SELENA ENTERPRISES, Toronto, Canada. All rights reserved
The novel first published in the magazine THE NEWS OF THE NEW WORLD, North Carolina, USA, 2001/2002
Reprinted with permission
The only all-nighter in Smallton, "Fun On a Bun", was full to capacity. To the accompaniment of ingratiating music, a threadbare stripper on the podium was doing some semblance of a sexual dance, whispering sluggishly:
"I want you, I want you, I want you . . ."
However, the exhausted stripper"s face clearly indicated that the only thing she really wanted now was to take a good nap.
Jack squeezed between overcrowded tables and caught sight of a vacant spot in the corner.
"Do you mind if I take this seat?" he asked a gentlemen who was sitting at the table.
"No, I don"t. Only one condition applies. You owe me a drink. Arrival fee."
Jack"s tablemate was noticeably awash and in good humor. He was about 40-45 years old. At first sight, a heavy square chin, carefully cut dark hair grayish at the temples, a brand new Levis jeans suit and sharp-nosed stylish shoes suggested that he was a professional gigolo.
But the strangers eyes refuted this assumption. The eyes of the stranger were special. Wily sparkles and an ironic, smart look were noticeable even in the dim light and through the cloud of cigarette smoke. If one were to agree that the human eyes are a mirror of his soul, the owner of those eyes had a challenging one.
"Okay, I have no problem with it. Name your poison. Wine, gin, whiskey, beer?"
"And vodka too."
Jack stared at the stranger. He could not decide whether he was serious or kidding.
The gentleman smiled.
"Don"t be afraid, I"m kidding. No danger to your wallet. There is a joke: a family invites a new friend to dinner. The host opens his buffet bar and asks what the guest would like to drink. Cognac, or wine, or champagne, or beer? The guest looks at the array of the bottles, thinks for a second and then answers: "And vodka too . . ." By the way, my name is Nicholas. Or Nick. But since North Americans like to shorten everything that"s possible and impossible to shorten, you can call me simply Ni. Or even Mister N if you want."
Now Jack noticed that his new acquaintance was speaking with slight mild accent.
"I"m Jack. Jack Stanton. "
"I used to know one Jack. Jack-of-all-trades. He could do absolutely everything. But absolutely everything he did, he did absolutely lousily. You"re not from those Jacks, are you? What are you into?"
"Nothing exciting. Working for a napkin company. Testing new napkins."
"Must be pretty boring, huh?"
"Yes, not too much fun," Jack agreed.
His voice displayed no enthusiasm. Suddenly Jack again realized that actually he did not work anywhere anymore, that he did not live anywhere anymore, he remembered about his lost millions and could hardly keep his eyes dry.
Nick noticed that something was wrong.
"Hey, buddy, it looks like you"re experiencing some temporal problems. But believe me: life is much wiser than we are. Everything that is done, is done for the better. Today you may think - this is the end of the world. But tomorrow you"ll say: I wish it happened to me a long time ago. That"s the law of smart being number ten. Derived by me exclusively, all rights reserved. One day I"ll acquaint you with the rest of them. Cheer up. Now let"s go back to more pleasant things. So, what do we drink? Wine is madam"s beverage. Gin smells like perfume. Beer is too soft, vodka is too hard. How about a Russian Rembrandt?"
"Russian what?" Jack asked since from all the cocktails with Russian names he knew only Black Russian and White Russian.
"Okay, sit back and relax. I"ll be back shortly."
Nick went up to the bar counter and returned in a few minutes with a two shots of vodka, two bottles of beer and two glasses on a tray.
"This is an absolutely salubrious beverage recommended by the Provincial Health Association as an excellent tranquilizer for people under conditions of extreme stress and life pressure. A couple of Rembrandts and all your problems will disappear as morning fog on a sunny day."
After this introductory speech Nick filled two glasses with beer. Then he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and put it on the glass as if he was going to perform some magic. Then the pub magician soaked the middle of the handkerchief in beer and let the rest lie on the rim of the glass.
Nick noticed that Jack was watching this process with some apprehension and said:
"Don"t worry, this is an absolutely clean handkerchief. Brand new, never used. I keep it for delicatessen purposes only."
Then he slowly poured vodka on to the handkerchief and pulled the edges to straighten it out. Now the glass contained a double-color drink - yellow at the bottom and white at the top with clear separation line between two salubrious ingredients.
"Looks good," Jack said. "I assume it"s called Russian because of the vodka. And who"s Rembrandt? Doesn"t sound like a Russian."
"You"re right. This fellow was Dutch. He was a painter. Some people say not a bad one. Some say even a great one. I can"t confirm this, I"m not an expert. But a famous one, that"s for sure. Probably the Flemish picture-maker liked to savor this drink in his garden sitting with young Saskiya on his lap. But most likely, the unknown inventor of this magic beverage named it in this way because he discovered the resemblance of the resulting colors to the wonderful palette of the famous "Night Watch" author. Probably we"ll never know the exact answer, as we"ll never know who invented the wheel."
