

### A Few Hours In The Life Of A Young Man

### By Alexey Subbotin

Copyright 2011 Alexey Subbotin

Smashwords Edition

###

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###

# Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – 07:30

Chapter 2 – 08:45

Chapter 3 – 09:45

Chapter 4 – 11:00

Chapter 5 – 13:00

Chapter 6 – 15:30

Chapter 7 – 17:15

Chapter 8 – 18:00

Chapter 9 – 19:00

Chapter 10 – 22:00

Chapter 11 – 23:59

# Chapter 1 - 07:30

The iPhone's alarm clock rang as usual at half past seven, disturbing the snug peace of the bedroom. YM blindly searched for the source of the noise and finally stifled it.

He did not want to get up. His head was heavy; his breathing still smooth and deep. YM hated mornings. Like the typical night owl he considered himself, he usually went to bed well after midnight, and so it was the previous night: he stayed online long after supper and fell asleep listening to a TV narrator describe polar wildlife.

A warm shower always improved his mood... YM liked the smell of the shampoo, the noise of pouring water and the gentle, tingling massage, stimulating the blood flow in his head. The shower's soft streams completely washed away any residue of sleep. Yesterday, YM had decided to stay at his parents' home for the night. After a rift with another of his girlfriends, he had done so quite often. His empty flat felt frustrating.

Family members were gathered in the large dining room: his mother, his younger sister and Claudia, the housekeeper. His father had left on one of his numerous business trips, while his older sister was away, studying at a prestigious foreign university.

"Good morning," YM greeted everyone.

"Hi!" his sister replied, smiling brightly.

Young, fairly good-looking and apparently in love again, his sister was obviously in a good mood. Their father would definitely ask a few questions about her brightly painted lips and shining eyes, but he was not there.

The morning news on the radio intruded with a catchy tune. The situation in Russia seemed to be quiet compared to what was going on elsewhere. The radio was almost always on in the morning as the family only occasionally watched TV. The father was frequently in the news, but he himself never really liked to see it. On screen, he looked completely different: somehow unnatural, almost two-dimensional.

YM's sister reflectively stirred her coffee in a fancy little white cup. She did not touch the plate of homemade cottage cheese patties standing in front of her.

"Are you here for the weekend or planning to go somewhere?" YM asked.

"Here, I guess," she replied mysteriously. "I need to talk with Dad."

YM gave her a quizzical look. Nothing could happen in that house without Father's approval, and he, his mother and his elder sister had always implicitly obeyed the head of the family. But his younger sister was different. Sometimes a rebellious spark would appear in her eyes. YM often looked intently in the mirror at his own reflection, searching for something of it in himself.

In the meantime, his mother gracefully put a pleasantly smelling plate of fried eggs in front of him.

"Bon appétit, my dear!"

"Thanks Mum. Why aren't you eating anything yourself?"

"Well, I've already had some tea. You just carry on with your own breakfast, because I had better go and prepare for my meeting..."

"What meeting?" his sister asked.

"Well... the charity event. I'm leaving for St. Petersburg today. I'll be back tomorrow." YM noticed a little sadness in her eyes. She pecked him on the cheek and quickly left the room.

He and his sister exchanged looks. He sighed, and shrugged.

"What are your plans?" His sister kept looking at him.

"Well, as usual, I'll stop by the Institute. A well-known American scientist is coming. Later on, I'm going out to dinner with Slava. He called and said he wanted to discuss something serious this time."

His sister didn't even try to hide her disappointment. "I see," she replied. "Doesn't sound like fun."

"Would you like some pancakes?" Claudia asked him, tilting her head slightly.

"No thanks. I'm full."

Impeccably dressed and prim-looking in her mid-forties, Claudia was as usual a picture of polite anticipation. Nevertheless, something in her expression and in her tone disturbed YM. She had lived with the family for many years. YM knew well how effectively she could control her emotions, and couldn't recall a single moment when Claudia's behaviour had caused disapproval in the family. That was probably why he found her difficult to like - this relentless perfection, and the fact that she never joked or laughed. She could smile (and it was a pleasant smile) but he always preferred to keep his hidden.

"Dad is coming back on Friday?" his sister asked YM assertively.

"Yep," he smiled. "If nothing happens, of course."

YM's birthday was on Saturday, and the family had agreed to put on a big party. His mother quietly hoped that the eldest sister would return home for a short break.

He looked at his younger sister attentively. Her face betrayed no emotion, appearing completely absorbed in her thoughts.

"What are your plans for today?" he asked her.

"I don't know yet," she replied thoughtfully. "I suppose I need to prepare for my entrance exams. And I promised Lisa to come and see her new gallery."

"How is she doing?"

Sister looked him straight in the eyes. "She's okay. Lives her own life the way she likes it..."

YM shyly looked away as if something in her words struck him.

"She lives her own life." To him this short phrase was rich with meaning. Freedom. The ability to freely manage one's own time and means. Such would be the impression of somebody restricted in those ways. But a level deeper, it meant the necessity to make choices every time a decision is taken, knowing that the results will seldom conform to expectations...

YM moved aside his empty cup, stood up and smiled at his sister.

"Say hello to Lisa for me."

"And you – to Slava." She returned his smile.

"Thanks for breakfast," YM said to Claudia.

She gazed at him without emotion. "My pleasure."

YM returned to his room, and, after a short hesitation, chose a bright red tie to complete his outfit. He picked up his briefcase and laptop and dialled his driver's number.

"Good morning. Downstairs in five minutes, okay?"

He carefully looked around his room, patted his pockets for his phone and wallet, and left.

# Chapter 2 - 08:45

YM entered the car and greeted his driver. Ivan was much more cheerful and sociable than Claudia. YM had his own theories about Ivan's background, his possible links to the secret services, but this didn't really bother him. Ivan was an excellent driver and a good companion. He kept up to date with the news both in Russia and abroad, and held his own (sometimes rather strong) opinions about the majority of issues.

A typical morning traffic jam reduced the speed to a snail's pace. In the back of the car YM promptly flicked through the news online, and then checked his mail. Nothing really interesting...

"Ivan, can you turn on the radio, please?"

On air was an interview with a relatively well-known celebrity.

"The country is on the eve of another crisis," the interviewee declared passionately. "The lack of reforms has led to stagnation! Corruption and lawlessness are stifling business, and the ruling party bureaucrats control all the main cash flows in the country. Capital flight is accelerating."

"What needs to be done in this situation?" the host asked.

"The system must be changed! Until those 'siloviki' who have neither fear nor conscience cease control over the country, no change is possible."

"What about President Medvedev and his statements on modernization?"

"Modernization will remain an empty word as long as those people remain in control. Our country has survived communists, liberals, bandits and oligarchs. And now military chiefs sporting silver insignias bought with blood money... They are everywhere, on all levels. This, too, shall pass... Dog eat dog!"

In the mirror, YM could see Ivan smiling. "There are rumours that this chap recently bought an island the size of the Kremlin, somewhere in the Caribbean."

"Could you switch to something more pleasant?" YM was obviously annoyed.

Subdued music filled the space.

"I'm going on vacation soon," Ivan said casually, "I had relatives from Tambovsk visiting me yesterday. They invited me to come over."

"How's life and everything in Tambovsk?"

"Apparently not that bad... Life is real slow there. Everyone lives their own little life, fattening their bellies! Actually no one looks skinny at all. Buying new cars and stuff. But they all keep complaining. Not enough money... Hot summer... Or some other stuff. They don't know how to be happy. Only our Uncle Vasya knows the 'secret'. He empties his first glass in the morning and is merry for the rest of the day!" Ivan laughed loudly at his own joke.

YM always envied people who could laugh aloud as he himself had lost this ability long ago. He considered himself a cheerful person, but even with his closest friends, the best he could manage was a chuckle.

"What do people do for a living in Tambovsk?" he asked Ivan.

Ivan was more serious now. "Everyone has their own way. Most of the industry, it seems, has been devastated. Some survived, but not much. Anyway, wages are way too low. Some ventured into commerce, buying and selling wares. Depends on one's personal traits, I guess. Most people work for the government or state-run companies, sitting in office cubicles and moving papers back and forth..."

It was obvious from his tone that Ivan considered his own job much more prestigious than those of entrepreneurs or government employees. Certainly, being YM's driver was a good deal: a decent salary, insurance, and a relatively free timetable. YM knew that Ivan had come through a thorough selection process and was highly regarded, but nevertheless...

"Was it in Tambovsk where half of the city council was jailed?" he asked, following a pause.

"No. That was in Tver. All quiet in Tambovsk. All deals are done and everything of value has already been appropriated. It looks more and more like a swamp..." responded Ivan.

These last words were said slightly differently. A touch of bitterness in his voice showed that Ivan understood the real meaning of what had and was still happening in Tambovsk and beyond. His place in society might have seemed higher than that of others. But still... Instead of being stuck up to his neck in the swamp, he was towering on a raised tuft of grass...

YM grimaced, imagining the picture. He liked Ivan, and the rapport between them.

"How are you going to spend your vacation?" he asked, changing the subject.

"They promised me a fishing trip. Apparently there's a secluded fishing lodge. A good catch guaranteed! My wife will go and see all her cousins, while Uncle Vasya and I go fishing," Ivan replied with a bright smile.

YM smiled too. The image of Uncle Vasya getting drunk and merry at dawn, and sporting a fishing rod... it was impossible not to.

"The salt of the Earth," thought YM. Unfortunately, the little fishing lodge just contrasted with the vastness of the swamp covering endless stretches of Mother Russia. Tambovsk was only a tiny grey part of the whole picture.

YM looked through the window. The traffic was moving slowly towards the city centre. "What's happening on the road today?" he asked Ivan.

"Business as usual – crawling forwards. Are we in a hurry? I can drive faster! Do you want me to turn on our little blue bucket?"

"No. No need to," said YM, gesturing with his hand.

There were still two hours to go before the meeting at the institute. Some colleagues from the USA had come to Moscow and wanted to share ideas. Frankly, YM was not particularly thrilled by this opportunity, but professionalism and his own sense of responsibility demanded diligent preparation.

He pulled out his phone and quickly dialled the number. "Hello. How are things? Is our presentation ready for the meeting?" YM listened carefully, and then asked a few technical questions. He chuckled with pleasure at the answers, and hung up. YM assumed a more comfortable position, checked his mail once again, and quickly responded to a few messages. The car radio started blurting out an advertisement about a new trade centre.

"The well-being of the working people is improving," he thought to himself, smiling.

"Ivan, would you mind turning off the radio?"

YM enjoyed the silence for some time, watching Ivan skilfully dodge the traffic. A sudden thought made him smile.

"Ivan, why don't you stand for election in Tambovsk's city council?"

"Why not? That's a good idea!" Ivan obviously liked the concept. "I'm definitely no worse than the current ones."

"And what would you do?" YM couldn't hide his curiosity.

"What do you mean?" Ivan responded. "I will obviously follow the party line and strengthen the power vertical, of course."

Through the obvious irony, YM sensed that the answer had been prepared well beforehand. Did Ivan think that sooner or later, he would receive that kind of offer? From personal driver to elected official... a strange career path. Or perhaps the new reality in modern Russia?

At this moment, for some reason, he thought about Claudia. YM knew that she had a daughter. He never asked what Claudia had been doing prior to working with his family, but it seemed she had a more interesting job than just being a housekeeper. Perhaps, he thought, that was where her cold look came from. Perestroika had ruined so many lives... Does she too imagine herself in power, he pondered. Hardly. More likely, she has experienced bitterness and a desire for her daughter to live a better life. As simple as that. Then again, who knows? One is never sure what others are thinking.

He caught Ivan looking in the mirror and resumed the interrupted conversation.

"That's clear, but what about democracy? The will of the people?" he asked the driver in a serious tone.

This time, Ivan did not answer immediately.

"This is not 'the people', it is a crowd. Democracy is still a far cry, particularly in Tambovsk. Everything must be explained to the people, because if you give them freedom, they will go nuts. Everyone wants to nick something for themselves. They couldn't even agree on a groundkeeper – and you want them to elect the President of Russia! They distrust and envy each other... and they are basically right to do so."

"No one is to be trusted?" YM asked. One eyebrow was raised quizzically.

"Oh, sorry!" Ivan realized what he had said. "You know I was referring to the local politicians, those – what do you call them? Deputies and bureaucrats. Your father is a completely different case, of course. People trust him! They really do."

It was obvious that he wanted to say something else, but couldn't find the right words. There was an awkward silence. YM decided to switch the direction of the conversation.

"Did your son go to school this year?"

"Yes, first grade for the first time! He really grew up this summer – much taller too." Ivan was obviously happy to change the subject.

"What about the school, does he like it?"

"Seems like it. He's well behaved and doesn't complain. The school is close to our home, and his friends from our neighbourhood go there too. My wife wanted him to go to some other prestigious school, but it's too far away to attend. Besides, I don't believe in places like that. You can only grow flowers in a greenhouse. A real man doesn't take short cuts. I'll send him to a military school when he's old enough!"

"Really? And what if he doesn't want to?"

"Well, he will want it! Aren't I the one bringing him up?" You could hear the pride in his voice. "My grandfather fought in the war. My father was an officer and I did my duty for our country for many years. It's almost like a dynasty."

Ivan paused meaningfully. "It's a good thing. They will teach him what he needs: discipline, physical strength and a healthy bit of patriotism. Surely, that's much more important than getting an accounting degree from one of those so-called universities... They spring up like mushrooms after a rain shower. Sprawling office plankton. That's the right name for them, isn't it?" Ivan smiled.

"You think it is better to be in the military? What if a war starts tomorrow?"

"Then one must be ready. This is exactly what they teach cadets. My father told me that a Russian officer must be able to ride a horse and dance a waltz; shoot to kill, and maybe play the guitar or piano. And write verses in a girl's diary if she feels like it. Needless to say, he must also be able to command his soldiers, kill his enemies and die for his country. I think he was right!"

"I seriously doubt there are any such people left."

"There's no reason to doubt it! Russia was never short of brave men. New heroes will grow up. I watched the wedding of the English prince on TV recently. Isn't he a good example of an officer? Just look at his military bearing and confidence. Holds his head high. Girls love this type of man!" Ivan laughed.

YM chuckled and recalled Prince William's pompous wedding. He remembered how surprised he was to learn that many British young men of good breeding, after graduating from prestigious universities, volunteered to serve in the forces. Such was the local custom, it turned out.

The car stopped by the traffic light. There was a huge advertising poster urging people to freshen their breath. The implied benefits included a sexy, semi-naked blond chick, a fast car and the silhouette of a tropical paradise in the background. The composition was bright, rough and absolutely unreal-looking.

'Buy chewing gum and be happy!' He wanted to add this phrase to the top of the poster. Staring at it, YM recalled his childhood years in Leningrad – or the city that used to be called that – and the unforgettable taste of American chewing gum. It contrasted utterly with anything produced in what was then the USSR. From imported gum, one could blow bubbles. Sometimes very large ones indeed.

He recalled his twelfth birthday. His parents gave him a bicycle as a present. And he would never forget what his father told him back then... "Now that you are grown up, you must take care of yourself. One day, you will come of age, and it will be your turn to care about others!"

His father... How he had changed over the years! YM could not define exactly what was different. But much had changed. And mostly not for the better.

In the beginning, everything was difficult. Difficult, but interesting. His adversaries were loud and visible, the problems were clearly defined, and the targets were obvious. Somehow, gradually, the situation changed. Father's enemies enlisted in the friends' club, his friends became mentally fat and lazy, just like Brezhnev in his later years. The country's eternal problems had not been resolved. New, more global ones popped up. The drive simply faded as the gleam dimmed in their eyes. Ceremonial rituals slowly but surely began to replace the substance of power.

YM clearly remembered all the key moments of his father's then-new career. Leningrad, St. Petersburg, Moscow. YM always wanted to be close to his father, but he deliberately kept his son at bay. Once, his father said to him, "Your time will come... believe me!" YM believed and waited.

Most of all, in recent years, YM wanted to be taken aside on his birthday for a serious talk. Every year, he was disappointed. Father was clearly demonstrating that the time had not yet come. This tempered his personality, but hurt his soul.

