The Suitcase / Чемодан. Книга для чтения на английском языке. Сергей Довлатов

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СКАЧАТЬ mama was Russian.”

      I said, “Mr Fred will be coming a bit later. Mr Fred asked me to take you to his house.”

      A car pulled up. I gave the address. Then I started looking out the window. I hadn’t realized how many policemen there could be in a crowd of pedestrians.

      The women spoke Finnish to each other. They were clearly unhappy about something. Then they laughed and I felt better.

      A man in a fiery sweater was waiting for us on the sidewalk. He said to me with a wink, “What a couple of dogs!”

      “Take a look in the mirror,” Ilona said angrily. She was the younger one.

      “They speak Russian,” I said.

      “Terrific,” Rymar said without skipping a beat, “marvellous. Brings us closer. How do you like Leningrad?”

      “Not bad,” Maria said.

      “Have you been to the Hermitage?”

      “Not yet. What is it?”

      “They have paintings, souvenirs, and so on. Before that, tsars lived in it,” said Rymar.

      “We should take a look,” Ilona said.

      “You haven’t been to the Hermitage!” Rymar was shocked. He even slowed his pace a bit, as if being with such uncultured people was dragging him down.

      We went up to the second floor. Rymar pushed open the door, which wasn’t locked. There were dirty dishes everywhere. The walls were covered with photographs. Colourful dust jackets of foreign records lay on the couch. The bed wasn’t made.

      Rymar put on the light and quickly neatened up. Then he said, “What have you brought?”

      “Why don’t you tell us where your pal with the money is?”

      There were footsteps at that moment, and Fred Kolesnikov appeared. He was carrying a newspaper that had been in his mailbox. He looked calm, even indifferent.

      "Terse,” he said to the Finns. “Hello.”

      Then he turned to Rymar. “Boy, they look pissed.

      Have you been hitting on them?”

      “Me?” said Rymar indignantly. “We were talking about Art! By the way, they speak Russian.”

      “Wonderful,” said Fred. “Good evening, Madame Lenart; how are you, Mademoiselle Ilona?”

      “All right, thanks.”

      “Why did you hide the fact that you speak Russian?”

      “No one asked.”

      “We should have a drink first,” Rymar said.

      He took a bottle of Cuban rum from the closet. The Finns drank with pleasure. Rymar poured another round. When the guests went to use the bathroom, he said, “All these Laplanders look alike.”

      “Especially since they’re sisters,” Fred explained.

      “Just as I thought… By the way, that mug of Mrs Lenart’s doesn’t inspire confidence in me.”

      Fred yelled at Rymar, “And whose mug does inspire confidence in you, besides the mug of a police investigator?”

      The Finns soon returned. Fred gave them a clean towel. They raised their glasses and smiled – the second time that day. They kept their shopping bags on their laps.

      “Cheers!” Rymar said. “To victory over the Germans!”

      We drank, and so did the Finns. A phonograph stood on the floor, and Fred turned it on with his foot. The black disc bobbed slightly.

      “Who’s your favourite writer?” Rymar was bugging the Finns.

      The women consulted each other. Then Ilona said, “Karjalainen, perhaps[18]?”

      Rymar smiled condescendingly to indicate that he approved of the named candidate – but also that he himself had higher pretensions.

      “I see,” he said. “What are your wares?”

      “Socks,” Maria said.

      “Nothing else?”

      “What else would you like?”

      “How much?” Fred inquired.

      “Four hundred thirty-two roubles,” barked Ilona, the younger one.

      “Mein Gott[19] !" Rymar exclaimed. “The bared fangs of capitalism!”

      “I want to know how much you brought. How many pairs?” Fred demanded.

      “Seven hundred and twenty.”

      “Nylon crêpe?” Rymar demanded.

      “Synthetic,” Ilona replied. “Sixty copecks the pair. Total, four hundred thirty-two roubles.”

      Here I have to make a small mathematical digression. Crêpe socks were in fashion then. Soviet industry did not manufacture them, so you could buy them only on the black market. A pair of Finnish socks cost six roubles. The Finns were offering them for one tenth that amount. Nine hundred per cent pure profit…

      Fred took out his wallet and counted out the money.

      “Here,” he said, “an extra twenty roubles. Leave the goods right in the shopping bags.”

      “We have to drink to the peaceful resolution of the Suez crisis[20]! To the annexation of Lotharingia!” said Rymar.

      Ilona shifted the money to her left hand. She picked up her glass, which was filled to the brim.

      “Let’s ball these Finns,” Rymar whispered, “in the name of international unity.”

      Fred turned to me. “See what I have to work with?”

      I felt anxious and scared. I wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

      “Who’s your favourite artist?” Rymar asked Ilona. And he put his hand on her back.

      “Maybe Mantere[21],” Ilona said, moving away.

      Rymar lifted his brows in reproach, as if his aesthetic sense had been offended.

      Fred said to me, “The women have to be seen off and the driver given seven roubles. I’d send Rymar, but he’ll filch part of the money.”

      “Me?!” Rymar was incensed. “With my crystalclear honesty?”

      When I got back, there were coloured cellophane packages everywhere. Rymar looked slightly crazed.

      “Piastres, krona, dollars,” he mumbled, СКАЧАТЬ