Nick raised his glass and proposed a toast:
"I wish we always would be wealthy but healthy rather than poor but sick."
After this toast, Nick lightly tapped his glass against Jack"s and gulped the contents as if he drank a glass of water. Jack closed his eyes and did the same.
Unexpectedly, he liked the feeling he experienced. The first portion of the drink was fairly strong but then the beer underneath softened the taste. When Jack finished his glass it felt like he was simply drinking straight beer as he always did.
"What do you think?" Nick asked when the apprentice finished his glass.
"Goes smoothly. That Rembrandt was a smart guy."
"I agree. Have a cigarette?" Nick suggested.
Jack had never smoked in his life, but he took a cigarette. Very soon he felt a pleasant warmth start traveling throughout entire body.
"And what do you do for living?" Jack asked as he tried to light a cigarette from the filter end.
"Me? Well, I am . . . I am a researcher and engineer," Nick answered as he changed Jack"s cigarette to the right position.
"Computer engineer?"
" No," Nick replied with a smile. "Computer engineering is as boring as napkin design. A computer is inanimate piece of iron. It has no brain or soul. So it"s not interesting to me. I"m an engineer of human souls. A free artist and independent psychologist. My favorite hobby is brain surgery. I love to vivisect human brains. Unfortunately, in most cases, the results are so frustrating . . . Well, I see the patient feels better. Time to repeat the medication."
The tablemates repeated the refreshing drink.
"And where are you from?" Jack asked. "You"ve got an accent. Are you Russian?"
Jack felt thawed and relaxed and with every minute his attitude to his new acquaintance became more positive.
"I am a citizen of the planet Earth. Yes, I was born in Russia. But I left my cradle-country a long time ago. Then I wandered over the entire globe.
"First I went to Israel. But Israel is an Asian country. It"s difficult for a European to live in an Asian country. And, what"s more, this is a country made from heat and stones. Stones are everywhere. When you come first, it looks interesting. But then it became so boring that I felt like everything inside me, including my gall bladder and kidneys, was full of stones.
"So I moved to Australia. But I couldn"t live in Australia because living in Australia is like living in a hot tub. Since I can"t stand warm vodka and sweaty women, I moved back to Europe. I went to Germany. It"s a nice country. Very nice country. But for Germans only. "Deutchland, Deutchland uber alles." You can be smarter than Einstein or more famous than the Pope but if you speak with the slightest accent, you"re a person of the second order by definition. And in one way or another, every true Aryan will make sure that you realize this."
Jack listened to Nick, propping his head with a fist. Nick lit another cigarette and continued.
"From Germany I moved to America. America is a great country. It"s a fascinating country. But, you know what? It"s an absolutely miserable country. People there simply do not know what life is about. The entire essence of their life is work. Time spared from cutting coupons in the flyers and watching the idiot box, they devote to plowing, plowing and plowing. From dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn.
Let me ask you a question. Would you like to plow from dawn to dusk like a plantation boy, would you like every day to go back to the sweat-shop to test those bloody napkins with a nice expectation: to get a one and a half percent salary increase in an indefinite future and additional vacation day every five years?"
It seemed that Jack"s new friend was reading his thoughts. Finally he had met a kindred soul! Instead of an answer, Jack kissed Nick on his well-shaved cheek and ordered another Rembrandt.
"Sometimes," Nick continued, " I had a strong desire to climb up at the top of the Empire State Building and cry: "ENJOY YOURSELF, AMERICA! Hey, folks, stop for a second. Brake your cars, turn off your computers, put aside your coupons and answer yourself a simple question: what are you busting your gut for? To buy a stamped tin car and a hollow-walled shack for hundred thousand bucks with ten thousand down. What for? In order to pay it off for the rest of your life? And when finally instead of those hundred thousand borrowed from a bloody bank you pay it back half a million, it"s time to kick the bucket because of lung cancer your have acquired in that nice dwelling.
"The law of smart being number nine says: to borrow money from the bank is one of the most unwise things one can do in his life. Because you get somebody"s money temporarily, but you have to return your own and forever. The Yankees suffer the lack of the most important thing that makes life attractive. Courage. And the law number eight says: the life without a courage is like a car without a garage. Very soon it fades, gets rotten and loses its charm."
"What"s courage?" Jack asked.
"An interesting question. Courage is a French word. Not in the sense "if you pardon my French." It"s really French by origin. In a life context it means something that makes life spicy and challenging. Something that widens the frame of the routine nine-to-five wearing-out of the pants on the office chair. Something that differentiates you from a desk jockey. Something that you can remember on your deathbed and say: "Yes, that was an experience of life!" What will most people remember on the verge of nonexistence? The generous present from the management on the occasion of 25 years of perfect attendance - the golden watch made from brass, and a half-price donut with a large beverage enjoyed on Boxing Day?"
Nick lit another cigarette and continued:
"So, when finally I was totally disappointed in Uncle Sam and I was about to go back to Europe to try Sweden, I met a very nice guy. A person of many accomplishments. Currently he"s serving a life sentence without parole in a maximum-security prison. He was a real magician. In five minutes he could draw a green C-note so that nobody could distinguish it from a real one.