This endless waiting was perhaps the main reason why he was lonely. "Everything is ahead!" YM cheered himself up and started to mentally scan the list of his acquaintances invited to his birthday party. He had not yet decided whom he would choose as the queen of his heart. His sister's girl friends, the other young ladies... All he had to do was choose. A thought crossed his mind: "I need to give Her a call!"

He paused and scratched his chin.

In reality, what YM really wanted was the talk with his father. He had been ready for a long time, and he was growing tired of waiting.

The car stopped by the main entrance of an expensive new office building. The guard politely opened the door. YM said goodbye to Ivan, and walked towards the entrance.

Notes

1. Politicians and government employees who are former members of various law enforcement agencies, security forces and the military.

2. Fictional town.

3. Word play referring to the resemblance of the flashing lights on cars with important duties to little plastic buckets. There is a grassroots movement of car owners (mainly in Moscow and St. Petersburg), called 'The Society of Blue Buckets' whose aim is to stop the abuse of traffic rules by government officials and other influential personalities.

4. Political concept introduced by Putin in 2004 after the Beslan school massacre. Presumes consolidation of power in Kremlin, cancellation of free governor elections and re-alignment of law enforcement agencies.

# Chapter 3 - 09:45

YM greeted his personal assistant and entered the office. Inside, he hung his jacket neatly on a hanger. Opened a bottle of mineral water and drank a couple of mouthfuls. Through the intercom he summoned the project team for the final review of materials prepared for the day's meeting.

Three people entered his office within a few minutes. Sergey Nikolayevich, in his late 40s, was the project manager. His appearance closely resembled the typical scientist in countless classic Hollywood movies. One who could be the director of a large research institution. He was of short stature, rather lean, with a short beard and rimless glasses. A grey suit, a waistcoat and a narrow woollen necktie completed the picture. His aides looked much younger. After entering the room, they stood shyly against the wall.

YM greeted all three men, shook their hands and invited them to sit at the round table by the window.

"Well. How are we doing?" he asked, turning his head toward Sergey.

"Everything is fine. I think we are ready to answer all their questions, and even more. I have sketched out several ideas that we can use in the future. From my point of view, they have gathered impressive experience in researching problems that our country will most likely face in a few years' time."

YM went through the prepared materials carefully. He liked the presentation. The ideas and thoughts were outlined in a clear and concise manner. Facts were presented objectively, bound together by logical conclusions and highlighted by accurate charts and diagrams.

YM was fond of his job at the institute. At first, quite obviously, almost all of his subordinates had seen him as his father's son. It took him a couple of years to build up his reputation and assemble a capable team.

"Good work! Anything else? Who else will be coming from their side?" he asked.

"Professor O'Rearden, one of his colleagues called John Smith and an interpreter. The meeting will be in English. Actually, I don't really understand why they need an interpreter."

"That's fine. What do we expect from them?"

"Nothing special. All we want is some kind of co-operation: share information, exchange ideas and discuss findings. They asked us for this meeting. I guess they are preparing a large conference in London and want somebody from our side to address the convention. To be precise, they want you to present..."

YM looked at Sergey intently. The scientist was sitting with a rigid posture. His rheumy eyes were fixed on YM.

"What do you think? Shall we agree to that?"

"That completely depends upon your schedule. The choice of topic is up to us. The general idea of the conference is to speak on the development of mankind during the post-crisis period."

"I hope this post-crisis period starts soon," YM chuckled.

One of the younger colleagues tittered. YM turned his head quickly, causing the young man to blush from embarrassment. The poor guy was sitting there as though paralyzed by fear. It seemed like his eyes were trying to gaze at the floor, directly through the solid oak table.

"Let me think about it." A glance from YM dismissed the team, and all three headed to the exit.

"Sergey, could you please stay for a while?" YM asked in a low voice.

He moved behind his own desk, while Sergey took a comfortable chair on the opposite side.

"I would like you to chair today's meeting. I understand what our foreign colleagues want. However, I do not think we are ready to say yes on everything they want right now."

Sergey agreed eagerly.

"What do you think of Professor O'Rearden?" YM continued.

"He is a well-known scientist in his field. Has published several books, which earned him a large following of disciples. Quite frequently he advises large multinational corporations on various issues. I've heard he is a wealthy man. The professor and his wife are members of a New York City charity committee. He's part of high society there, you might say..."

Sergey continued to talk about Professor O'Rearden in a more and more fanciful manner. While listening to his ecstatic narrative, YM imagined Sergey in his glasses and grey suit, seated at a large desk in a corporate boardroom. Another image popped into his head: Sergey in a tuxedo and bow tie, presenting at some high society dinner. What was strange was that YM could not see himself in this picture. After some musing, it became clear that the illusionary Sergey fit perfectly in this imaginary environment, while to YM the whole story felt completely alien.

"What an interesting person," he commented. "How long have you known him personally?"

"We met about ten years ago, when one of my research fellows introduced us. I used to work at the Moscow university back than. O'Rearden and I kept in touch. He has even asked me to review a thesis by one of his PhD candidates."

"Why don't we invite one of his students to work with us?"

"I've already suggested it," Sergey replied cautiously, "but they don't want to come over!"

"Why not?"

"In the first place, there is the language barrier. And then there is our reputation to consider. When western endowment foundations give grants for research, they expect certain results. Apparently, the Russian government never had enough money to fund our own academics, let alone foreign scholars. Now we can get financing but our reputation will still be a factor."

"Is it really that bad?"

"Unfortunately so. Talented young people in our country prefer mid-level management jobs to science. And I do not think it is just about the money. It isn't prestigious to be a scientist. I can easily understand why they are not interested. We haven't made a major discovery in years. Quite the opposite: all we have are endless scandals in the research and scientific community. On top of that, we've got weird geniuses like Perelman who deter rather than attract talent.

"Scientists' social status has fallen drastically," Sergey continued. "Some obscure deputy head of department in a Gasprom subsidiary is considered more socially important than an academician or a university dean. And is certainly far wealthier."

YM sat thinking. Sergey spoke almost without emotion; he just stated facts.

"Do you have any ideas to change this state of affairs?" YM asked him in a business-like manner.

"I don't know where to start," Sergey hesitated. "But... yes, we have some ideas. Your work in our institute is significantly improving scientists' status; not just scientists, but all involved. I mean, science is not only about making great discoveries. It is about long years of research, which are often fruitless. It is an endless flow of information among many people, which needs to be managed. It is a world of potential discoveries, each of which must be investigated and somehow realized. And money – on top of it all, we are talking about substantial amounts.

"In the beginning, we were told that scientists are poor managers, that private industry would finance and develop applied sciences. Nothing of the kind! In my opinion, our dear oligarchs cannot maintain the system of vocational technical education. There will soon be a shortage of skilled workers in the country."

Sergey glanced at YM and continued. "On the other hand, the state must develop fundamental studies. They are doing something, but the conflict between the ministry of education and the academy of science is reducing all of the results to nought. It's like our cinematography. I mean both figuratively speaking and what actually happens."

"What do you think is needed to fix the problem?" YM asked with interest.

"Several of my colleagues have already come up with interesting remedies. Every solution, though, has its pros and cons. I have my own ideas, too. Anyway, to start with, we should agree on one of the development concepts and focus on its gradual implementation. We need to focus instead of wasting resources chasing many trails. Or as my housemaid would say, 'Fix each room, one at a time!'"

"Do you have anything more specific in mind?" YM insisted.

"Well," Sergey continued after a pause, "I think we should try to turn managers into scientists. We need to find and return those brainy guys who left their studies for the sake of money, and have already achieved success. We should give them a chance to complete their education, challenge them to deepen their knowledge and apply their talents where they are desperately needed. They should also be allowed to build their scientific activity according to the modern standards of our society. Help them to avoid following the old patterns of centuries past or the interests of a few market speculators."

"You think all this is possible?"

"There is only one way to find out. Mind you, it happened before: when those who fought in World War II returned home, and started studying again, and working in the labs. They made great discoveries. Launched people into space. Nowadays, the people are different, of lower calibre. How did Lermontov put it? 'Yea, were there men when I was young...' But still, our country is large. It is worth trying again!"

YM looked at Sergey pensively, evaluating his ambitions. He was sitting bolt upright, with his head held high. It was obvious that he was not taking the subject matter – or his audience – lightly. YM was pleased by this.

"Why don't we step aside from our energy projects and look at science on a wider scale?" YM asked with a smile.

"As I already mentioned, I do have ideas. And the resources necessary to begin are in place. We can talk with our colleagues from various institutions to avoid duplications. I'm sure that our best experts would agree to collaborate under your guidance."

"Under your guidance, in fact. It will be you who heads up the team. I simply do not have time to cover everything."

"Certainly... with pleasure!" Sergey fidgeted enthusiastically in his chair.

"Try to avoid excessive bureaucracy. Prepare your plan – I would like to see concrete results pretty soon. Don't be afraid of arguments. Identify potential disagreements and points of conflict with your peers from other organizations and within the government."

"We'll try to come up with the first working plan by the weekend," said Sergey, rising to his feet.

"Hold on." YM stopped Sergey. "It all sounds nice. But how do you think this will help us to revive Russian science? When will O'Rearden's students be willing to come over?"

"I think that, in the first place, our institutions will benefit from an injection of youth. Secondly, it is likely to be thought of as 'cool', as our American associates might say. We need to engage the young ones, especially those for whom Russian is the mother tongue. And if new cool cars are seen parked outside the newly renovated institute buildings, the people inside will seem more prosperous and confident. Then we might well attract more talent.

"We also need to become a part of the global scientific research community. Only then will foreigners, especially westerners, stop seeing us as losers who speak poor English. They would stop looking at us as exotic creatures from another planet. Only then would O'Rearden's students come to us to work, treating us as peers."

Once again, YM imagined Sergey in a tuxedo and bow tie, giving an after-dinner speech to a smartly dressed audience at a banquet. What the heck, he thought. It's worth a try!

"Excellent, Sergey," he said out loud. "We have a meeting with O'Rearden in 30 minutes. Please don't forget what I told you."

Sergey nodded confidently and walked towards the door.

YM asked his secretary to bring him a cup of tea. He continued thinking over the conversation as he stirred his tea. He was curious about the specific ideas Sergey would push forward, with YM's assistance. On whose toes would he choose to step? Which of his colleagues would he think best to work with? YM was genuinely intrigued.

Without realizing it, YM found himself planning to tell his father about this little project. His original idea – co-operating with a foreign associate – had rapidly evolved into an attempt at reforming science in Russia. And he had agreed to pass it over to a certain Sergey Nikolayevich. He thought of the rumours that would spread, because the scientific community could not do without them... And his father probably would not like it. Well, nothing had happened so far, and rumours would remain simply rumours. And in any case, it was going to be necessary to discuss it with his father, on his birthday.

The telephone rang. His sister's soft and dulcet voice filled the earpiece.

"How are you doing? Come and have a coffee with me. I'm not far from your institute and I feel like a chat."

YM looked at his watch doubtfully. "I have a meeting with some foreigners in half an hour. Why don't we have dinner after that? Here, in the canteen."

"How long is the meeting going to take?"

"An hour... ninety minutes at the most."

"Why are you always so naughty?" she said mockingly. "I'll give you a buzz in a couple of hours. Ciao!"

The dial tone followed. YM looked at his watch once more, and pulled the presentation printout closer.

Notes

1. In this case, Nikolayevich is a patronymic name usually used in Russian when referring to a senior person or during formal conversations.

2. Developments in both areas (science and cinematography) are being marred by a string of conflicts resulting from a power struggle between advocates of independence and adherents of government control (and sponsorship).

3. See Michael Lermontov's _Borodino_.

# Chapter 4 - 11:00

Professor O'Rearden made YM think of James Bond – or James Bond's father, perhaps. He was a well-built, neatly dressed man in his 60s, with a handsome face and slightly curly grey hair. In contrast, his younger colleague was far plainer-looking. The picture was completed by a small woman in a shapeless grey costume that made her look like a mouse.

"Good morning. How do you do?" Sergey greeted them in English, with a broad smile on his face and his hand extended invitingly. His eyes, though, were focused on the professor.

"Ah, Sergey! How nice to see you!" O'Rearden shook his hand and patted his shoulder paternally. Then his attention immediately turned to YM.

"I'm very glad to finally meet you in person. I've heard a great deal about you from Sergey, and I'm very grateful that you could make the time to see us."

"The pleasure is all ours, Professor," YM replied, rather formally. "Please come in and make yourself comfortable. May I offer you some tea or coffee?"

He offered his hand to the professor's colleague.

"John Smith," the man said. "Thank you for seeing us."

Smith's handshake was firmer than YM had expected. He was also surprised to note that the professor's colleague practically ignored Sergey.

Finally, the greetings ritual was completed. Everyone took their place at the table while tea and coffee were served. Sergey's team distributed handout materials. Sergey formally opened the session.

"It is a pleasure to greet you and your colleagues here in our institute. We'd like to use this meeting to discuss the current issues and try to set up a long-lasting and fruitful partnership."

YM noted Sergey's use of advanced English. He knew that Sergey had lived in Oxford for some time.

"Yes, yes – of course!" O'Rearden exclaimed in the exaggeratedly enthusiastic manner typical of foreigners. "We highly appreciate your contribution to our research, and we are ready to assist you in your work."

John Smith looked straight at YM. He held his gaze when they locked eyes. YM was a little surprised.

The scientists started to discuss the report's subject. As agreed beforehand, Sergey led the meeting. Both Smith and the professor asked questions from time to time, while YM remained practically silent.

After a while, the professor spoke to YM directly. "I am curious to know your personal opinion regarding the prospects of producing shale gas in Europe," he said.

YM promptly replied, "As my colleague has mentioned, we look at shale gas with interest, but we are confident that natural gas will remain the main source of energy for quite some time."

The professor paused for a second before launching into an argument. "Don't you think this will undermine Gazprom's position in Europe? You must understand that the European governments will obviously support such projects. Is your government not going to do anything about this?"

Sergey flushed, sensing that the scientific discussion was fading away. YM slid a glance at Sergey to let him know he would answer the question. "For years, Gazprom has been a reliable supplier to our European clients. As far as I know, the company still has huge potential and resources. Our institute took part in the preparation of a long-term development program for Gazprom. I can assure you, Professor, that there will be no problems on our side.

"Speaking of the European governments, they already support alternative energy production. I don't know how long they can afford to support both... particularly now."

The professor evidently wanted to turn the discussion to politics. "Recent gas wars with Ukraine and Belarus have shown that natural gas supplies might stop!" he argued.

"Unfortunately," replied YM, "these countries' governments sometimes behave irrationally. This is one of the main reasons for the construction of new underwater gas pipelines. I know that transit issues are discussed both at corporate and government levels. It is tough, but progress is underway."

Now John Smith spoke up. "Do you think that if a pro-western coalition comes to power in Belarus, it would give control of the oil and gas infrastructure to western companies?"

YM looked at him intently: the confidence in his tone indicated a thorough and in-depth knowledge of the subject. Sergey squirmed nervously in his chair. Professor O'Rearden interlocked his fingers, cradling his chin. The others looked like they wished they were somewhere else.

Sergey's director looked at those present and answered the question with a question. "Do I understand you correctly? You propose that recent events in Belarus – and Ukraine, too – were shaped by the battle for control of the energy infrastructure?"

Smith answered without blinking an eyelid. "To a certain extent, yes. Gazprom has been trying to acquire control over these assets for years."

YM was pleased by such a direct answer, but chose his own reply carefully, speaking in a deliberately formal manner. "It is in the best interests of Gazprom for there to be stable gas supplies to European consumers. If our partners – in Germany, say – accept the existing transit risks, then I see no problem with it. Needless to say, there are also other strategic considerations for Gazprom's business. Diversification is one of them. To the best of my knowledge they continue moving in this direction, but this is a completely different story.

"Speaking of the political situation in countries nearby, particularly in Belarus and Ukraine, I don't personally support any force attempting to interfere with the internal affairs of a sovereign state."

Sergey intervened. "Gentlemen, shall we get back to our presentation?"

Professor O'Rearden ignored his request. "In this case," he persisted, "what is the degree of sovereignty of Belarus, whilst it is part of the 'Union State' with Russia?"

