Art: Iced Web by Robert Ferrier
AN EASY CHAT ABOUT NOTHING
My wife always thought that someday I’d be a big success. I taught Russian literature and linguistics at the local college and held seminars every other weekend to make some extra money. Then came the seventies, Brezhnev’s time, dangerous like a deadly marshland, when everybody had to make a choice, and mine wasn’t the wisest one. Despite my reputation as a recluse, I still held regular gatherings in my apartment to entertain close friends and colleagues, and they didn’t notice that I, as their usual host, wasn’t talking much. Not my wife though. “What happened to you, honey?” she asked once. “Did you swallow your tongue suddenly?” I kept silent. Of course I could make an effort to be smart and funny; it’s just I had the feeling that the things I really wanted to discuss I couldn’t.
I was in my late-twenties then, healthy and still ambitious.
Time passed. I met plenty of people every day, killers and those who ordered the killings; all sorts of things happened around me, but as soon as I stepped onto the porch of my apartment I didn’t feel like talking about it.
More than once I thanked God for television.
When in fall of 1980 I was invited by the KGB office for a chat, it was a shock: KGB? To ignore the invitation was not an option. The representative turned out to be Major Anatoly Orlov, a man in early thirties, polite and a good listener. He knew a lot about my work, personal life, but talked about it casually. Then he suggested lunch at the nearby café, and I agreed, and for the next hour there was just an easy chat about nothing.
Anatoly called a month later and requested another meeting, this time in an apartment on Garden Street. “I need to check my schedule,” I said. “I’ve taken the liberty,” he interrupted. “Your first class doesn’t start till 11:45 a.m.”
… It was a nine-story apartment building behind the very popular downtown bookstore. I took the stairs. My hands were sweaty; my head spun. Standing in front of the slightly opened door, I remembered suddenly Anatoly’s remark during our lunch together: “The mill-stones of history never stop,” he told me, “that’s why it’s very important not to get caught between them.”
I pushed the red button.
“Come in, it’s open!”
Anatoly stood next to wall-to-wall bookshelves with an unlit cigar, smiling. “Please sit down,” said. “A cigar?”
“I actually quit,” I responded hurriedly. “About a year ago…”
“I’ll take it as a no, but don’t ever lie to me again,” he interrupted and offered a job…
“You’re asking me to betray my own people?” I asked after he was done with his thorough explanation.
“To defend the interests of your country is never considered a betrayal. I’m not asking you to kill people…”
“Don’t see any difference!”
“You’ll be a ghost, Lazarus, an invisible man. Our organization is interested in a certain circle of people with whom you had established a lasting relationship. That’s all.”
“A risk free job, isn’t it?”
“Nothing is completely risk free, professor…”
“I’m actually a college lecturer…”
“Not for long… Any interest in advantages and privileges?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“To avoid punishment? Not even a slim one.”
“My family?”
“See you on Monday, professor?” said Anatolii ignoring my question.
Out of the building, I went to the nearby park and played a couple of timed chess games before my first class of the week.
… Next Monday I awoke early and took a long shower. To go or not to go? A door slammed, then another: wife and kids were gone. 7:45 a.m. I dried myself, brushed my teeth, breakfasted. At 8:45 a.m. I left my apartment. Cloudy sky, freshness in the air, magic of chlorophyll. I went on foot and soon was at the bookstore. Once inside, I asked for a telephone.
“Please be quick, comrade,” said the clerk.
“I will,” I assured and dialed the number.
“I’m listening,” Anatoly answered after a few rings.
“This is Lazarus, I’m not coming.”
“It’s very understandable.”
“Hopefully, we’ll have another lunch someday.”
“I doubt it,” said Anatolii, and the line went dead.
I thanked the clerk, left the bookstore and began walking down the boulevard, an unknown creature whose life had just changed forever. In a small restaurant I ordered some coffee, closed my eyes and imagined Anatolii’s rare anger.
“Your coffee, teacher.”
“Thank you, Konstantin.”
“Is your family alright?”
“Everybody’s fine, thank you for asking.”
“Family is without doubt the most important thing in life…”
“Is it too early for a shot of cognac, Konstantin?” I interrupted.
“Well, it depends…”
“I’ll have one then.”
“Here you go, teacher!”
I thanked him and took a sip: the drink burned my throat.
“More coffee, teacher?” asked the barman
“Unfortunately, I have to go, Konstantin,” I paid and left.
I walked fast, feeling younger, lighter somewhat. The sun fought its way through the clouds, brighter than ever. I walked into the classroom, thinking: thank God, I never discussed it with my family.
… A month passed. On Monday, after we finished watching the late night movie, my wife was ready to go to bed, and I promised to join her after a quick cigarette.
“Are you alright, honey?” she asked.
“As alright as I can be.”
“I can change that for much better.”
“How about a rain-check?”
“Don’t take too many though.”
On the balcony, with a cigarette and a glass of wine, I tried to understand why I felt restless all of a sudden. It wasn’t the food or the movie. What then? A black “Volga” stopped under a streetlight, three men got out and walked briskly to the entrance of my apartment building.
I finished my wine and put out the cigarette.
A few minutes later I heard the impatient ringing of the doorbell, followed by loud knocks.
They came for me.
About the author:
Lazar Trubman is a college professor who immigrated to the United States in 1990 as a political refugee. In 2017, after teaching linguistics and literature for twenty-six years at several universities in Europe and the United States, he settled in North Carolina to dedicate his time to writing. His short stories and essays have recently appeared in Adelaide Magazine and Spadina Literary Review.
Art: Iced Web by Robert Ferrier
In the artist’s words:
Robert Ferrier is a retired university research administrator living in Norman. He received a BA in Journalism and an MBA from the University of Oklahoma. He has published two novels at Amazon Kindle ebooks. His photo, “Magnolia Morning,” was the cover of the Summer, 2016, Dragon Poet Review. His photo, “Sunflower,” was the cover of the Summer, 2017, Dragon Poet Review. “Diagnosis in Stasis,” was the cover of the Fall, 2012, Blood and Thunder, OU College of Medicine. His poems have appeared in, Dragon Poet Review, Red River Review, Oklahoma Today, Blood & Thunder, Crosstimbers, Westview, Mid-America Poetry Review, The Exhibitionist and Walt’s Corner of the Long Islander. In 2007 the Norman Galaxy of Writers nominated him for Poet Laureate of Oklahoma. His influences in poetry have been shaped by poets who write clear, passionate verse: Howard Nemerov, Billy Collins, Pablo Neruda, Ted Kooser, Elizabeth Bishop, Ruth Stone, and Seamus Heaney. In photography, he has developed increasing interest in abstracts.