Unhappy - english version -

                “And our scarlet stars shines singular   
                Over all countries and oceans
                Like implemented dream…”

                (The Soviet song)

         

                UNHAPPY
                (Fantastic story)

                I

       Stages of his life are well known.
 
       His childhood in the communal flat among neighbors, their children, scandals, queues for  common areas; often drunken father returning home late and  beat him and mother.

       Adolescence – at the school, in the yard and on the street; lack of any desire for knowledge, envy of more capable children, dislike of excellent pupils, all teachers, all Jews, and an irrepressible desire to be the leader in group of teenagers.  Youth - daily lust, parties; conversations with peers about his love affairs; reading books without interest; absence of hobbies; creating visibility that only he himself is the best, only he is the first; studying at technical college with an average grade of "satisfactory"; graduating from college and applying for a job to the huge secret "mailbox".

       Adulthood – his first addiction to alcohol, marriage a co-worker after living together for some time; father-in-law – deputy minister; the birth of daughters; working from morning until night, despite the natural laziness, for the sake of a career. A transition to community work as a party committee secretary of the secret "mailbox"; graduation from the highest party school; and then – his election as the Secretary of capital's district Communist party committee.

       Most Soviet citizens of the 1970s and 1980s could only dream of such a worthy, and at the same time, stereotypical career as that have carried on the shoulders of Vyacheslav Ivanovich Lityagin, now the general director of the joint-stock company "Component".  He was, in a sense, a product of the era of "stagnation", which had raised a whole pleiad of persons with large ambitious, superficial, absolutely indifferent to everything in the world except themselves, for whom the word "maybe" had become both a motto and  guiding star in their life. Such persons demand loans for vodka on the street  from even slightest acquaintance with the same ease as they promise to do  impossible for petitioners, without any concern for how to repay money or fulfill promise, because the fate of creditors, like lives of petitioners, does not concern them at all. They are concerned with satisfying their own needs—from obtaining a coveted bottle to building the palace by the sea. To achieve these goals, they will stop at nothing, even their own conscience.

       Vyacheslav Ivanovich was apparently elected the First Secretary by mistake, as he wasn't particularly distinguished by initiative or intelligence. In those years, democratic processes hadn't yet taken hold in society, and he was elected in the usual way for the Communist party nomenclature —by personal data. Meanwhile, there was no benefit from him sitting in his office, whether holding a conference, receiving visitors, or riding around the district in his personal car, because all the work in the district went on as always, as if on a well-trodden track - endless conferences, sessions, unanimous votes, and propaganda events. All of this was prepared by the district committee staff, as was customary, while Lityagin was alone “recovering” in his rest room, adjacent to his office, after another evening of drinking at some banquet or reception. True, various visitors often came to him with their troubles, problems, and initiatives — he would sign off orders to his staff's: "Please see into".  The staff reviewed, monitored, and reported. But all of that wasn't the main thing. The most important thing was that during his tenure as the First Secretary, he improved his living conditions, obtaining a five-room apartment for four family members in one elite building, contrary to existing regulations, built  the two-story dacha, arranged for his daughter to the University, and was shopping at specialty stores.

       Vyacheslav Ivanovich, as usual, reacted to Gorbachev’s "perestroika" with indifference, dismissing it as a routine measure, and he stuck to this opinion until something affected him personally. That`s when Vyacheslav Ivanovich's quite successful career began to falter. It all began when, at the party conference, in a secret ballot, he barely received required half of the votes for his candidacy.

       However, it wasn't the circumstance that upset him so much. Worst of all, the Moscow city party committee had received some letter alleging that he had abused his official position in obtaining the apartment. The really threat became  that the apartment could be confiscated and he himself would be returned to his previous place of residence.

       A lucky coincidence occurred: the famous August 1991 putsch and ban of   activities of the Communist Party of Soviet the Union had saved him from dismissal of the First Secretary.

       Lityagin returned to his chemical company as deputy director. It turned out not to be so bad for him, even good! The general director soon died, and Ministry nominated Vyacheslav Ivanovich  for the vacancy. However, there was nothing to make at all, as the company had lost two-thirds of its contracts and, consequently, the  employees as a result of general conversion. They had to survive by renting out premises.

       Vyacheslav Ivanovich also reacted indifferently to the collapse of the USSR. While there was certainly plenty to grumble and even mourn about, but he didn't take the country's problems to heart. On introduction market relations in the country he primarily spent incomes from the rent out premises to some fur store for equipping his own office. As a result, his office quarters began to resemble a sheikh's residence, complete with everything, including fountain in recreation room, jacuzzi and bedroom. The "commission" from this deal also went toward buying luxury BMW. Vyacheslav Ivanovich's appetites were growing by leaps and bounds. With the proceeds from rental space, he have bought new furniture, flats for his daughters, and new fur coat and luxury car for his wife. Now he dressed to the nines, went to lunch and dinner to the restaurant, also equipped on the ground floor of the company, drank as always without measure, and was completely uninterested either production or the work collective, entrusting these cares to his deputies. At the same time, the company's staff, exhausted by adversity, was subject to further layoffs, while those who remained in their jobs were not receiving their salaries.