YM smiled deliberately at Sergey. "Professor, the Union State is a long-term concept, an attempt to move the relationship between the two countries to a new level. As you know perfectly well, the progress made so far is insignificant. But we are sure that the work in this direction must be continued." It occurred to him that he had almost exactly quoted his father. "Was this a good or bad sign?" he wondered to himself.

"Speaking of sovereignty," he continued, "the Republic of Belarus is an independent sovereign state, and, as far as I know, our country is strictly following those principles."

He observed his guests' reaction to those crucial words "...as far as I know..." It was clear that this was precisely the reason why they had come to this meeting.

"Even the scientific community succumbed to it..." he thought to himself with some distaste. He glanced over at Sergey, who was looking very dejected. After a moment, YM decided not to disappoint his guests.

"In my opinion, what we see now in Europe is directly tied to the issue of sovereignty. For how many years did the EU try to push the constitution on European nations? The outcome was the Lisbon Treaty. Who's that funny skinny man from Belgium... Van Rompuy, is it? He is now supposed to resolve all the issues dealing with the euro, saving individual countries and the system budget deficit, but he can't do anything about it. Not a thing! Perhaps he doesn't want to. But I think he is powerless. So we see situations like Greece. The introduction of external management, like in a bankrupt company, can hardly improve matters, unless they start trading citizens' organs."

O'Rearden looked shocked. "Don't say that!" he exclaimed.

But John Smith did not react to YM's black humour.

That joke too played out in my father's style, YM thought. "I recently read a book by Professor Chomsky," he continued. "In addition to the importance of national sovereignty, he describes quite interestingly what TV presenters call the bailout. In his opinion, it is not the Greeks who are being saved. Rather, European bureaucrats are saving stupid, greedy investors, who bet their own money, and other people's money, on the prospects of a country, which has never been top of anything. They will now get back their money, most of it; perhaps even with interest. The costs of the bailout will be borne on the shoulders of German taxpayers, either directly, or in the form of inflation. Greece, along with Ireland, will lose its future forever, because the huge yoke of debt will suppress its economy. Only investors will retain their profits. Chomsky calls this 'socialising costs' and 'privatizing of profits'."

"Are you into Chomsky?" John Smith asked, looking slightly surprised.

"Yes. He has a peculiar view of the world, but lately he seems to have moved from abstract ideals to more practical ones. He thinks in an unorthodox way. I was surprised to find, incidentally, that the ideas in his latest works are in tune with our Mr. Surkov's thoughts."

"Very interesting!" said Smith, looking deliberately at O'Rearden.

The latter merely shrugged and resumed the conversation. "Didn't your government do the same thing with local banks?"

"Unfortunately, when capitalism emerged in Russia, it was based on your patterns," YM replied.

"Russian democracy was also tailored using your framework. An abstract idea was imposed on the ruins of the USSR – then everyone wondered why nothing flourished."

"What do you think Greece should do?" The professor ignored the latest remark and continued looking at YM with open curiosity.

YM avoided the question. "I am not an economist, and I would not like to give any advice along those lines. I would rather look at Sweden. This country is undoubtedly wealthier than Greece, thanks to profits made during both world wars. Once the euro came along, the Swedes refused to sacrifice part of their sovereignty and did not relinquish the right to print their own money. In 2008-2009, the Swedish krona was devalued by fifty per cent, but because Sweden is a self-sufficient country, and almost all goods consumed by its population are produced domestically, people hardly noticed the devaluation. At the same time, local manufacturers, especially exporters, became more competitive. As a result, the Swedish economy has grown considerably, while Greece went bankrupt. That is the price tag for losing just one part of your sovereignty."

John Smith was taking notes. O'Rearden was obviously waiting for him to continue.

"Just between us researchers," said YM, looking around the room, "the lack of any fundamental analysis of this situation embarrasses me. All arguments take place at the level of subjective reasoning. No one has tried to model the development of the Greek economy in a scenario where the drachma was retained."

"It's a very interesting idea indeed," O'Rearden nodded. "I have friends in the National Planning Commission. I will definitely feed this message to them."

Smith continued taking notes. Sergey quickly wrote something in his notepad.

"In other words, you think Greece needs to re-introduce the drachma?" the professor asked.

"No. I only said that the Swedish example proves that the existence of a national currency allows more possibilities."

"What do you think of the euro's prospects?"

"Listen, Professor," YM stated deliberately, "I will say it again – I am not an economist and I have no intention of giving such a forecast or prediction."

"What is the value of Russian oil and gas revenues in euros?" Smith asked, diplomatically switching the conversation from a political to a technical one.

Sergey immediately joined in the discussion and started to throw out figures.

YM opened a bottle of water and listened as the discussion became livelier. He was feeling confident in himself: his thoughts and arguments easily lined up in complex structures, even though he was speaking in English. His father had insisted on him learning foreign languages since he was a child. Father...

"Getting back to your question about the euro, Professor," YM said, using a pause to his advantage, "I think that the re-introduction of national currencies will undermine the foundations of the EU. To me the problem here is not only the sovereign right of any state to have its own currency, but a return to a past that no longer exists. It is impossible. Even the inhabitants of a single town would be unable to agree on one version of the past. Disintegration will be uncontrollable. European states, with the exception of small, mono-ethnic nations, will probably cease to exist. Perhaps Catalonia and the Basque Country will seize their chance to break all ties with Madrid. Rich, Catholic Bavaria will want to distance itself from poor, Protestant East Germany. Italy will be torn apart into north and south. England and Scotland will go their separate ways. I think that going back to the past is impossible. It is not possible for Europe, for the Soviet Union, or for anyone else. That is why the euro will stay. But I cannot say anything about what it might become."

Deep in thought, YM looked up and met the professor's gaze before continuing. "In my opinion, in the short term, the current situation is beneficial first of all to Germany and other euro-zone exporting countries. Any solution to the Greek debt problem would strengthen the euro and weaken their competitiveness, particularly compared to Japan and Korea. Perhaps Spain or Italy might replace Greece in this equation. But whichever way you look at it, this is a game with high stakes..."

Sergey looked at YM with respect. The professor folded his arms on the desk and looked at Smith, who was still taking notes.

"It's an interesting point of view." O'Rearden broke the silence. "What do you think about Russia's prospects?"

"Professor!" Sergey spread his arms exasperatedly. But YM just smiled at his guests, calming his colleague.

"I can hardly divulge my country's prospects to you, but believe me, these prospects exist; and they are not as bad as the majority of people think, especially in the west. To tell the truth, however, pessimistic opinions prevail inside the country too."

"Let's talk about the most burning issues. The demographic downturn, and the dependence on exporting natural resources."

"With pleasure, as time allows."

"Excellent!" the professor replied, pouring himself another coffee.

YM used the pause to send an SMS to his sister. "In the café, at 1 p.m. sharp. Brother." Then he looked up.

"About demographics," he began. "I am afraid the rumours have been exaggerated. The UN recently released its regular forecast of global population dynamics, and Russia's prospects have significantly improved. Compared with the UN's previous report, it increased the population forecast for 2050 by 25 per cent."

"Is that right?" O'Rearden seemed perplexed by YM's argument.

"The government have successfully reversed the downward birth-rate spiral. Sadly, the situation with mortality is much worse, but there have been improvements: the consumption of alcohol, for example, has dramatically reduced, and is currently almost at the European level."

"And how are Russia's immigrants integrating? Particularly the central Asians."

"It is probably premature to speak of integration at this point. We don't even know how many immigrants actually reside here. We have taken a census, but its results leave much to be desired, because they don't correlate with other demographic indicators. Figures for the number of active mobile phone users suggest we have many more residents than we thought." YM smiled.

He stopped to think for a moment. "Many years ago, I met a Dutchman in St. Petersburg. He had moved to Russia working for a large multinational corporation. Back then, he referred to himself as an adventurer. Once he told me, 'The time will come when this country's social infrastructure will improve.' He spoke of safety in the streets and on the roads, good schools, new hospitals. 'When that happens, many young Europeans, especially from northern Europe, will come here to stay – because of the prospects for professional development, and the cultural dilution back in their native country caused by the influx of African and Asian immigrants.' This has already happened in the history of Russia."

"How fascinating! In other words, you don't think there is a demographic crisis?"

"This situation is pretty grave, but Russia has had tougher moments throughout its history. When you look at the history of the 20th century from the demographer's point of view, the situation could not have been worse. World War I, civil war, mass emigration, the Stalinist Terror, World War II... But the country's population was restored each time. God obviously loves Russia! That is why our women are so beautiful..."

The men smiled, and the female interpreter blushed.

"God may love us, but the people can't stand each other!" YM reflected. It was a gloomy thought.

"And when we talk about demography, population figures are not the only issue," he pointed out, returning to the subject. "Looking at the per capita growth of GDP, the situation here is not that bad; only China is ahead of us among the BRICS group.

"From the point of view of economic growth, demography is key. When opposition activists say that the national economy could grow by 10 per cent per year with a negative or stagnant demographic trend, it merely shows that they don't know what they are talking about. When we look at the world economy after World War II, we see that the average growth rate during this period was approximately 4 per cent. Analysing the sources of this growth, we see that population growth, improved labour efficiency and growth in capital efficiency each generated about one per cent. The remaining one per cent includes all other factors. The economic miracle of growth in excess of 10 per cent over a ten-year period happened only in post-war Japan, Germany, Korea and, to a certain extent, China. In my opinion, 'post-war' is the key word here. This means that more than half the production capacity in any given country has been destroyed; which, according to simple maths, gives us the effect of a low base.

"Labour efficiency is another important aspect of demography. Presently, it is terribly low in Russia. That results from a combination of factors, including technology and worker education. I believe that not one of the so-called oligarchs succeeded in achieving significant growth in labour efficiency in their businesses. Unfortunately, there is no universal recipe or instant solution."

John Smith stopped writing, and looked at YM.

"Speaking of the population," YM continued. "On one hand, we see people as workers; yet simultaneously, on the other hand, they are consumers – the main internal 'demand' engine and the principal alternative to growth through exporting our natural resources. A friend of mine, Professor Rodionov, has come up with an interesting explanation of the consumption pattern in today's Russia. According to him, the Soviet people of the late 80s and early 90s betrayed the ideals of Communism. They gave up the goal for which their parents lived, fought and died. They betrayed all of that, in exchange for foreign cars, jeans, Coca-Cola and chewing gum! But they were let down... All these 'blessing of civilization' only became freely available to them after the new century started. That is when they began to 'consume' as if there was no tomorrow.

"According to Rodionov, that kind of consumption has natural limits: the size of their stomachs and the square footage of their flats. We must admit that having more than two TV sets in one room is an absurdity – even two is one too many. But some of these people acquired larger apartments and started the entire consumption cycle from scratch. They have enthusiastically joined the rat race, and look ready to go the distance. Rodionov predicts that these people will soon grow tired of material goodies. Instead, they will value their health and their family life. And abstract ideas such as heritage and freedom..."

"The comparative value of life after death... and redemption," continued Professor O'Rearden. "I know this theory. I wonder how this situation will evolve in Russia.

"What about the dependence of the Russian economy upon the export of its energy resources?" was his next question.

"You should understand that developing the internal market is the only real alternative to exports. I have just mentioned the internal demand; I'm sure you have heard about the government-sponsored infrastructure development projects. We can argue about their efficiency... or rather their perceived lack of it. But concentrating resources in such directions as Sochi, Skolkovo and similar projects should help to achieve some visible results. I truly hope that our large internal market, coupled with political and financial stability, will create the conditions for private capital investment."

"But that is not happening!" O'Rearden spoke with sudden passion.

"The country lacks national capital," YM answered quietly, refusing to lose his cool. "There are no pension savings, nor is there life insurance; even the wealth of those oligarchs is based on the evaluations of small packages, quoted and traded on foreign exchanges. The genesis of national capital must be one of the government's top priorities. Unfortunately, they do not have a magic wand, and cannot simply create national capital out of thin air. The best we can hope from them is to establish the conditions for it to emerge."

"They would sooner destroy it," Sergey mumbled thoughtfully.

O'Rearden and Smith exchanged glances.

"Statistics show that capital is constantly fleeing Russia," Smith said calmly.

"If you recall September 2008, the very apex of the financial crisis, the main problem in Russia was the high foreign currency debt among major companies and their owners. Since then we observe steady debt repayment, and the substitution of hard currency obligations with rouble-denominated debt instruments. That is what you call 'capital flight'."

Smith resumed taking notes.

"We should consider Russian capital in its entirety. I was very much interested in domestic credit markets, whilst we were preparing the information for today's meeting. Here are the simple facts. The first rouble bonds were issued in 2001. The total volume of the bonds was less than 1 trillion roubles as of the beginning of 2008, which was slightly over 2 per cent of the GDP. This figure reached almost 3.5 trillion roubles by July 2011, which exceeded 5 per cent of GDP. The first 10-year rouble security was only issued in May 2011. The development is obvious. However, it is too early to expect any tangible results. By the way, your government's actions and the influence of the stock markets make the fragile development of capital markets in Russia even more unpredictable."

O'Rearden and his aide remained silent. Sergey sat proudly on the right, but the rest of the group carefully lowered their eyes to their papers. Taking advantage of the moment, YM looked at his watch and announced, "Gentlemen, please excuse me, but I have to attend another meeting, which is why I must leave you now. It has been a pleasure to meet all of you." He stood up, and walked around the desk to shake hands with his colleagues.

Smith stretched out his arm. "Forgive me," he said in impeccable Russian. "We are deeply interested in what you have said. I would be eternally grateful if we could continue this discussion at another convenient time."

He looked sincerely and directly into YM's eyes. Professor O'Rearden listened to his interpreter, his head inclined slightly to one side. Having understood what he heard, he turned towards YM, his face expressing full support of his colleague's words.

YM paused for a second as if in thought. "All right," he answered in English. "I'll see what I can do. My secretary will be in touch." He shook Smith's hand and walked out of the room.

Passing his personal assistant, he requested him to contact Smith and make an appointment in a small reception hall on the institute's top floor. Then he headed to the café to meet his sister.

Notes

1. A wide ranging co-operation framework agreement between Russia and Belarus signed in 1997. The Customs Union between Belarus, Kazakhstan, and Russia came into existence on January 1, 2010.

2. Vladislav Surkov – long-term member of the Kremlin administration in charge of domestic political affairs.

3. A referendum held in September 2003 saw a 56.1 percent vote against the introduction of the euro.

4. Capital of 2014 Winter Olympic Games, heart of the tourism cluster in North Caucasus.

5. A suburb of Moscow, centre of the proposed hightech cluster in Russia. Also home to the first Russian business school.

# Chapter 5 - 13:00

YM took a vacant table in the café and ordered coffee. Three young men were sitting nearby, and one of them was recounting a loud and emotional story. YM couldn't help eavesdropping. "...And she says to him, 'You can take your advice and shove it!' What kind of child has this man raised? He cares for her, loves her, and sends her away to London to study. She comes back, gets home early in the morning, drugged up to the eyeballs, and tells her father to go to hell!"

"What did he say?" the second man asked. He was slightly overweight, fair-haired and somewhere in his early 30s.

"What did he say?" the first repeated. "He starts to tell her off, but she tells him to look at himself. 'Who are you to reprimand me about my morals?' she says. 'You're a rotten businessman! Remember how you and Uncle Vasya appropriated half of the city's budget last year, allowing him to buy a house in Italy? Why don't you lecture him about his morals? Good-for-nothing moralist! Do you know what you are, Daddy? You're a thief, a scoundrel and a corrupt crook!' Her father's jaw drops. He goes, 'But I did all this for your sake – to let you live decently!'"

"How did it all end?" asked the second young guy.

"She fainted. Then her dad went to have a swig of cognac – it helped the medicine down, I guess! Her mother tried to look after both of them. The daughter says they eventually declared a truce. They agreed that she would stop taking drugs, and not refuse her father's stolen money. And he agreed not to brainwash her. I doubt it will turn out okay. There is no happiness in this family!"

"I second you. A governor's son and the son of the local roadwork department chief were classmates of my younger brother. Now both are in jail for consuming and dealing heroin. Bad karma..."

YM continued to stir his coffee mechanically.

"That's the generation gap in its purest form," he thought. "Did the father want his daughter to go down the same road as him? It's unlikely. More likely, he wanted her to do something better with her life. But what did she want?"

