me by my name. But he didn’t say a word about work. Do you know what he said to me? He said that I should take care of my health – relax, take long walks… As if I had time for walks now!”

The man kept silent for a while, then plucked up his courage and asked, “Tell me, Nina Yevgenievna, what’s going to happen now? The company is in for shutdown? The men are going to lose their jobs?”

Nina had expected those questions, but she did not have any answers to them.

“I don’t know, Nikolai Nikolayevich. Honestly, I don’t know. I hope, things will sort themselves out soon. For the time being, please carry on doing what you can.”

Nikolai Nikolayevich nodded sadly.

“Of course, of course. But here’s the thing…”

He explained the problem to Nina. Her father had not left anyone a power of attorney necessary to manage the company. Without one, Nikolai Nikolayevich could not withdraw any money from the company’s bank account in order even to pay the employees the wages they had earned.

“Nina Yevgenievna, you’re visiting him often. Could you possibly settle that?”

Nina promised to see about that.

When she was about to leave, she said on an impulse, “Nikolai Nikolayevich, strictly between you and me – the company will possibly be sold. Can you make up a list of employees who you think must be kept?”

“So that’s it,” muttered Nikolai Nikolayevich. “That’s how things are. All right… I get it.”

Stunned by what he had heard, he dragged himself to a desk, took a leaf of paper and put down a dozen names.

“Thank you,” Nina said, taking the leaf from him.

She took a pen and put in the name of Nikolai Nikolayevich at the top of the list.

“Listen to me, Nikolai Nikolayevich,” said Nina. “The terms of the sale, including those concerning the employees, will depend on what state the company is in. That’s why it’s important that the business should not fall apart. Forget about the main project but do whatever it takes to keep the rest of them going. Do you understand me?”

The engineer nodded despondently.

Some decision had to be made – there was no point in putting it off. The only solution was to sell the company to Gradstroiinvest. That was as clear as day to Nina, but it was also clear that her father would never agree to that. He was still the only decision-maker of his company, but could he, in his condition, assess the situation correctly? “Of course, not,” Nina answered herself with bitterness. “Even before the stroke, he could hardly assess anything correctly. Oh, papa, papa…”

Her father hardly ever spoke about business matters – apparently, they did not concern him in the least, as if his disease had freed him from all earthly worries. Meanwhile, urgent measures were necessary to rescue what little capital he had left in the form of his company. Nikolai Nikolayevich was only capable of keeping up the current operations – he had neither the ability nor the authority to make strategic changes. But even if Yevgeniy Borisovich himself returned to work, what could he do? Acting through its bloodhound Gradstroiinvest, Gradbank had won a clear-cut victory over him so that no resistance was possible. Clearly, Gradbank was able to strip his company of all its projects, and if that had not been done yet, it was because Gradbank was preserving the business for itself. Still, Gradbank would not wait for much longer.

Nina realized that she had to act, but how? Her father was hiding in his decease, refusing to face the reality, and the doctor strictly forbade agitating him. Knowing her father, Nina could not imagine herself bringing up the question of selling the company – it would be the worst possible stress for him. It appeared that she only had two choices – she either withdrew, thus letting her father’s company dwindle to nothing in no time, or tried to get him to agree to selling the company at the risk of… yes, at the risk of killing him.

Nina was gripped in that impossible choice as in a vice. The worst of it was that she seemed to be doomed to become a traitress. If she made her father sell the company, he would never forgive her. And if she let the company go bust, she would never forgive herself.

She phoned in sick and spent a whole day at home. In fact, she was sick. Her continual mental anguish gave her a bad headache which aspirin would not relieve. An idle day filled with headache was followed by a sleepless night. About three in the morning, tired of tossing and turning in her bed, she shifted to the chair and sat there until dawn, her hands gripping the arms of the chair while her eyes were fixed on the mutely flickering TV set. Never in her life had she felt so lonely. Who was there for her to turn to? She would like to ask advice of Ignatiy Savelievich but what could her colleague do to help her? He had already done a lot. And what right did she have to burden an old, sick man with her concerns? Her friends, whom Nina was seeing occasionally, were useless in such matters. Nina thought of Igor, but Igor had long vanished from her life. Had he ever been part of her life, anyway? Nina was in need of somebody strong and wise to lean on and cry out all her woes to. Somebody who would soothe her and sort out everything for her. Yet there was no such person. She did not have anyone – she was alone in the entire world – and loneliness pierced her like a steel needle.

Nina came to the hospital and found Lydia Grigorievna there. Her father was sleeping, and his wife was busy embroidering his initials on the breast-pocket of his new silk pajamas.

“Nina, are you all right? You look awful,” the woman asked worriedly at the sight of Nina’s pallid face.

“It’s nothing, Lydia Grigorievna. I just didn’t sleep well. I need to talk to you,” Nina said in a whisper trying not to wake her father.

Lydia Grigorievna nodded understandingly, put aside the pajamas, and whispered, “Let’s go downstairs. I was just going to have a coffee.”

They went down to the cafeteria, took a cup of bad coffee each, and sat at a table covered by a none-too-clean table cloth.

Lydia Grigorievna was stirring her coffee with a spoon waiting for Nina to speak.

“Lydia Grigorievna, we need to do something,” said Nina. “I mean the company.”

“Company! Let it burn!” Lydia Grigorievna cried out jerking up her head. Clearly, Nina touched what was a sore point for the woman. “This damned company brings nothing but misfortunes. How happy we could be without it!”

Lydia Grigorievna tossed down her spoon in a fit of temper. It was the first time Nina saw the woman in such agitation.

“Nina, you don’t think I married your father for money, do you? I don’t want any money. I used to live on kopecks, I’m not afraid of poverty.”

“Lydia Grigorievna, please, calm down,” Nina said and, on an impulse, stroked the woman’s hand.

When her father’s wife had calmed down a little, Nina said the important thing. “Lydia Grigorievna, I think that it’s necessary to sell the company, but I don’t know how to persuade papa to do it.”

“Sell – to whom?” asked Lydia Grigorievna. It turned out that she knew nothing of the proposal by Gradstroiinvest.