       Lityagin was also indifferent to his family. He had completely neglected his parents since his marriage. He was so uninterested in their fate that he skipped his own father's funeral, citing the need to leave for an extended business trip; and he completely forgot about his ailing mother, who now begged on the metro for lack of funds. His daughters were raising by his wife, and he believed that by providing for them financially, he was making a worthy contribution to strengthening the family, where they began to see him not as a loving husband and father, but as an inexhaustible bag of money, and treated him exclusively as a consumer. He regularly visited his wife's parents on feast-days with congratulations, but only until his father-in-law retired from his high position and was no longer able to help if necessary.

       Vyacheslav Ivanovich himself had grown fat and flabby, his face became red and covered in sweat, and his eyes were clouded by haze. Every season, he went on vacation abroad, where he spent huge sums of money on entertainment and girls  who also saw him as a bottomless source of income. He began dreaming of his own villa with a plot of land on the seashore somewhere in Cyprus or Greece, where he could relax without spending money on expensive hotels. However, he didn't have enough money for this yet, and it wasn't expected to happen, as there were no profitable deals to be had and no additional rental properties were available.

       Despite the changes in social order, Vyacheslav Ivanovich's mind remained unchanged. And why should it have? Just as he had previously sat on the presidiums of party plenary sessions and conferences, so now he attended meetings of the work collective, shareholders of the commercial bank, and the public council of the political movement "Keep It Up!" where he had been nominated and he accepted in the hope of receiving  personal car at government expense. Just as he  had previously read false speeches from the tribune at party forums, he now lied in front of  public without document, that the company was barely making ends meet and that the long-awaited money from the state budget is about to arrive to pay  workers' salaries for the last year. Actually, all this props was still necessary to him simply to show off and maintain his image as an experienced and active man. Simply, that was done before for the sake of his career, but now – for profit.

       However, over the past year, circumstances have really put Lityagin in a bind. He couldn't even think about dacha on the Mediterranean coast, let alone a seasonal vacation abroad. Cash flow has diminished, tenants haven't received their clients' money, the company hasn't received theirs, employees – their salaries since January, and our hero hasn't received his “commission”. Vyacheslav Ivanovich's indifference was enough even not be upset about this fact; perhaps everything will work out – he was thought – there's enough money for now  and  to live for a year or two, to go for rest to Antalya a couple of times, and then — we'll see.

       Just then, a good deal came his way. One afternoon, a certain Mansur came to him and introduced himself as the owner of the large recycling company.

       – Could you, – he says, – sell me something you don't need? I know your warehouses are full of all sorts of things.

       Vyacheslav Ivanovich, with habitual gesture, reached for the button to communicate with his deputy to ask how much garbage is there on the enterprise’s territory, but Mansur stopped him.

– Wait before you let any of your subordinates into our conversation, – the Caucasian pronounced quietly.

– I just wanted to ask for advice, – Lityagin said.
 
        – You should consult with me first.

For the first time in many years, since he had been dependent on the secretariat of the city party committee, Lityagin didn't feel completely in control. This left him flustered and, unsure of what to say, he folded his hands over his ample belly and stared at his interlocutor.

       – I know there's a lot of A-mixture accumulated on your premises, – Mansur continued, –Would you mind dispose of this mixture along with some other junk? I am assuring you: the compensation for you, Vyacheslav Ivanovich, will be very, very generous. One hundred thousand bucks...

       The dream of acquiring villa on the Mediterranean once again dawned on the general manager’s meager and reckless mind, and  prospect of scrapping  tons of the hitherto useless A-mixture, which the company had once produced in large quantities for blasting operations, seemed perfectly suited for realization of this plan.

       – How much do you need? – he asked.

       – Twenty tons to start.

       Lityagin promised to think about it and let him know in two days. However, this was just for show; in reality he didn't even doubt the buyer. He also didn't care about  dangerous nature of this deal, because its obvious benefits were paramount.
 
       As a deeply indifferent man, Vyacheslav Ivanovich didn't bother to inquire into the details. How could he have known that the A-mixture Mansur was buying was needed for terrorist attacks? Even if he had got to know about this, he would probably have responded with his usual: "Nonsense! Stop that talking!" "What means  terrorists! – he would have said – "Nothing like that will happen at all! After all, there are services that suppress this activity, so let them do their job, but I need to survive!"

       In short, nothing—not even remaining  grains of conscience, not even a sense of dread at the prospect of falling under the criminal code — noting could stop Lityagin from selling several tens of tons of potential explosives under the guise of chemical waste decommissioning and disposing. It was decided to ship three batches of twenty tons each, for which it was promised three hundred thousand “green bills”* to our general director.

       – I need to involve my deputy for economic affairs in this matter,– he told Mansur at their next meeting.

       – Really? We wouldn't want any extra witnesses, – he objected.
 
       – Alright, alright. We'll think about it,– Vyacheslav Ivanovich began to   fuss, – When would you like to pay?

       – I brought you an advance, – Mansur placed his briefcase on the table and opened it, pointing to the neatly stacked wads, – Count them. There's one hundred and fifty thousand here. The rest you'll get when the third batch will arrive.

______________________________
* Russian slang –  American dollars
       


(to be continued)