He thought of his own sister. "What is the ideal woman in today's Russia? Is it Ksenia Sobchak, or is it the First Lady? Every normal girl is supposed to want to become like her mother. Every boy hopes to be like his father. If not, then in present-day Russia there is only one alpha male. It seems that everything is clear about the ideal man. But the ideal woman... The situation is much more complex."

YM's train of thought was interrupted by a phone call. "Yeah, I'm here already, waiting for you. I'm almost at the far end."

His sister showed up at his table a moment later. She was not alone, which surprised him. She was accompanied by her friend Lisa, and a neatly dressed, well-built young man.

"Hi!" his sister greeted him, pecking him on the cheek. "I have brought Lisa and Misha with me. He is co-founder of the new gallery."

"Hello." YM smiled at Lisa and shook Misha's hand firmly.

"You should have told me earlier," he gently scolded his sister.

She replied with an innocent smile, fluttering her eyelashes coyly. She knew perfectly well that YM would not be offended. It was an advantage she relentlessly exploited.

"I've just been at their gallery, and it is fantastic! It's all modern Russian art. You must go and see it... you'll really love it. I have already found a picture for you. It's perfect for your office. I'll make it a birthday present for you, dear brother of mine!"

Lisa was searching for something in her purse. Misha seemed a little shy – was he embarrassed to be there? He didn't look like the gallery type, and nothing like a modern artist. YM could more easily take him for an athlete. He had short, light-coloured hair, regular facial features and clean, sharp, blue-grey eyes.

YM had known Lisa for long enough to be certain that Misha was not her new boyfriend. Lisa was a slim brunette with long, wavy hair... not a beauty, but a young woman with a bright outlook and an even brighter personality. She was often surrounded by people with bohemian lifestyles; sometimes by prosperous middle-aged businessmen. YM knew that his father did not encourage his sister's friendship with Lisa, but he never interfered openly.

A while back, his sister had decided that her brother ought to marry Lisa. She tried to overcome her father's mistrust by simply believing it was misplaced. Following a series of 'accidental' encounters, YM guessed his sister's intentions and spoke to her about it directly. He never really figured out whether or not Lisa was willingly involved.

"What is the name of your gallery?" YM asked Misha, just to break the awkward silence.

"The Russian Saloon. We specialize in modern Russian artists, and try to maintain a balance between acknowledged artists and up-and-coming younger ones. Particularly from various regions of Russia."

"You've got to go and visit them!" his sister added quickly. "The official opening is next Thursday, and I want you to come with me." The look in her eyes made it quite clear that she would not take no for an answer.

"Please, please say you will!" she pleaded, pouting like a child. "You'll really like it. I already promised them that I would talk you into it."

YM looked at his sister... she rarely asked anything of him.

"All right. I'll be there," he said with a forced smile. "Where is it?"

"Hooray! I told you he would agree," she exclaimed, turning joyfully to Lisa. "It'll be a lot of fun!" These words were meant for her brother.

The waiter took orders from each of them.

Lisa turned to YM after the waiter left. "We have a huge hall in a recently restored mansion on the boulevard. It's a great space, and very well lit. Misha worked hard to find it."

YM looked at Misha, expecting him to add to Lisa's comments. "I just thought the Russian Saloon should portray the vastness of Russia, starting with the size of the premises," he said, smiling.

YM played along with the joke. "In other words, you will feature amber at the entrance and walrus bone artefacts at the far end?"

"No no – don't say that!" Misha spoke with spirit, but quickly caught himself. "The gallery is not that big," he continued more calmly. "We're only going to have Russian artists' works."

Lisa interrupted. "Russian art is our speciality. We have many interesting works on view, and I think the gallery will be popular with both domestic and foreign visitors."

"Well I'm no art expert – particularly when it comes to modern art," YM replied, somewhat evasively. "I defer to your taste, my dear sister."

He changed the subject. "Lisa, how's life? Any other interesting things happening?"

"How can there be anything more interesting than this? You can't imagine how difficult it is to open a gallery. Finding sponsors is tough enough, to say nothing of organising the artists. As I'm sure you know!"

"Who are your sponsors?" YM asked, in a serious tone.

"You'd better ask Misha," Lisa nodded toward him. "I'm more of an expert in dealing with art, but Misha is our financial wizard."

"We are supported by various organizations and some art-loving Russian individuals," Misha said confidently. "None of them are particularly well known. We have received a considerable contribution from one wealthy industralist, and even wanted to name one of our halls in his honour. But he preferred to remain anonymous."

"Isn't it odd how people here feel about giving money to charities?" YM said.

"But of course it is not as common as it is in the west. When I studied at a university in the States we had monthly charity events, if not weekly. The main point was not to donate money, but to take part in social activities. In my opinion, this is the most important thing."

"How right you are," said Lisa. "Here in Russia it seems that we have an entirely different attitude towards charity. My impression is that people simply wish to 'pay off' just to be left alone. Although I must admit that there are some people who particularly want to help."

"Our people are mainly poor," YM's sister pointed out. "Even those who are wealthy are spiritually poor. I remember when we raised funds for orphanages last year. All those who donated had such expectant expressions on their faces, as though waiting for something back.

"Not from me, mind you, but from my dad," she added reproachfully.

Misha decided to take control of the conversation.

"I have noticed that some people seem to think that charities only gloss over social problems and issues. The government should take care of everything... healthcare and education are two of the best examples. Why do people need to raise funds to finance medical treatment for a child? Why isn't it possible to finance this through government loans or grants, or something of that kind?"

"That kind of paternalistic approach is very common in our country," YM said. "Unfortunately, you can't always get what you want. In any case, I'm sure that the situation is better than it was ten years ago."

"You bet!" His sister paused thoughtfully. "But it is probably better to forget how terrible life was back then."

"There are many inspiring things abroad," Misha continued, as if he had not heard. "For example, I used to live in a small town where local society was based around a country club. Everyone wanted to join the club. I don't know how, but they always managed to be the centre of everything. They had their own building, of course, but the main events took place elsewhere.

"Club membership was virtually obligatory for men. For women, participation in the club meant more than just the chance to socialize and gossip. No one was paid; people were motivated by community spirit and the desire for respect.

"They had a committee for issues related to the schools and nurseries, and a special committee for summer ball and City Day festivities. They organized charitable activities – some were ad-hoc, others on a regular basis. I think that such an approach would fit Russia quite well, especially in small towns, giving a sense of fulfilment to many local people."

"That's an interesting idea," said YM, gazing at Misha.

"A summer ball is a wonderful idea," his sister commented exuberantly. "But it would not work in Russia."

"Why not?" YM asked provocatively. "If someone like Lisa took on the organization, no doubt everyone would join."

Lisa smiled seductively at YM.

His sister ignored this. "That's the point! They would all join the club, but do nothing, hoping that Lisa would fail. They would watch her downfall, and laugh at it. They couldn't care less about orphans – 'miserable, good-for-nothing characters', as the old man Panikovski would have said."

"Don't be a Snow Queen, my dear," YM replied, nodding. "You think there are no benevolent people in Russia?"

"They might exist. But they're all sitting in their holes, and every man is out for himself! Someone else is supposed to be responsible for everything. A kindly czar..."

"This country club idea has its merits," YM admitted, turning to Misha. "I should advise my father of this. He is sure to like it. We need some kind of manual, though. Something like: 'How to open a country club in three weeks, and turn it into a social hub.' The grass-roots activists must be engaged to make it happen, or we will become another miscarried clone of 'United Russia'!"

"They can also support local artists." Lisa smiled to show her support for the idea. "We will have less to worry about."

"Aren't you afraid of competition?" YM asked, going along with her comments.

"Oh no. There's enough room for everyone!" Lisa replied.

YM sipped his coffee, as his sister's phone rang in her purse. She quickly pulled it out, stood up and moved away from the table, covering the mouthpiece with her free hand.

YM looked at Lisa conspiratorially, but she feigned ignorance.

"You'll tell me the whole story on Thursday," he said confidently.

Lisa nodded imperceptibly. That was the price for having him at their event.

"Where in the States did you go to university?" he asked Misha.

"Oh – all over the place," he replied evasively.

"Would you like to go back?"

"No, no. I am Russian, this is my country. Here, I feel at home."

"What a patriot! Lisa, now – she prefers the Riviera."

"Why do you say that?" she responded. "I like to spend my holidays there, but that's all. I like relaxing and touring, but not living there."

"How surprising. I didn't know you had joined the patriots' club! I thought you were more of a cosmopolitan."

"Why do you say that?" Now it was obvious that she felt offended.

YM looked at her, then at Misha, then finally returned his gaze to Lisa. "Take it easy. I was just kidding."

"I'm going to the ladies' room," Lisa announced defiantly.

The men were now left to themselves. Misha sipped his coffee in silence.

"Do you expect many people on Thursday?" YM asked.

"We've sent a lot of invitations, but we aren't sure who is actually coming. They are mainly arty types, and those who were not long ago referred to as New Russians. Lisa handled the invitations. We'll know for sure who is coming on Tuesday. We are expecting several VIPs, so the event should be fairly prestigious. And secure, too – there is no need to worry about that."

"I'm not worried in the least. You will be contacted in due course."

"Sure."

"And about this Russian theme. How serious is it?"

"As serious as they come," Misha replied. "We want to display the beauty of our art. We want to show people that our traditions are still alive and developing. That there is a lot of beauty in our country."

"I understand that the concept is not necessarily 'Russian', and that your selection criteria is more ethnic than national?"

"Yes, you're right. We think it is necessary to highlight Russian ethnic art. But it is the theme and style of an artist's work that is important to us, not just his origin. We are not limiting ourselves – I can assure you that there are more than enough artists, and plenty of lovers of Russian art."

"No doubt about it! All I want to say is that there is a thin line between art and ethnic politics, and I hope you don't confuse the two."

"I'm talking only about art, I assure you."

"But you have other opinions, I imagine?"

"I am not hiding my opinions; I have nothing to conceal. I genuinely think that the main ethnic group should prevail. I am against multiculturalism and I am confident that this road goes nowhere, a theory that has been supported by the governments of the leading European countries. The recent bloodshed in Norway raised a terrifying question from the other side. We are not against change, but it must be on our terms."

"Who are 'we', and what are your terms?"

"We are like-minded people, an informal group whose goal is the promotion of everything Russian: culture, art and business. We demand the abolition of 'positive discrimination', where others are artificially supported with funds at the expense of Russians. As you can imagine, our ideas are shared to some extent by many of our countrymen. Our terms are very simple: Russians should live better than anyone else in Russia."

"Whom do you refer to as Russians? Is Chubais, for example, Russian? Does he have a place in your ideal future?"

"I would prefer not to speak of individuals. There are some groups that are very close to Russians and have integrated successfully into our society. Look at the Tatars, for example. There are those, on the other hand, who are culturally distant and whose presence can hardly contribute to the development of our country."

"You mean migrant workers from central Asia?"

"Not only them, unfortunately. Many so-called Russians don't like our country. They consider themselves part of something different, and we don't need compatriots of that kind."

YM recalled O'Rearden's question, which he had failed to answer. He stared at Misha. "What do you want to do with them?"

"Some of our more radical comrades would like to physically segregate them, but... I think that is the wrong way. We need to persuade them that there is no alternative to complete integration."

"What are these means of 'persuasion' that you plan to employ? Marching on the Manezhnaya Square? Perhaps you're thinking about roving gangs of teenage killers?"

"Please do not say such things. I personally abhor violence. Criminals must be punished, no matter which side they are on. Justice must be done! I totally support the rule of law. Unfortunately, we cannot influence the law directly... at least, at the moment. But the situation can change.

"Speaking of events on the Manezhnaya Square – what happened there shows that we turned out to be right. People were concerned to the extent that they were able to organize and voice their anxieties. Let's wait and see what the court decides. And as for the news coverage, it was simply dishonest. Look at the so-called peaceful student demonstrations in London, Paris, Athens, Madrid and Rome. Hundreds detained, police officers wounded, demonstrators burning cars and looting shops... and what did we have? A couple of bruises, and those possibly well deserved. The demonstrators tore down Christmas decorations, fought a little with the police, and dispersed. People expressed their opinion and the government got the message. I think the dialogue will continue, and could become even more active. Our ideas are simple and easy to understand."

YM once more looked Misha in the eye. The confidence in his voice was impressive. He was undoubtedly a strong personality. Was he dangerous? YM did not think so.

Lisa returned to the table. His sister was still chatting on the phone.

"You're going to have an interesting gallery," YM said to Misha. The irony in his voice was obvious.

"Modern Russian art. No more, no less," Misha replied seriously, looking at Lisa.

She instinctively decided to defuse the tension. "Have you been to the recent exhibition in Gallery X?"

"Yes, I have. A well-known American artist – abstract expressionist, too abstract for me. I honestly tried to understand, but it seems to be beyond me!"

"You're not the only one! That type of art is not for everyone. To be frank, I don't share the prevailing view of the critics. It's just colour: there is no form at all."

"Totally un-Russian!" YM joked. "I always wanted to know why these pictures are so expensive."

"They cost as much as people are willing to pay for them. Why they pay that much is a different matter. Most of the artists are unlikely to paint anything simply for money. For fame, possibly, but definitely not for the money. I think he just wanted to express himself on canvas."

YM looked Lisa in the eye. For some reason, he recalled his sister's remark: "She lives her own life, her own way." The girl in front of him did not seem to him to be the epitome of freedom of choice. More like the freedom to search.

'What is she thinking, I wonder?' he mused. He remembered the conversation he had eavesdropped upon. Lisa could have been referred to as a self-made woman, because she had achieved everything on her own. YM was acquainted with her mother. Lisa's father had died many years earlier. She had achieved everything by herself: education, work, her own business and success. One could hardly call her wealthy, but she was sufficiently well off. What could be the common factor between Misha and herself? He did not believe that Lisa shared Misha's political aspirations. Was it possible she simply wanted to have a strong personality by her side? Was she tired of her current circle, the artists and the business people? Or was she simply spending her time searching for a partner in her life? Curiosity killed the cat...

His sister finally returned to her place at the table.

"Who was that you were talking to for so long?" he asked, smiling.

"I won't tell you!" she replied in the same manner. "What time are you coming home today?"

He did not wish to discuss it in someone else's presence.

"I don't know yet. I'll give you a call later."

She nodded disapprovingly, then looked at Lisa and Misha.

"Why don't we stop at the gallery? I've got some interesting ideas for Thursday."

They rose, as if obeying her command, and prepared to leave.

YM's sister hugged him and kissed him goodbye. He brushed his lips against Lisa's soft, smooth cheek. Then he turned to Misha, expecting to shake his hand, but Misha did not offer it. Instead, he told the girls to wait for him at the car and turned to YM. "I am very glad that we met. I would like to thank you once again, and truly hope to see you on Thursday. It will be my pleasure to continue our discussion about migrant integration. I am sure that many of my like-minded associates would be happy to discuss other subjects as well, if you have further interest. We respect your father, there's no doubt about that. However, in our opinion, his approach to the ethnic issue does not match the interests of the Russian people. You would have our sincere support if you decided to try to change the current situation." He looked steadily into YM's eyes.

YM nodded formally, shook Misha's hand, and said, "All right. I've got your message, thank you. Goodbye."

Misha nodded, turned around and walked quickly towards the exit.

Notes

1. Popular Russian celebrity and TV presenter. Daughter of the first mayor of St. Petersburg, Anatoly Sobchak.

2. Amber is commonplace in Kalingrad, the most western region of Russia, while bone artefacts are often found in Chukotka – the most eastern region of Russia.

3. One of the characters in the satirical novel _The Little Golden Calf_ , written by Ilya Ilf and Yevgeni Petrov and published in January 1931.

4. In Russian there are different terms that relate to either belonging to the Russian Federation, or to Russian ethnicity.

5. Refers to atrocities committed by Anders Breivik in July 2011.

6. Anatoly Chubais – former influential member of Yeltsin's administration, in charge of privatization and the president's 1996 re-election. Presently, serves as the CEO of Rosnano. Remains a very controversial figure in Russia.

7. Mass demonstrations in Moscow in December 2010, following the murder of a Spartak Moscow football club fan by a group of young men of North-Caucasian origin and the subsequent mishandling of the case by police and the local prosecutor's office.