"He told me: "Nick, you should go to Canada. This is the place where a person like yourself should live. Nobody will force you to work. You can think, create and you"ll be completely protected from nagging everyday thoughts about filthy lucre. You will get everything for free: board and lodging, bread and butter, nurses and courses." Do you know where the name Canada comes for?"
"Something Indian," Jack answered without confidence. "Something like kanata."
"No. The name Canada stands for the COUNTRY of A NICE ALMS DOLLAR ADVENT. That"s what my magician told me. And he was right! Every country begins from the international airport. In the States, if you don"t have a green card, the somber immigration officers always look at you as if you were the illegitimate son of Saddam Hussein and Bin Laden. When I first arrived to Toronto, I immediately felt the difference. A nice mulatto girl welcomed me with a charming smile and the words: "Enjoy Canada!".
"The only nuisance was that immigration officials asked me to show the proof of $10,000 on my account to get landed immigrant status. As a bad luck would have it , that time I didn"t have $10,000 in my account. What"s more, I didn"t have any account at all. Of course, even for a toddler, it"s not a problem to get such a simple paper. But I still don"t understand why they tried to spoil such a nice first impression by asking me for this formal proof?
"The next day I told a sleepy clerk in the immigration center that in one day I spent all my money for charity. A generous donation. The Humanitarian Aid Campaign for Antarctic penguins. The guy was so moved that I was immediately awarded a fat chunk of welfare. Since that time I have really enjoyed this nice country. Here money lies around everywhere. And only the very lazy ones don"t pick it up."
Unexpectedly, Jack interrupted Nick"s monologue. He finished another glass of the distinguished cure, pounded with his fist upon the table and exclaimed:
"But that"s not fair! That"s my tax money!"
"Not fair?" Nick replied. "What are you talking about! Where did you see fairness in this enfeebled Universe? This world has been unfair since time immemorial. Jesus Christ fed those who starved and healed those who were afflicted. What did he get in return? Nails in his hands and screws in his feet? No one kind deed remains unpunished. The law of smart being number seven. Actually all these speculations are nothing but the problem of wolves and sheep that"s as old as this perishable world. A sheep doesn"t want to be eaten by a wolf. Because it dies. And this is fair, is it?"
Jack nodded his head.
"But, if a wolf doesn"t eat a sheep, he dies from hunger. And he also doesn"t want to die. And this is fair, is it ?"
Jack nodded again. All of a sudden he started weeping.
"Hey, what"s up? Why are you crying? Hey, hey! "
Nick tried to relax his glassmate, smearing drunken tears across his chubby cheeks.
"I feel sorry . . .for the poor sheep . . .and the poor wolf . . ." Jack replied, sobbing like a child.
Nick poured the remainder of his glass down Jack"s throat and said in a didactic tone:
"In the history of mankind, no one society, from the slave-owning Roman empire to the communist Soviet empire, could solve this dilemma and ensure that both wolves are full and sheep are safe. Because such a solution doesn"t exist. So one has to take this reality as granted and the greatest challenge of each individual"s life is an answer to the question: where is his place? Amidst the wolves or amidst the sheep? What would you answer?"
"Amidst the . . . lwoves!" Jack answered firmly, stumbling on the last difficult word and again pounding with a fist on the table.
Then Jack opened his mouth to add something important to this serious statement. Suddenly he changed his mind, emptied another glass and started telling Nick about all the mishaps of this unbelievable day.
The narration was so muddled that Nick hardly followed it. There was bloody B52 mixed up with haughty Judy, the hateful napkins intertwined with heartless Jacqueline and certainly fabulous bingo money traded for McDonalds"s happy meals. The latter portion of the story attracted the most attention from the engineer of human souls. While listening, he had the growing feeling that the story was true.
"It doesn"t feel like drunken fantasies", Nick thought, "listening to the unbelievable bingo story".
"So, let"s add up the final balance," he said when Jack finished his story.
Nick was looking at the far corner of the bar trying to concentrate.
"What do we have? We have ten million loonies that we have to dig out from one of ten flowerpots. If we disregard the minor nuisance that the pots are spread all over town, the rest looks like a simple arithmetic problem. As simple as two times two. Unfortunately, in high school I was often sick when math classes were in progress. But nevertheless, I"m aware of the right answer. That"s funny, but I knew the owner of the stock market advisory company. When hiring new employees he always asked them the simple question: "How much is two times two?" Those who answered "four" failed immediately. The right answer was: "Depends on whether we"re selling or buying." In this undertaking we are definitely selling and buying. We are selling our skills and efforts and as the result we"re buying ten thousand grand. Sounds like a good deal for me. What about you, Mr. Richman-in-future?"
But Mr. Richman-in-future did not hear the question from his new companion. He had dropped his head down on the plate with an unfinished burger and was sleeping like a newborn baby. The engineer of human souls was right: the salubrious beverage worked absolutely perfectly. All Jack"s problems had disappeared like morning fog on a sunny day and a radiant smile lit up his happy face.
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