Let's Put the Future Behind Us: a Novel by Jack Womack

Author:Jack Womack
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 1996-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

“Even now, I like to come in and fix dinner myself for my men,” Nadze said, grinning as if he were deliriously happy. “I was a cook in the Army, but that is not the place for gourmandizing, as I don’t have to tell you.” He strutted through the kitchen with the air of an admiral visiting a new-christened battle cruiser. I couldn’t help but imagine how displeased Ludmilla would be when told of the spotlessness of the facilities. “Maxim Alexeich, I would like to get your opinion.”

“Concerning?”

“Do you believe that if two parties enter into a formal arrangement, both parties should thereafter aspire at all times to fulfill the requirements of that agreement? Does this not seem to you inarguably sensible?”

“Without question,” I said. “The smallest child would understand.”

“But if one party fails to live up to his responsibilities, this could be problematic, yes?”

“It stands to follow.”

Mels stared into the glass window of an oven door, seeming to think it a television. Nadze picked up a butcher’s knife and a sharpening stone and began to whet the utensil as he continued to speak. “Now, Dima. If one party not only fails to live up to the requirements of the agreement but actively works to the detriment of the same as well, very big problems must arise, don’t you think?”

The walls and doors of the room must have been extremely thick; although the dining hall was not ten meters from where we were, the only audible sound I noted in the interval between question and answer was the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. “I’m not sure I understand, Lavrenty,” Dmitry said. “What is your point?”

“Dima, do you have a low opinion of the intelligence of those with whom you work?”

“Why ask such a question?”

Nadze laid down the knife and stone. “What happens to the mouse who thinks he outwits the cat?”

“Lavrenty, I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

“No, no,” Nadze said, “we found you. We know who you are, Dima, and what you’ve done. We’re quite aware of unfortunate actions you’ve committed in the past. We’ve been quite aware for some time.”

Dmitry did well, keeping his face free of emotion, but I foresaw that he would not be able to do so indefinitely. “What actions?”

“You remember Konstantin Iremashvili? Arrested in the railroad scandal? Executed as an example to the people for theft of socialist property? No? Your partners must remember him, Dima. They facilitated the warrants against him.”

“Who was Iremashvili?” he asked. “The name is unfamiliar—”

“My cousin,” Nadze said, sitting down next to a meter-wide cutting board. “Maxim Alexeich, allow me to compliment you and your firm. You performed a superlative job for Dima. If we hadn’t known who he was before we entered into this arrangement, we might never have found out afterward, thanks to your excellent work. A shame it went for naught.”

Dmitry had no immediate response—I don’t know that I would have, either, had I been in his situation. Of course, at that point I had no idea yet how dire my own situation might be.

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