# Chapter 6 - 15:30

A large ceremonial portrait of his father hung on the wall of the reception hall. Comfortable chairs were arranged in a semi-circle, encouraging intimate conversation. Smith moved his cup aside and crossed his legs for comfort.

"Getting back to the capital-flight issue... I know many people and companies with interesting ideas and projects who could have invested huge sums into Russia's development, benefiting all stakeholders. However, they are not doing it. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because of corruption. It is a huge problem for the country. And as far as I can tell, people in the west are under the impression that the situation is worsening, and no one here seems to care. Doesn't the Kremlin understand?"

Smith leaned forward and looked YM squarely in the eye.

YM did not really want to discuss this subject. He had his own opinions, but he was not ready to share them with Smith.

"It is difficult to say, John. I read a surprising report recently, in one of the western magazines. It claimed that the cost of fighting corruption is actually higher than the damage caused by corruption in the first place."

"Like the outcome we see when the government fights drug cartels in Mexico?"

"No. Fighting the Mexican drug cartels is only part of the picture – it involves many, but not all the people. In Russia, all attention is drawn towards money. They steal X amount and one kilometre of pipeline or road consequently becomes much more expensive than anywhere else in the world. They spend Y amount on cars, or on gilded beds... From my point of view, moral corruption is much more devastating for society than the illegal distribution of money. Corrupted people cross a line. They have become criminals. And there is a high probability that it will define their decisions and deeds in the future. Certainly, society suffers directly from the loss or damage caused by misappropriation of budget funds. But the collateral damage is much greater than direct financial losses. Overall growth slows down; important projects never take off. Productivity plummets when people see that the crooks at the top of the pyramid steal the results of their work. Hypocrisy becomes the norm in society."

Smith nodded in agreement as YM spoke.

"At the same time, the fight against corruption has its own consequences for society," YM continued. "Of the three aspects of justice, the principle of equal treatment for all is the most difficult for us to fulfil. The inevitability of justice – or punishment, if you like – is essentially a technical question. And making the punishment appropriate to the crime I also consider a technicality. From our history we know that it is easy to unleash the 'red wheel': repressions, killings, imprisonments, torture and so on. But is it possible to control it? Do we need another Great Purge? And here again comes another eternal Russian question: 'Who would be the judges?'"

Smith lit up a cigarette. This surprised YM a little.

"But doing nothing is the wrong option," the American said.

Looking at him, YM noted with some dissatisfaction that further discussion was unavoidable. Smith's manners were pleasant, and there was credibility in the way he spoke. But something deep inside YM warned him to be cautious.

"Yes, John, you are right. The fight against corruption is necessary, no question about it. The real issue is how. Should we punish low-ranking officials such as traffic cops, or should we start at the top, examining each and every minister and member of parliament? As far as I know, both approaches are being employed.

"At the same time, everyone sees what is going on in Moscow, Sochi, at Gazprom and Transneft. Even the President himself, along with the Prime Minister, has publicly acknowledged the huge scale of corruption. I suppose you are aware of it. Why, then, is the situation worsening?

"I don't know the answer, John. It seems to be difficult to get society to evolve faster. Sometimes, it seems that there are very few honest people, if any. We must hope that the new generation will be more responsible. It is difficult, if not impossible, for those who have already crossed the line to return."

"Are you saying that you simply have to wait and everything will go away by itself?"

"By itself? No. We must try to work with the young and with society as a whole. Raise quality of life, narrow the gap between rich and poor, improve education... And no one has abolished repressive methods either."

"Don't you think these new 'Red Guards' would be vulnerable to corruption?"

"Frankly, I don't know. I doubt it. Perhaps, with maturity, they will split into two groups: young aspiring bureaucrats and eternal idealists. However, I'm not sure that they would last that long, because they have neither ideas nor leaders... In its present state the system is doomed to failure. On the other hand, that might trigger the creation of a counter-culture which would probably be less prone to corruption. Frankly, so far I don't see any evidence to support either outcome."

"Does that mean we cannot expect any changes for the better any time soon?"

"Miracles generally do not happen... although a miracle might be exactly what we need."

"What do you mean?" Smith asked curiously.

"I don't know for sure, but perhaps it is worth trying..." YM began, pouring tea into two cups.

"You know, people who have accumulated dubious fortunes tend to be interested in legitimizing their wealth. And this makes them far more prone to obey regulations. They call it 'lobbyism' in your country."

Smith listened closely.

"And there are other factors that may help," YM continued. "The Russian Orthodox religion is a powerful influence on people here. Obviously, we also have other ideals that go beyond religion. Forgiveness, in my opinion, is one of the central pillars of Russian society. If people agreed to forgive those who took bribes and stole budget funds, then we could try to change something. I think the bulk of those who have crossed the line wish for redemption. They don't want to live and die unforgiven. They long for forgiveness from society and family, not from the state. And they may want it enough to offer in exchange a promise to play according to the rules. That would require a miracle; and yet again, perhaps not a miracle – just a referendum on an amnesty, new laws and regulations, and a renewed social contract."

"What an unusual idea!" Smith lit and took a drag on his next cigarette. "Do you think it is possible?"

"I am not sure. These are just my thoughts. I certainly don't know everything that's happening. The situation could be much worse... or perhaps the law enforcement agencies might improve the situation more quickly. In my opinion, the main question remains: is society itself ready?"

"So why aren't these ideas brought to light in the media? What does your Russian Orthodox Church think about it?"

"Shall we ask them to add corruption to the list of mortal sins? Or to say that the corrupted people will burn eternally in hell? Or to declare their grandchildren damned to the seventh degree?" YM smiled. "It may well be the case that no one really wants to get rid of corruption. Perhaps the image we have as 'the most corrupt country' protects the domestic market from competition from small and medium-sized foreign companies. German ones, for example. Large businesses can make agreements at the state level, while smaller ones cannot. As a result they don't come here, allowing less efficient local businesses to grow, make money and accumulate capital.

"Or, perhaps, society is simply not ready for such a debate? Presently, in the axis of citizen, society and state, the state dominates. One might say that society does not really exist at the moment, because the majority of people are passive. I believe that society must define the state, and not vice versa."

"It sounds quite irrational." Smith seemed quite surprised. "I mean the idea of supporting this image of being the most corrupt country in the world. Consumers suffer, to say the least."

"Here we deal with a dual human nature. You focus on the passive side, which to me is consumption. But we can also look at the active side, which is production. Currently, a consumer is in a less comfortable position economically. However, a producer, whether an employee or entrepreneur, gains an economic advantage."

"But the capital accumulated this way is not going into the real economy."

"Do you think so?" YM countered.

"Savings are delayed consumption. Besides, our ability to analyze what is happening in the economy is limited to a great extent. How much of the country's economy is in the grey zone? No one knows for sure. The corruption we've talked about is nothing more than a redistribution of wealth. Unfortunately, it is dishonest and non-transparent, and therefore suboptimal. Here I'm ignoring the moral hazards, which are too difficult to estimate. Nevertheless, the money remains in the system. For example, the service sector in Russia is growing quite rapidly, and not just in Moscow. Needless to say, engineering and other projects develop slowly... very slowly! But even this can be explained. In terms of rational decision making, it is presently wrong to invest one's own funds into projects with a payback longer than 10 years. Corruption is not the main factor here... although..."

Smith was quietly thoughtful. He was not the first person to hear YM's views on this topic. This was partly why his arguments were logically constructed and his suppositions adequately grounded. He never discussed these matters with his father, or with most of his friends; they deliberately avoided the subject. But from time to time YM allowed himself to share his views with some of his closest friends. Smith's reaction pleased him.

After thinking it over for a while, Smith spoke up again. His eyes were focused on the portrait of YM's father. "You know, I'm pleased by what you say. We respect your country. What you have already achieved is impressive, but the way it's all been done... In our opinion, you could have attained much more and at less cost. Russia's general vector of development has created problems, many of which would be very difficult to resolve independently. Our countries must co-operate.

"I like the direction of your thoughts: please believe me when I say that I personally share many of your ideas. Moreover, I would like to tell you that in my country many people think the same way. And we understand that we have also made a huge number of mistakes on our side. We are trying to analyze not only what actually happened, but also various alternative scenarios. I guess that by now you have figured out that I am involved in other things besides scientific research."

He looked intently at YM, who smiled gently.

"I mean social activities," Smith continued without hesitation. "I am sure that clearly formulated positions on key issues will allow our countries to achieve mutual understanding and work together on solutions for various vital contemporary problems." He paused, waiting for YM's reaction.

"And historical too," he added after some extra thought. "It would be great if you would present your views during our upcoming conference in London. Please let me know if you need assistance preparing materials or collecting information. Any assistance at all."

YM did not reply immediately. He understood what Smith was saying. 'I need to speak to my father about it,' YM mused. "Thank you for your sincerity, John," he said out loud. "I will not say anything about the conference right now. Give me some time to think it over."

"I understand perfectly well. It is not the last conference. We would organize another one, if needed. Here is my business card, just in case."

He rose and offered his card to YM.

"You know, John, about the co-operation..." YM paused for some time. "To be quite frank, I find western society excessively conservative. I see this in the constant referrals to the Constitution, the various historic declarations, the antique and Biblical values, all combined with the refusal to acknowledge the need to find new ideas. You seem stuck in the past, borrowing from it only what you like, and you are not looking to the future. You are doing everything you can to preserve the status quo, which is increasingly difficult as the rich become richer and the poor poorer. The life of each new generation is worse than the previous one. The children who are not yet born already have huge debts. I don't think your current society can provide a model for the development of Russia.

"On top of that, any potentially viable idea poses a threat to you, because it might deprive you of the right to moral domination. Which is, I believe, the reason why you choose to inhibit the development of new ideas. You have a whole arsenal of means to do that, including the so-called free press and public opinion. And you have never hesitated to use those."

Smith did not answer right away. "I can see your doubts," he said eventually. "As I already told you, I personally share many of your ideas." He offered his hand to show the sincerity of his words. "In any case, I am extremely happy that we had this little meeting, and very grateful to you for finding time for it. I hope to see you again."

YM shook his hand. Smith bowed and left.

Notes

1. The Great Purge was a series of campaigns of political repression and murder in the Soviet Union orchestrated by Joseph Stalin from 1937 to 1938. It involved a large-scale purge of the Communist Party, Red Army leadership and government officials, repression of peasants and the persecution of unaffiliated persons, characterized by widespread suspicion of "saboteurs", imprisonment, and arbitrary executions.

2. Read _The Woes of Wit_ by Alexander Griboedov – a comedy in verse, satirizing the society of post-Napoleonic Moscow.

3. Here refers to 'Nashi' - a political youth movement in Russia, which declares itself to be a democratic, anti-fascist, anti-'oligarchic-capitalist' movement. Its creation was encouraged by senior figures in the Russian Presidential administration, and by late 2007, it had grown in size to some 120,000 members aged between 17 and 25.

# Chapter 7 - 17:15

YM looked at his watch. More than an hour remained before the meeting with his friend Slava. He asked for a glass of juice, took out his mobile and pensively looked through his contacts. After a brief pause, he picked up the receiver of his desk phone and dialled a number.

A sensual female voice answered.

"Hello. It's me," YM said in an exaggeratedly business-like manner.

"Oh, hello – this is a nice surprise!"

"I've got a moment, so I thought I'd give you a call and find out what you are up to. What are your plans?"

"I don't know really. I'm getting ready for the rehearsal: that's about it for plans. Life as usual – nothing happens at the moment. There's not much to tell you... One of my friends returned from Paris yesterday, and we wanted to go for a coffee and a little chat."

"May I ask you to be a little more discreet?"

"Don't worry," she interrupted. "I didn't mean us. I understand, of course. I won't say a word about you... about us. To anyone – even my best friend. Honestly! Please don't worry."

"I'm not worried, I just don't want the whole world to know – at least for the time being."

"I understand perfectly well. I'm not a little girl any more."

"Oh yes – that's it. I wanted to ask you about your plans for the weekend."

"Weekend?" Her voice was silent for a moment. Then, more flirtatiously: "Why, do you want to ask me on a date?"

"Yes, you could say that!" YM tried to keep things formal. "Let's meet up tomorrow afternoon. I need to discuss something important with you – something quite interesting."

"Excellent!" she exclaimed. She adopted YM's business-like manner. "Just tell me where and when."

"There's a nice place not far from your home. I'll send a car for you to avoid any hassle with security."

"I'll be waiting, my prince!" she replied in a sexy voice, and immediately burst out laughing. "I'm so glad you called."

"I'm glad too." YM's voice had warmed up. "See you tomorrow, then."

"All right, see you tomorrow. I'll be waiting for your call!"

She didn't hang up, and YM listened to her breathing a little longer.

"Hugs and kisses," he said, and hung up.

"Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra." YM recalled an old knight's slogan, for some reason. He played with his phone a little, finished his juice, put the empty glass on the table and headed for the exit.

Notes

1. 'Do your duty, come what may.' (French).

# Chapter 8 - 18:00

YM got into his car. Ivan made sure that his passenger was seated comfortably and drove off. There was a talk show on the radio; having missed the beginning, YM could not figure out who was who on air.

"I don't think it's only Russia. People have forgotten how to think all over the world... Crisis or no crisis, I get the impression that human thought stopped about 50 years ago. Of course, there have been some technical advances, but no significant ideas. What was the name of the guy who predicted the end of history? Fukushima? No – Fukuyama. Well, he recently admitted that he was wrong. History continues. The only difference is that we don't have Voltaire, Karl Marx or Ghandi with us any more. On the practical side, it certainly seems that Marx has won – meaning it is his system that became the norm. It underwent some changes, but it is basically his school of thought."

A new speaker interrupted. "But allow me to disagree with you, my friend. The fall of capitalism has been exaggerated, but the 'end of the world' hasn't even started! Here is a good example: the current financial crisis. The good-for-nothing bankers were blamed for all sins. And they are definitely not angels. But they only play according to the regulations set up by the state. When we look at recent history, we see that the causes of the crisis are embedded in the state's desire to redistribute wealth among the people. During the late 60s, in the US, black citizens were given political rights. But they quickly realised that they lacked economic rights. Where would it come from? Several years later, mass protests started, culminating in mass rioting in large population centres, with looting and shooting.

"To calm the situation, the Community Investment Act was enacted in 1977, forcing banks to give loans to the poor. The market, in fact, was replaced with bureaucracy exactly in the spirit of John Holt. This soon triggered incremental losses for the banks which specialized in mortgages. In order to compensate for their losses, actual or anticipated, bankers started to look for more profitable investments. Those investments, as a rule, were riskier. The introduction of that Act was certainly not the sole reason for the crisis, but it opened Pandora's Box. A similar situation is well known to gamblers. A loss leads to more risk taking, which results in higher losses, and so on. As a result we have a wrecked financial system, a huge debt and total uncertainty regarding the possible solution to the crisis."

Now it was the first speaker again. "An interesting remark! And we therefore see that the Federal Reserve's decision to increase the amount of cash in the system only inflates another bubble.

"Unfortunately, this is only part of the picture. From my point of view, the problem has a more global nature. By dropping the rate to almost zero, the financial authorities made savings unattractive. They punish 'good' people, who work and deposit their savings for the future. At the same time, they encourage 'bad' people who have got used to living in debt and have no plans to save anything for a rainy day. History shows that the government's attempts to redistribute wealth are doomed to failure. The state's bureaucratic machinery is aimed at uprooting 'good' people and massively expanding the 'bad' or debt-ridden section of society: people who are totally dependent on state support."

"Don't you think that's a broad statement?"

"No, not particularly. Lately I've been listening to Congressman Ron Paul, who declared his candidacy in the US presidential elections. He advocates Libertarianism: curtailing the government and returning to what he calls 'the legacy of the Founding Fathers'."

The speaker was immediately interrupted. "The Americans worship their Constitution – a piece of paper written 300 years ago by a handful of white, Protestant slave owners! They believe that their Constitution reflects eternal values. It has about 30 amendments, incidentally. The English, on the other hand, have no constitution at all. Or take the Greeks, with their democracy. Unless I'm very much mistaken, the country has been suffering ever since they invented it!"

The second voice continued. "Speaking of the Constitution, democracy, the Qur'an and the Sermon on the Mount. To me this is all a question of basic ethical values and belongs to the realm of philosophers. And as you accurately point out, you don't see many of them around nowadays! Individuals have been replaced with institutes or 'think-tanks', as they call them in the west. Here I am personally more interested in the issue of political leadership. Or to put it in simpler terms: current leaders, and their ability to present ideas. When we look at the politicians of the first ten years of this century, one can get the impression that our planet is degenerating. Who replaced Stalin, Churchill, Roosevelt, Deng Xiaoping, Reagan, Kohl, Mitterand and Thatcher? Those were the kind of leaders I'm talking about."

There was a pause. "Let's have a look at the leaders we have now, starting with the G7. Take the US. Bush Jr. needs no comment. But it's interesting to note that after John Hinckley shot Reagan during the third month of his presidency, two families have been controlling the US government for almost 30 years. Hillary Clinton is still controlling the Department of State. Obama made a bright start, but the existing circumstances were, excuse my language, quite shitty. One can compare it to the first years of Putin after he came to power replacing Yeltsin in the late 90s. The only difference is that Putin was lucky, while Obama doesn't seem to be. I must admit that I'm not an expert on the US, so I might be wrong.

"In Europe, the situation is more interesting. Schröder was castigated, but it was his reforms which allowed Germany to survive this crisis more or less intact. On top of that, they saved the Greeks with their democracy, and helped to balance the less fortunate Europeans. And Schröder decisively rejected participation in the Iraq War. But Germans did not appreciate his efforts. I think the blame lies with his party. With his transfer to Gazprom, he erected a black obelisk to himself in Germany. Angela Merkel exceeded all expectations without achieving anything, either at home or abroad. She has been sailing with the wind, more or less sticking to the course proposed by Schröder. As a result, she is perceived the same way, more or less.

"In the UK, I say that the recent leaders are poster boys – by which I mean that they are young and good looking. All of them except Gordon Brown. Perhaps that's the reason why he was generally disliked. Everywhere. Tony Blair can hardly be called a leader... he looks more like a cross between George Bush's poodle and Gordon's breed of British bulldog. His achievements following his retirement – or rather, the complete absence of thereof – speak clearly for him. On top of that, he should without doubt be taken to court for launching the Iraq War. And as for their current leader, Cameron: from the global point of view he is nothing. We will see how he copes with bankers, rioters and the Olympics.

"Now, let's look at Italy. No question: Silvio is a superman. He wears his boxers on the outside just like the original. At his age, he still chases every skirt he sees, and tells jokes about Obama and Merkel. More importantly, however, he manages to rule the Italians. Putting aside his personal life, I think that no one could lead Italy better than he has done. However, from an international point of view, there is nothing that he can boast of. He shouldn't have agreed to bomb Libya. If he had refused, he could have been a local peacekeeper. Who knows, he might have been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Nowadays, unfortunately, this prize is more frequently awarded for ordering bombings than for preventing them...

"Compared to Berlusconi, Sarkozy comes up... somewhat shorter. He became President, then he left his wife and children and married a former supermodel – magnificent! He will not make it into the history books, even in France. He dispersed protestors in Paris, and now he is dealing with Libya. Quite useless, from my point of view, because this adventure will only benefit China and Russia, and possibly the Muslim Brotherhood. The Libyans will lose anyway. Nothing else can be said about Sarko. Except that at least he does not rape hotel maids...

"Who else is left? If anyone can remember the names of the leaders in Canada and Australia, I'll eat my tie. Not the way Saakashvili did, but actually swallow it. It's very good they have the Queen as their leader. Two huge countries with relatively homogeneous populations, barely on the fringe of world politics. On the bright side, they are ideal playgrounds for social experiments: perhaps some day they will decide to attempt something new, instead of their traditional Anglo-Saxon model. Who knows?

"Well... what else? Of course, the Japanese. They are a regional power at best. Koizumi had the potential to become a global leader, but he failed to become the voice of Asia. I doubt that anyone else can do that. Now all their problems are internal, except for some old disputes with China and Korea.

"Speaking of China," he continued. "I have a few things to say about the 'Middle Kingdom'. Remember what Churchill said about bulldogs fighting under the carpet? I imagine that China is something like that. The old Communist Party controls everything there, and whether a single person governs the party is essentially a philosophical question. Is it Hu Jintao? I'm not sure. In public, they behave cautiously, well aware that everyone is waiting for them to make a mistake – allowing all the others to unite against them. The Chinese deserve respect for their Olympic success, and they coped well with avian flu and the earthquake. Their weak points are Xinjiang and Tibet; I am not sure about Taiwan..."

The anchorman interrupted him. "Are there no real leaders in the world?"

"I can't answer that," the unknown voice replied. "But it says a lot that, compared to them, our Putin managed to become Man of the Decade, according to one well-known magazine."

Another participant in the debate spoke up. "In my opinion, that kind of elevation of Putin above other world leaders highlights even more strongly the gap between him and the so-called Russian elite. Western societies are more homogeneous; they can be divided over a single issue, yet most moral and ethical values are generally agreed upon. Their elite represents those values – or tries to represent them. The gap between society, the elite and the leaders is not that big. I don't know whether it's good or bad, but I would call it a logical stage of the democratic process, without external intervention. Russia, so far, lacks any society, and there are many reasons for that: including geography, religion, history, economics and, perhaps most importantly..."

The anchorman interrupted him. "Don't you think the recent riots in England demonstrate the increasing gap between the lower and upper classes there?"

"It certainly looks that way. We need to analyse what actually happened there. I understand that the extended use of police force would lead to radicalisation of certain parts of society. Next time, the situation might well be more complex. This time, the people who took to the streets did not adhere to any particular ideology. There are no modern ideas, one could say. My colleague just said so. But unhappy people can quickly find something suitable for themselves; the current choice includes, for example, anarchism and fascism. Alternatively, the rioters can revive dormant alternatives such as nationalism or, once again, fascism. Western countries' socialist economies have created a substantial number of slackers, like the characters in that American movie The Big Lebowski. They are passive in nature. But a gifted leader can bring them back to active life, organize them and infuse them with new ideas, compromising the old ones."

"This can be done very quickly," said the anchorman, "using social networks."

"But in the same way they can be easily stopped – by switching off the internet and mobile communications, and by depriving access to the most active users. I would propose that nowadays, any movement can be put on hold very quickly. It was Lenin who first spoke of the seizure of postal and telegraphic communications. The secret services are not sleeping. They are already provoking and employing network activists. It is very naïve to think that Big Brother does not know how to use the internet.

He continued after a short pause. "On top of this, I think that the social networks will decline for other reasons. The pendulum will swing the other way, as it has so many times before. Right now, the acne-ridden teenager spending his time and money on social networks thinks that other people need him, that he has some 'friends' out there. Soon enough he will realize that he has been duped and used for others' selfish goals. He will understand that dreams are illusions, but pain is real. When his generation realises this, they will find other occupations: heroin, perhaps. The same thing happened when punks replaced hippies at the end of the Summer of Love, and the flower children switched to hard drugs. The need for love is constant, and eternal. But the energy generated by the fall of the Wall, and by society's general growth... it fades. There is no particular reason to be happy. No one knows what the next drugs will be called..."

The anchorman interrupted the speaker's grim thoughts.

"Currently, the social networks play an important role in society. Look at the Arab countries, or at Belarus."

"The picture that I see in Belarus supports what I said in the very beginning. There is form, but no substance. They are running in circles, yelling, 'Down with Lukashenko!' Imagine the same thing happens as with Turkmenbashi of Turkmenia, who died suddenly. What are the protestors going to do?

"They don't have a programme: neither ideas nor structure. One can laugh at Yavlinksy, who had his own programme entitled '500 Days', regardless of how good or bad it was. But look at the Belarusians. It is a small country with decent, hard-working people. There are real problems, which, I might add, are not connected directly to Lukashenko. When he goes, the problems will stay. I am not one of his supporters. But in my opinion, he is not one of the worst leaders. Just a peculiar one."

"What would you suggest for Belarus?"

"I am," the speaker replied, "rather like a side-line observer. They need a programme, something more concrete than typical Russian graffiti, written on walls: 'Putin's plan is Russia's victory.' I've never been to Minsk, so it is difficult for me to suggest anything right now. Neither is it my speciality. All I would say is that mankind is in a creative cul-de-sac, particularly regarding political and social structuring. Economics is a starting point, and simultaneously a sequence. It is difficult to find a solution, but it is not impossible. The lack of a development model suitable for Belarus or, let's say, Tunisia – even the total lack of any attempts to resolve or find some optimal solution – is leading to miserable thoughts. The European model of development, in which a handful of countries became industrialised and wealthy over the course of centuries through the exploitation of colonies and weaker neighbours, and now finance economically disadvantaged countries with the crumbs from their table... this model is no longer sustainable. The world needs new ideas."

Absorbed in these words, YM did not notice when the car arrived at the restaurant. The doorman greeted him and opened the door. YM nodded his head and walked towards the entrance.

Notes

1. '500 Days' was an ambitious programme proposed by Grogory Yavlinsky to overcome the economic crisis in the Soviet Union by means of transition into a market economy.

# Chapter 9 - 19:00

Slava was obviously already drunk. He had ordered a mountain of food and a bottle of good French wine.

"Listen, we've not seen each for ages... how are you doing?" Slava asked in his usual familiar manner.

YM looked at him thoughtfully. They used to be very close; their fathers were friends. Slava had carved out a good career in a large bank. He was wealthy, and had all the trimmings of a successful Russian businessman: a nice house in a privileged neighbourhood of Moscow, properties abroad, a beautiful girlfriend, an ex-wife and two kids.

"I'm doing fine. Everything is as usual – there's nothing really new... how's life treating you?"

"Everything is great. We have overcome the crisis. We're even growing, sort of. Although how can you call it growth when you see what they are doing in America? It's so frustrating!" Slava glanced at the waitress, quaffed his drink and put his empty glass on the table.

"I just wanted to check: am I right that it's your birthday this week?"

"Yes. Thanks for remembering!"

"Don't mention it. Of course I remember. I just wanted to know what you'd like for a present."

"Forget it, just come as usual. No gifts."

"Why not? It's your 33rd. You're a big guy now!"

Seeing YM's expression, Slava refilled the glasses and gave a short but meaningful toast. "To us!"

YM took a mouthful after neatly chinking Slava's glass with his. The wine's taste was pleasing: moderately cold, with a delicate flavour. He liked good wines, their tastes and flavours. He enjoyed the feeling of light-headedness even more so. That type of feeling could not be had from beer or hard liquor – only from a good wine. He took another sip.

His father frequently made it clear that he disapproved of this habit, even though his son rarely got drunk. He never drank himself, even when he was expected to raise a glass on formal occasions. He just pretended to drink. There was practically never any alcohol in his house, with the exception of holidays, when he allowed the opening of a bottle of champagne or wine. Often this would not be finished.

"Excellent wine!" YM said, savouring the drink.

"That's true," Slava replied. He refilled their glasses once more. "I hope they have got two more bottles!"

"Don't be so pushy! I need to work tomorrow. As do you, by the way. And they complain that the country is suffering from a crisis, and productivity is not growing!"

"Not to worry. They can live with that. I am the boss! I don't know about others, but my productivity only improves when I am hungover. Everything is immediately clear to me, and decisions are easy to make." Slava drank again, and lit a cigarette.

"And to be frank, I'm fed up with it all. One cannot make all the money in the world! Drink all the wine and screw all the women! We're getting old, brother..."

He finished his wine. "Yesterday I met an acquaintance, a meat mogul from St. Petersburg, who told me a fresh joke. 'There are only two kinds of business in the country: money pizding and money pizding assistance.'" Both laughed.

"Seems to be true," YM said. "I remember that during the heat of the crisis, the very same bankers would say that there are only two banks in this country: the sperm bank and the blood bank. Using your expression, there are also two other kinds of business: otsosing and otstrelling!"

"In other words, we are obviously seeing an improvement," Slava continued, "as the money showed up in the system. Therefore, otsosing has not disappeared, but otstrelling has shrunk. And a hostile takeover is a step forward compared to assassinations."

YM looked thoughtfully at his glass.

"Today, I heard an interesting idea," he said. "It was about a country club. The idea is to organize a country club in each town, whose members would be more or less authoritative representatives of local communities, along with their wives and children. They would organize the social life, the dances, balls, golf tournaments and games of cards, and simultaneously resolve business issues. Accordingly, they would not admit entry to those who break the rules."

"That wouldn't work," Slava replied confidently.

"Why not?" YM looked at him with interest.

"Our people do not know how to play golf or bridge, and poker is illegal!"

"Well, they will learn some day." YM smiled.

"I truly doubt it. We have too much snow for golf!" Slava burst out laughing.

"They will play on the snow, or they will play cards," YM insisted. "Don't you think it's worth trying?"

"You can give it a try," Slava replied more seriously. "But everyone will think that someone wants to make money from it. At best, everything will boil down to a routine drinking-fest."

The waitress refilled the glasses once more. Slava waited for her to go, then took a mouthful of wine, and spoke a moment later. "By the way, you started to speak about social activity... I want to confess something. I have been approached by various business lobbyists, and they want me to talk to you."

"About what?" YM already knew the answer.

"Years are passing by," Slava said evasively, refusing to come to the point. "People are changing, both directly and indirectly. There are some who do not need change at all; other are looking forward to it, and all of them want clarification."

"What do I have to do with that?" YM asked innocently, sipping his wine.

"Both groups think it depends on you. That you ought to step out of your father's shadow and become a new leader."

"Whose leader? You yourself said there is no unity."

"The differences are not that big. Everything could be agreed upon. By and large, people are smart, and there is no organized resistance to change for the better. There are misunderstandings; some individual schizophrenic elements which must be removed from the system. But nothing is impossible!"

"Why can't they do it without me? All these parties, with their members..."

Slava lit a cigarette. He had a firm expression on his face. "It's not funny... Party members' party! One cannot make a sweet from shit. Look what happened to Prokhorov." He took another drag. "Everyone is stained by corruption, and they all understand this, but people are tired. They are fed up of being unhappy."

"It's been a long time since I heard about unhappy businessmen. Have they become conscience-stricken?"

"Some have guilty consciences. Others suffer from 'other' state organs."

YM smiled at this sad humour.

"Those who have money need peace," Slava continued.

"What about new players?"

"What new players? What are you talking about? Who would like to do business now? Wasting Daddy's money is all that kids can do nowadays. And their parents are only happy that the kids don't even try to enter the family business because they know just how dirty it can be. There is not a single dynasty in the country. By the way, do you know what soldiers engaged in entrepreneurial activities have been called historically?"

"No."

"They call them marauders..."

He raised his glass to give another toast. "You can think what you want. People are sick and tired of uncertainty. They are waiting for your answer. You will be supported by all serious business people – that is what I wanted to say."

YM again touched his glass with Slava's. The taste of the wine contrasted with his friend's words.

"Thanks for your sincerity. What a remarkable day this is. You won't believe it, but I have already heard those words today. In a different context; but the idea was approximately the same."

"Even better."

"This is all so strange," YM said, as if to no one, taking a cigarette from his friend's pack. He lit it and took a long drag.

Slava lounged back in his chair. He signalled to the waitress, who brought more wine. They barely touched the food.

"Okay. It's up to you. Think it over! Talk to your father if you must – there is no rush... I hope!"

YM nodded, and once more chinked his glass with Slava's.

"To ideas!"

They drank. YM interrupted the silence. "You know, I've been searching for knowledge all my life. I wanted to better understand the nature of things. I wanted to understand where the first atom came from; where Genghis Khan acquired so many metal swords and shields for his armies... that kind of stuff." He looked at his friend. "At first, I was just curious. But later, I understood that the roots of many current problems can be found in history. As well as various attempts to resolve them. For example, the history of the papacy: this is entwined with issues of sovereignty, religion, freedom of conscience, culture, science and many other things. Very few people understand it today."

"I always thought you were agnostic, religiously speaking?" said Slava.

"I'm not talking about religion, but about learning. One of my Catholic acquaintances from Argentina would say that faith is a grace of God. Grace has not yet touched me, unfortunately."

"Don't worry, it will," Slava mumbled, looking into his glass.

YM made a grab for Slava's attention. "Look: I'll illustrate what I mean. There is the sum of all knowledge in each person's head. Imagine it as an uneven ink spot, where someone knows more about one subject and less about another. I have met mathematicians with no knowledge of economics, and musicians who don't know anything about chemistry. The latter are rare, though."

Slava barely smiled.

"Some people accumulate knowledge mechanically," YM continued. "They read books, attend lectures and so on. And I think that each person should try to increase the size of his 'ink spot'. But true scholars need to do so in a harmonic way, trying to achieve an ideal circle spot."

"Is this something that teachers do with you at school? Push irrelevant and unnecessary information into your head?"

"It is not unnecessary. People simply do not know how to use it."

"That means somebody should teach them how to use this knowledge." Slava smiled.

"Of course. And later on, they should feed them, put them in front of a TV and wipe their arses!"

"Okay! Take it easy."

YM reached for another cigarette. Alcohol and nicotine had already done their job. He inhaled deeply, sipped more wine and added, "One of my acquaintances, from Yerevan in Armenia, would say, 'Most of all, I don't like two things: stupidity and ingratitude. I dislike stupidity more, because a stupid person is ungrateful by default. He does not understand to whom and for what he must be grateful!'"

Slava looked at YM and raised his glass formally. "To knowledge, then! To the desire to understand the nature of things. To your progress on that road. I wish you success."

"Hmm. That is a road that never ends."

"What is the goal, then?"

"To understand the nature of things! Among the blind, the one-eyed man is king."

"Lead us, oh wise one!" Slava said in a mocking tone. Yet again, he raised his glass.

"Where to?" YM replied, matching his tone.

"That's a good question."

There was confidence in YM's voice. "People stopped thinking," he said. "They stopped dreaming. And they want to be made happy. I remember, during the late 80s, we would laugh at the typical Soviet dream... a dacha, an apartment and a car. I don't think it has changed at all in the past 30 years. Perhaps they added the wish to spend a holiday in Turkey, all inclusive. To be able to switch off one's brain completely."

He stubbed out his cigarette. "I remember something that Martin Luther King said. 'A human being is not ready to live until he finds something he is willing to die for.'"

Slava thoughtfully studied his lighter. He lit a cigarette and said, "Perhaps he is ready to die for his family."

YM shrugged. "Perhaps you are right. Long ago, people were willing to die for their families. Thousands of years ago, people died for their faith. A hundred years ago, they died for their ideas. Now, it's families once again. Actually that is difficult to prove, considering the number of divorces!"

"Why do you say that?"

"I just want to say that people can no longer think or dream. Thinkers are extinct."

"So be it, then!" Slava spoke like a prosperous businessman. "The most important thing is to avoid fanaticism."

"Right you are. Let's drink to that! But it is a sad thought."

"Do you want a fairy tale to come true? Because it never does. A fairy tale looks less and less attractive by the day."

"Do you mean the great American Dream?"

"What's so great about it? You mean to score a million bucks? You call this a dream?"

"Don't say that. It may well be a dream for someone."

"I ask these dreamers, 'What are you going to spend your hard-earned 13th million on?"

"Why 13th?"

"I don't know. Perhaps 17th; there's no difference. The number came into my head."

"I see. And what do they say?"

"Nothing much, usually. They start uttering nonsense about buying an apartment, an island or a yacht, or something like that. And I respond by saying, 'Your goal is to spend, not to invest!' The acquisition of property is an investment, regardless of what you say. Generally speaking, I haven't heard a single clear answer. It turns out that it's not that easy to spend a million dollars. One needs imagination, which is a rare commodity among modern people."

"Does that mean they don't need money? Why not distribute it among homeless children?"

"Why? Greed is all-pervasive! I just want to tell them that if they do not know how to spend the money, why should they put effort into making it? I saw a documentary recently about how this system was put in place. I was deeply impressed. It was called 'The Century of the Self' – Adam Curtis is the director. He showed, more or less, how people can be made to behave like sheep!"

Slava looked pensively at YM. "What a harsh man you are!" he said.

YM raised his glass. "C'est la vie!" He smiled a little to himself.

"What?" Slava stared quizzically.

"An interesting thought just popped into my mind. About smart questions."

"All right, speak your thoughts; that's good, because thoughts are exactly what we need now, according to you!" Slava spoke with obvious irony.

"Do you know what I thought? All those who go into politics should pass a test. Or rather, not a test per se, but a single question."

"Which question?"

"Do we need to legalize marijuana?"

Slava immediately sat up. "What do you mean by that? I didn't think you were a..."

"No – it's not about me," YM interrupted him. "And I want to say that this is not the most important issue for a politician. However, a sincere answer to this provides a very good impression of someone's political views."

"I doubt it! Everyone would answer no."

"It is not the actual answer that is important. It is the hidden reasoning. For example, one could reply that drugs are bad for one's health, and they should therefore be forbidden. But researchers have already shown that marijuana is less harmful than either tobacco or alcohol. The next argument would be that children would become addicted to drugs and start using heavier or stronger drugs like heroin. The answer is that it would not be permitted for children, the same as alcohol.

"Furthermore, everything is about historic and cultural arguments, which are not really arguments, unless this question is extended, and we ask them what we should do about it, if not legalize it? Should we turn a blind eye? That kind of answer is not really possible for a politician. The only remaining option is to fight; or in other words, use the right of the state to apply force and limit the people's freedoms. 'I want to smoke grass, and I do! Whose business is it, mine or the government's?' Remember what Shnurov said: 'Drugs are forbidden, but vodka is not!' That kind of approach generates hypocrisy. The inability of the state to resolve the problem by force causes the population to doubt the state's capabilities."

Slava looked at YM with raised eyebrows, waiting for him to go on.

"Today, I spoke to an American about the war against drug trafficking in Mexico. In spite of the epic scale of the authorities' efforts, they have lost this war. And the drug war was not only lost by Mexicans, but by most other countries."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Don't forget, I suggested that we introduce a test for any new politicians, in order to separate supporters of the people's freedoms from idealists who believe in the ability of man to reject harmful habits independently. I suggested that we differentiate between supporters of a nanny state and those who would plan to use a strong hand, purporting to know everything better than anyone else."

"It's a thought-provoking approach. But a very simple one at the same time."

"That is the entire point of the exercise. It is not in the answer, but the logic behind the thinking!"

"What would your answer be?" Slava asked directly.

"Got something?" YM asked smilingly. "I think it is impossible to answer this question right now. People don't know enough to make an informed decision. I would declare a referendum about the right of each local community to organize a direct vote on that issue. But I would postpone any such referendum for at least ten years. During this time, those for and against would be able to adequately convey their ideas to each and every citizen, in order to empower them to make their own decision based upon complete and accurate information. This referendum would allow people to decide if they need it or not. If they decide in favour of legalization, then it is up to them how to do it. Either through medical prescription, as in the States, or through coffee shops, as in Holland. Or maybe some other way? And what taxes and fines should be introduced? In addition, I would also suggest a mandatory rule demanding that the issue be automatically reviewed by vote every five years."

"Is this possible, here in Russia?"

"I don't think so. It is definitely not possible right now; hence all this havoc. Each and every local issue is supposed to be resolved in the Kremlin."

"Interesting," Slava said thoughtfully, blowing smoke rings in the air. "What does your father think?"

"Are you a complete fool – an idiot?" YM spoke angrily. "My father and drugs exist in two separate and incompatible worlds, as you well know. He believes in a healthy way of life and ideas of that kind."

"No, I mean... would people be able to decide by themselves? I doubt it, here."

"No, it is not possible at the moment."

"We need to teach people how to think, in order to make it possible. We need to teach them to look for answers. It's almost impossible to make them do that, but it is easy to make them do all the rest."

"You are absolutely right there."

They touched their glasses and drank.

"What do you think?" YM asked his drunken friend with a smile. "Would your businessmen be ready to support me with such ideas?"

"You have my word!" Slava replied seriously. Then a thought occurred to him. "I almost forgot. A friend of mine who lives in London has arrived in Moscow for a couple of days. He has a crazy idea, and he wants to meet you. Why doesn't he come over and tell it to you himself? You will be impressed, I can assure you."

YM looked at his friend and came to a decision. "Let him come, if he is a good man."

"He is a decent fellow; you will like him. Just tell your security. I'm going to call him now."

He pulled out his phone. "Hello... Edward? Yes, it's me. Long story short: get over here. I'm here with a friend. Remember me telling you? All right, we're waiting. You'll be met at the entrance to the restaurant, don't worry. See you." Slava put his phone on the table and lit yet another cigarette.

"Who is this Edward?"

"A friend of Matveich, remember him? They went to architectural university together, but he actually became an architect. He is now building a tower in Dubai – and somewhere else, I heard. Runs his own company in London. Edward is a very interesting man."

YM could hardly remember Matveich from his varsity days. For understandable reasons, his current social circle was fairly narrow.

He stood up and went to the men's room. In passing, he told his security that he was expecting another guest. The man nodded silently.

When he returned, YM saw that the table was almost cleared; and the waitress, under Slava's openly admiring gaze, was opening a new bottle of wine. For a moment it seemed to YM that the waitress winked at him. He nodded and took a cigarette from the packet on the table.

Before long, Edward entered the room. YM observed that he had a far more bohemian appearance than Misha, the gallery owner. He greeted Slava warmly, then shook YM's hand.

"Hello, I'm Edward. Glad to meet you. Slava has told me quite a bit about you."

He sat down on a chair that the waiter had brought over.

"Slava told me you've just arrived from London," YM said to avoid an awkward silence.

"Yes, I came three days ago. There are lots of interesting projects here now. The change of city mayor in Moscow has created many new possibilities."

"I wonder if you are talking about the expansion of the city limits?"

Slava could not suppress his laughter. "Welcome to 'New Vasuki," he said, referring to Moscow as a small provincial village. "We urgently need to appoint Ilyumzhinov as head of the project."

YM smiled gently, but Edward did not react to the joke.

"Yes, of course. The expansion is a significant decision. But there is a wealth of other possibilities as well."

Slava raised another glass. "To our encounter!"

All three drank together. YM ate some grapes. After asking the waiter to bring a menu, Edward said, "Today I had a very interesting discussion with a colleague from the States."

YM recalled his conversation with Smith. "A discussion about what?" he asked.

"About the development of Moscow. My colleague has a very unusual theory... I call it the 'Negative Start Theory'."

"What does the theory say?"

"In short, that Moscow needs its own Harlem!"

"What do you mean?" asked Slava, looking at his friend with surprise.

"He thinks that Moscow lacks a clear positioning of its districts. All of them are more or less similar. I'm not talking about downtown or the outskirts. I'm talking about the comparison of geographic districts, which defines property prices. There are neighbourhoods that are more prestigious, such as Ostozhenka or the south-west, but this is not sufficiently representative. In other words, it is not the Upper West Side of New York, or Mayfair in London. On top of this, property valuations based on a dynamic upper limit are inefficient, as they constantly float. So his idea is the introduction of a constant lower limit, based on a Harlem-type district. A sort of standard for all valuations."

"Sounds like gibberish to me!" said Slava.

"What is your opinion?" Edward asked YM. Unlike Slava, he had been focusing on what Edward was saying.

"I agree with the theory," he said.

"Cool!"

"That kind of change in perception would allow people to make more balanced decisions."

"I doubt that," said Slava. "It's a very unusual theory, anyway."

Silence enveloped the table. Slava noticed a questioning expression on YM's face, and reacted immediately. "Yes, Eddy. I have already dropped a few hints about your idea. I think it would be better if you spill the beans."

Edward forked a piece of jamon into his mouth, chewed it and washed it down with a mouthful of wine. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, pulled out a cigarette from the pack, lit it up and leaned back in the chair.

"I don't know where to start," he said, looking across at Slava.

"Just tell it like it is."

"Okay," said Edward, swivelling his eyes towards YM, "I know that it's going to sound strange, but please bear with me."

YM moved closer to the table, watching the architect intently. "I will try," he said.

"I realize that it's a bit premature to speak about it," Edward began. "Please understand that I'm not looking for glory – not by any means!" He looked directly at YM. "But this is a unique opportunity, and I think it shouldn't be missed."

"Go ahead." YM was getting impatient.

"All right! I suggest building a mausoleum for your father."

"What?" YM was speechless.

"In St. Petersburg, downtown; somewhere close to the Palace Square. Classic style. Something for our descendants to remember."

"Are you insane?" YM was almost yelling. "Have you thought about what you are saying? Why the hell would we build a mausoleum?"

"I warned you!" Slava said to Edward. He turned to YM. "Take it easy, pal! It's just an idea. This is why I told you first – you know, before the public debate started."

YM emptied his glass and gestured to the waiter to bring more.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Quite a few people, I'm afraid. You know how they are, creative folk."

Edward seemed to have expected this kind of reaction; outwardly, he seemed calm. Somehow this calm transferred itself to YM.

"Are you going nuts over in London?" he asked Edward, still sounding agitated.

"You think so? You cannot deny that people in the country love your father; that he is a living legend. He personifies an entire period, the most successful in modern Russian history. His name deserves to be remembered."

"This is all true. But a mausoleum? This is obviously too much."

"Who knows? Call it a memorial if you prefer. But it doesn't change the meaning."

"But why build it while he is still alive? That's crossing a line!"

"Well, we could build it later. Please understand this is still only a concept... a beautiful, artistic concept. I don't even have any sketches yet. But they will not take much time to draw."

Edward's calm began to irritate YM. "Did you set all this up on purpose?" he asked accusingly.

"I wanted you to hear it from the horse's mouth," Slava replied casually. "Edward is our man and will keep his mouth shut... for the time being, anyway. All this could be treated as a joke. For example, we could have Nemtsov announce it. Everyone would laugh and that would be the end of it. It's up to you."

"Don't do anything now, in any case." YM pulled himself together. "I need to talk to someone. And not with my father, of course!" He had noticed Edward's look.

"I think that's enough for me today. Too many ideas for one day."

"Buddy, please understand that you can't stand on the sidelines for ever. Think about our conversation." Slava looked surprisingly sober.

Edward stood up silently. He only offered his hand to say goodbye.

YM looked at him, shook his hand, then left.

Notes

1. Word play – anglicization of a Russian swear word which in this context means stealing.

2. Again, anglicization of Russian verbs meaning 'to suck' and 'to shoot to kill'.

3. The original is based on a word play derived from the twofold meaning of the word 'member' in Russian not dissimilar to English: 1) individual within an organization; and 2) male genital organ (in a scientific sense)

4. Mikhail Prokhorov is one of the Russian oligarchs who made fortunes from the privatization of the 'Norilsky Nickel' metal plant. In 2011, he decided to join a liberal party named 'Right Cause', which resulted in a huge public scandal and apparent conflict with presidential staff. In December 2011, Prokhorov announced that he would be running for president in the March 2012 elections.

5. Sergey Shnurov - leader and principal song writer of the famous Russian music band 'Leningrad'. Often uses swear words in his songs, which, despite their silliness, deal with major social and philosophical issues.

6. A word play, based on a typical question asked by junkies looking for dope.

7. The decision to expand the city of Moscow by adding part of the Moscow region, which is a separate subject of Russian Federation. This decision more than doubled the territory of Moscow.

8. Another reference to I. Ilf and E. Petrov's book _The twelve chairs_ , where scoundrels pitch to members of the village's chess club a masterplan to build a megapolis based on the chess industry.

9. Kirsan Ilyumzhinov – Russian businessman and politician of Kalmyk origin. Since 1995 he has been the president of the World Chess Federation (FIDE). One of his pet projects was the construction of 'chess-city' in Elista, the capital of Kalmykia.

10. Boris Nemtsov – Russian politician, who was first elevated to national fame by Boris Yeltsin. Supported Vladimir Putin initially, but then went into radical opposition, teaming up with a wide range of political outcasts like national-Bolsheviks, extreme liberals, etc.

# Chapter 10 - 22:00

On the way home, subdued music played in the car. YM sat with his eyes half closed. Thoughts were circulating in his head, mixed with a headache. He wanted to have a drink. He looked at his watch, which showed almost 10 p.m. – almost too early for bed. He pulled out his phone and dialled his sister's number.

After learning that she was already at home, YM calmed down a little. At least he would have a chance to speak to someone in their right mind, he thought.

He entered his home and went upstairs to his room to change. There he swallowed a couple of pain killers, checked the news on the internet, finding nothing of interest, and then went down to the dining room.

YM took a bottle of water from the fridge, still nursing his headache. He took several swigs, relieving the pain slightly, but not completely. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then he opened his eyes and saw his sister in front of him. "Hi," he said.

She smiled softly. "How is Slava doing?"

"He's absolutely fine, as usual." His headache was rapidly diminishing. "Although he didn't ask me to pass on his regards to you!"

She laughed and sat on the sofa, drawing her legs up. "Make me some tea please. And do tell me what happened. Anything interesting?"

YM looked at his sister and switched on the kettle. "What a crazy day it has been. Feels like it's a full moon tonight!" He managed a tired smile. "Right now, I don't even know whether I'm the one who is nuts, or if the whole damned world has turned upside down."

"You should drink less wine."

"I remember what my Irish friend would say. 'There is no reality, only lack of alcohol!'"

His sister burst out laughing in her melodious voice. "Your friends don't teach you anything good."

"And what about your friends? Who is this 'Misha', and where did he come from?"

"I don't know, Lisa found him somewhere. What of him?"

"Nothing much. He turned out to be a Russian nationalist with ideas!"

"Is that bad?" She sounded worried.

"I don't know. I think it is wrong to judge people by their appearance or place of birth, especially in our country. No one has a drop of pure Russian blood in them; except Misha, perhaps. Isn't it irrational to hang together because of mutual hatred of somebody else? To me it seems like the sign of some kind of inferiority complex. It's certainly not sustainable, because it is based upon prejudices. And I think it is definitely not wise to build on such shaky ground."

"Was he serious? I didn't even think about it... I am sorry I forced you to accept his invitation to the opening."

"Don't worry. I am interested in finding out what kind of people they are. Your Misha is very ideological. There are very few people who are that confident in their beliefs. Many people agree with the idea, but I don't think they would achieve anything on their own. Misha's kind need allies. Their opinions should not be ignored: they need to be listened to. We should try to direct that energy into a peaceful and constructive channel. I think it is possible."

The click of the switch on the kettle interrupted YM's thoughts. He brewed tea in a small glass pot. After thinking for a moment he took a bottle of white wine from the rack, found a glass in the cupboard and looked at his sister. "Want a drink?" he asked.

She looked up sheepishly, and nodded with a smile.

"One other thing happened today: a 'James Bond' offered his services to me. Some 'researchers' have arrived to exchange experiences."

"Really?" his sister looked at him in surprise. "How were they able to get as far as you?"

"He's a good professional. Besides, we had quite a pleasant conversation. They want me to address a conference in London."

"You must tell Dad about it!" He could hear the worry in his sister's voice.

"Don't worry. I have everything under control." He raised his glass. "You had better tell me who you spoke to for so long on the phone today. Do I know him?"

"I won't tell!" she replied playfully. "It's too early. I need to talk with Dad, although... why should we wait? I'm going to invite him to your birthday party! That's settled!"

"You got very brave all of a sudden," he laughed. "Tell me his name, because I need to add it to the guest list. Or I can put him down as James Bond..."

They both laughed. YM was relieved that the headache had vanished.

"I'll tell you tomorrow, perhaps." His sister placed her half-empty glass on the coffee table. "Do you think Dad will call you up this time?"

"I don't know. I'm tired of waiting, just as you are." YM wanted to speak out, to find understanding and share his thoughts with someone close, with whom he had no reason to be afraid. "I don't find it hard to be in his shadow. But I can no longer sit idly by, watching opportunities to make life better slip away."

His sister looked serious. "Did you notice how grey his hair has become?"

"Yes, his years are showing. I don't understand what he's waiting for. The system he created has become stagnant. And he understands that. The cost of the mistake is growing. His subordinates have completely lost their fear of him, to say nothing of their consciences. They believe that people are sheep and that they can do anything they want with them. A good, gracious monarch..."

YM took a large mouthful, approached the window and looked past the curtain. It was raining outside.

"Tell me what Slava said," his sister insisted.

YM sat in his chair, and told her briefly what had happened that day, including all of the conversations he had taken part in, both wanted and unwanted. He told her about Ivan, his son and Tambovsk; about Sergey Nikolayevich and Professor O'Rearden; about Misha, Smith and Slava; about their views on the world and their offers of support. He told her about Edward and his crazy idea.

She listened to him, rapt, nodding approvingly from time to time. When she heard about the mausoleum, she was so excited that she nearly spilled her wine.

"They are crazy!" she burst out. "I cannot believe they are serious!"

"They are – very much so. But I will try to resolve this issue quietly."

"What do you think about the other people?" she asked.

"I don't want to be bound to any one of them. All of them want something from me, only because my father is who he is. They are only interested in me as an instrument to protect their specific interests. There is nothing bad about that, but I don't need it."

"What are you interested in? Just think who else will do it, if not you."

"Where are all the Russian knights in this historic hour?" YM rolled out the phrase dramatically, and looked thoughtfully at the bottle of wine.

"I don't know what to say. I don't want to rock the boat. Life has enough ups and downs as it is. I would like to believe that people could live together in this country by themselves, that their future does not depend upon who is now ruling in the Kremlin. I want to believe that they can resolve their everyday problems by themselves, and not wait until someone else does it for them. I do not want to become the Father of the Nation. All I want is simply to be happy."

"What's stopping you?"

"You really don't know?" he looked at her incredulously. "It's hard to find any place left in this system which was built by Dad or connected to him. My feelings are that, apart from him, there's nothing else but rubbish around. Slava said today that you can't make a sweet from shit, and he was right. It is an ugly system.

"I do not want to destroy it, but I can't imagine how to change it. Should we try to replace people inside the system, or should we create something new? There are no people we can rely on, because the feeling of power would quickly corrupt even the strongest personalities, turning them into the same rubbish. I really don't want to test this even on myself! Creating a new system for Russia is not that easy; one cannot simply borrow something and paste it into place. It would turn out even worse."

"Then you need to find your own way. Let it be a longer path, and an indirect one. You mustn't be afraid! You are not alone – I will always support you!"

"Thanks a lot, sis." He held his sister's gaze. "I know I'm not alone. I have enough strength to hoist my own flag and rally decent people around me. I am going to do so. But I need Dad's blessing. I believe it is important to know who is leading the country, but the power of personality is limited, historically, even when we speak of such a man as our father. A single warrior does not constitute an army, particularly on Russian soil. It is far more important to create a viable and positive society in the country, because only this can change the state for the better. By no means should we allow the state to replace society. I know this will be a long and thorny row to hoe. It is like evolution. But we must follow this path – and there are no shortcuts, because I am against any type of revolution."

She looked at him with a smile. "Let's organize a party of dreamers and idealists! Let's write a manifesto, and set an example for all the others who follow this long and thorny row."

"No more wine for you," he laughed. "You are a dreaming idealist! So what's going to be in the manifesto?"

"I don't know. I've not thought about it. But we can come up with ideas right now, together!" He looked at his sister doubtfully; she had a devilish gleam sparkling in her eyes. "All right," he said. "Give me a pen and paper. Where do we start?"

"Let's start with the name. Because that defines the way this boat will sail!"

"What about 'The Manifesto of Idealist Reformers'?"

"Why not? The only thing I don't like is the reformers part: they stink of church and Gaidar. Let's call it 'The Manifesto of Idealists'."

"That makes us sound like hippies! I'm all for peace and love, of course, but I'm not a hippy. I'm more into heavy metal."

"So?" she asked slyly.

"Let's call it 'The Manifesto of Rational Idealists', then."

"Excellent – I think that's the right name. The only problem would be the acronym: 'MRI'. Why not call it 'The Manifesto of Rational Idealists of Russia'?"

"I like it." YM took another mouthful, while his sister wrote the name on a piece of paper.

"Let's keep going. We need a goal." She looked straight at him.

"Our goal is to be happy," YM replied with a smile.

"Agreed. But can you define happiness?"

YM studied his glass thoughtfully.

"Happiness means when everything is fine, both inside and out. Although as one of Russia's greatest writers put it in his Harvard speech: 'If according to humanists a man was born only for happiness, then he would have been born in order to die.'"

"What kind of a speech are you talking about?" his sister asked, looking out of the corner of her eye.

"Find it on the internet. It's very interesting indeed."

"All right." She prepared to write more. "What are the basic principles going to be?"

"Each person strives for self-improvement and independence."

"That's good! This is inherent in human nature."

"I can't agree," he replied. "Or shall we say that there are many other things in human nature. Such as vanity, greed, envy, pride and dozens of other evils, including sloth. It's difficult to sell people the idea of good, because the marketing of evil is much simpler and more attractive. Normally, the results of bad deeds are concrete and tangible, and man gets them almost immediately. Few people appreciate good, and almost no one remembers it..."

"What is to be done, then?"

"We need to brighten up mundane grey images. We need to overcome modern society's cynicism. People, particularly the young, need examples. Here, we must understand that each person has his own limits when it comes to self-improvement. Some can play the violin, others cannot. The main thing is that man has to strive in order to develop himself. He must believe in his own abilities, because the strength of thought is greater than that of steel. That's the reason why I added independence, because one must strive for that, too. Being dependent on someone is unpleasant and undesirable."

"Does that mean that you make freedom the cornerstone of your manifesto?"

"Freedom is a fascinating concept. Getting back to human nature, if we believe the old man Freud, our subconscious is more powerful than our consciousness, if we can say that, and part of the former is constantly affecting our behaviour. In other words, the freedom of any individual is a relative concept. This is particularly apparent when people gather in a crowd – as happened recently in London. I wouldn't dare to say for sure, but it seems to me that the striving for self-development helps to increase man's level of inner freedom. It is difficult to speak with certainty about this sphere, though. That is why I prefer to talk about independence."

"You're talking about quite a strange type of society," she said. "Made up entirely of individualists."

"Not exactly. Dependence can take various forms. Sometimes it can be positive. I simply want to see a society with as many transcendentally motivated people as possible."

She looked baffled.

"I don't know how to explain it to you," he said. "There are various types of human motivation. The scientific term for one of the most frequent is negative external motivation. Here is a simple example. Imagine slaves rowing a galley, with a slave master whipping them and yelling, 'If you don't row, you'll be beaten!' So the slaves row."

"What else is there?"

"Positive external motivation. Imagine the same galley with the same slaves, and the same slave master tells them, 'If you row better, I will give you more food!' In our country this is the main motivation for the 'office plankton'."

"That is better," she smiled.

"Then again, we have internal motivation. Returning to the galley example, the guy is rowing and thinking, 'I'm doing a great job, I'm rowing better than anyone else! I will get satisfaction because of that.' So he enjoys his satisfaction, essentially. But if he rows only for himself, he will become bored sooner or later."

"What about this, er... what did you call it?"

"Transcendental motivation. This is the most advanced. The man is rowing and thinking, 'I am rowing, and everyone benefits from it!' And he enjoys it. That's what I mean by positive dependence. But other people are needed for that."

"Do such people exist, or are they like Alexey Navalny?"

"They do exist, but they are few and far between." YM added more wine to his sister's glass. "Unfortunately, I am not personally acquainted with Mr. Navalny. I think he has a suspicious amount of publicity. I wouldn't dare to judge... I would say it is better than sitting doing nothing. These guys with their flashing blue lights – or 'blue buckets', as they are called – do a great job, they manage to organize and are trying to do something. But our citizens are basically egotists who are stuck, at most, at the second level of motivation. My impression is that the Maslow Pyramid in our country is not a pyramid at all, but rather a stump with no top. So we must have self-development! The more transcendentally motivated people there are in our society, the happier the society will be."

"All right. We've sorted this thing out! What about economics?"

"In my opinion, economics – or rather money, which is the concentrated symbol of economics at an individual's level – is important when the majority of society's members try to satisfy their basic needs. At this stage, money is the main motivator in society. When more sophisticated needs appear, then money becomes a hidden development factor, if not a deterrent. There is a wise saying that one cannot buy happiness."

"You're losing me!"

"That's why at this stage economics is important in Russia, but its significance must reduce with the growth of wealth and the degree of society's development. In the future, money should no longer be the universal financial yardstick. In other words, people should stop assessing man according to his income. But I don't think this will happen in the near future in our country."

"I wonder... You've just mentioned Russia. Does all of this apply only to our country, or are we going to create a universal party?"

"It must be a universal one."

"So, to clarify. We are against nationalism? Can anyone join?"

"Why join any party? People simply need to live according to these principles. Or in other words, develop themselves and their society. One more thing: people need to dream. Virginia, there is a Santa Claus  Dreams push thoughts forward. Dreams will help us to resolve today's problems."

"But how? Will peace be achieved between Ossetia and Georgia?"

"They will achieve peace some day, just like the Russians and Germans. They need to learn forgiveness; otherwise they will remain stuck in the past forever."

"Isn't that a sign of weakness?"

"You mean looking forward? We could call it weakness, perhaps. But I don't think so.

"It's also important to be active both inside and outside, so that the brain isn't lazy, and the hands are not idle. People need to make their dreams come true. If you wish to play a guitar, then learn! If you want to have a new house, then build it. Don't sit idly by, waiting for something to happen, or until your father does it himself out of frustration."

They were quiet for a few moments. Then YM emptied the bottle into their glasses.

"What a funny business," YM chuckled. "I would never have thought that I could create a new ideology."

"What a great creator you are! You think you just have to utter a couple of words and all is ready? That never happens!" His sister's tone became more serious. "Anything is possible – I believe in you! Let's drink to you."

They clinked glasses. Having finished his wine, he felt both tired and relieved. Now he knew what he had to create: a new ideology. He was ready to accept the challenge.

His sister placed her empty glass on the table and left the sofa.

"Promise me one thing!" She looked straight at him. "Promise me that you will never try to make other people happy before you become happy yourself."

"All right," he said. "So be it."

She kissed him goodbye on his cheek. "Night-night," she sang, disappearing from the room.

"See you tomorrow," he whispered.

YM turned off the light and headed to his bedroom.

Notes

1. Word play – in Russian 'mri' is closely associated with 'umri', which literally means 'Die!'

2. Alexei Navalny is a Russian lawyer and political activist. Since 2009, he has gained prominence within Russia, and notably within the Russian media, for his shareholder activism and criticism of corruption in Russia.

3. See editorial, published September 21, 1897 in _The New York Sun_ under the title: "Is there a Santa Claus?"

# Chapter 11 - 23:59

Lying on his bed, it occurred to him that the whole day had passed in conversation. Inexcusable! How could one pass an entire day without accomplishing anything? Nothing useful, anyway.

This would soon change. Soon, everything would be different... if his father wanted it. And if not? He didn't want to think about it.

He conjured a strange mental picture of his father's mausoleum. Its reflection in the dark water seemed to include a burning gas torch high in the sky, the Caucasus Mountains, the Olympic rings and sad faces behind prison bars. There was something sad and dark about it, but at the same time a ray of hope pierced the darkness and shone through the half-closed doors.

Was all this worth the effort? Would he be happy... like his father? It was difficult enough to decide, and even more difficult to do.

"It is good that there is no me," he thought as he closed his eyes.

# The End

###

About the author

Alexey Subbotin was born on March 7th, 1975 in Nyandoma - a small district centre in the Arkhangelsk region of Russia. Both his parents worked for the local railroad.

In 1992, Alexey graduated from middle school and began to study management at the St. Petersburg State University of Economics and Finance; he later gained a Masters Degree in Management from the university, and went on to graduate from the Anhalt University of Applied Sciences in Bernburg (Germany) with a Bachelor's Degree in Economics.

In 2002, Alexey began to study for an MBA at the IESE Business School in Barcelona, Spain. Upon graduation he accepted a position within the Strategy & Planning team at Barclays Capital in London. In 2006, Alexey moved to Moscow where he became Head of Investor Relations at 'Golden Telecom' (NASDAQ: 'GLDN'). After the company was acquired by one of the largest mobile operators in Russia 'VimpelCom' (NYSE: 'VIP'), Alexey became a member of the management board of the consolidated company, where he was in charge of the Investor Relations department.

Alexey presently works on his own projects, one of which you have just finished reading.

Among Alexey's interests are literature and history. He also enjoys playing billiards and enjoys a number of water sports, including fishing. Finally, he has been a fan of Guinness for many years!

Find out more about the author at his website.
