Granovsky was an active man. He arrived in his office at six a.m. that day, conducted two meetings, and issued three official reprimands. He listened closely to every tiny noise from below, opened the curtains, and peered out the window at the road. There was no guest from beyond the seas.
At nine-thirty the man on duty, the chief of construction, called from the station. Granovsky picked up the receiver and heard a rasping voice with a strong foreign accent. The voice expressed surprise that Mr Popp was inadequately received. There was no car. Mr Popp asked that one be sent.
Granovsky fell into a satanic rage. Rushing down the stairs two at a time, he reached the garage, breathing heavily.
‘Your chauffeur left at seven-thirty, comrade supervisor.’
‘What do you mean at seven-thirty?’
At that moment the car horn honked, and the chauffeur stepped over the threshold of the garage with a drunken grin.
‘What the hell are you doing, you…’
But the chauffeur explained. At seven-thirty the Moscow passenger train had arrived. The head of bookkeeping, Grozovsky, had arrived on it with his family from their vacation and, as always, had taken Granovsky’s car. The chauffeur tried to explain about Mr Popp, but Grozovsky replied that it was all a mistake, that he knew nothing about any of it. He ordered that the car be sent directly to the station, and the chauffeur went after him. The chauffeur thought the whole business with the foreigner had been canceled, and, besides, what with all these Grozovskys and Granovskys, he didn’t know whom to obey. So they all went to the new settlement four kilometers from the station where Grozovsky’s new apartment was located. The chauffeur helped them carry in their things, and they treated him to some vodka.
‘We’ll talk about this later. We’ll see who’s important – Grozovsky or Granovsky? But for now get your ass down to the station.’
The chauffeur screeched into the station just before ten. Mr Popp was not in a good mood.
The chauffeur, too drunk even to recognize the road, nevertheless rushed Mr Popp straight to the hotel for foreigners. Mr Popp was shown his room, where he washed up, changed clothes, and calmed down.
Now the nervous one was Tsyplyakov, commandant of the hotel. That was his title – not ‘director’ or ‘administrator’ but ‘commandant’. I don’t know whether it took more pull to get that position than, say, ‘director of the water-tower’, but that was the title of his position.
Mr Popp’s secretary appeared on the threshold of the commandant’s office: ‘Mr Popp would like breakfast.’
The hotel commandant put two large unwrapped pieces of candy, two sandwiches with preserves and two with sausage, and two glasses of watery tea on a tray and took it to Mr Popp’s room.
The secretary immediately brought the tray back out and set it on the table in the corridor. He was certain Mr Popp would never eat that.
Tsyplyakov rushed off to report to the chief of construction, but Granovsky already knew everything – he had been informed by telephone.
‘You old bitch,’ Granovsky roared into the receiver. ‘You’re shaming me and the government. You just lost your job! This time you’ll learn what work means! I’ll send you to shovel sand in the quarries! Saboteurs! Bastards! You’ll rot in the camps!’
The gray-haired Tsyplyakov waited for his boss to get his fill of swearing and thought to himself: ‘He’ll probably do it too.’
It was time to begin the business part of the meeting, and Granovsky calmed down a little. The firm had done good work at the site. Gasholders had been installed in Berezniki and Solikamsk. Mr Popp was sure to want to see Solikamsk. That was why he had come, and he had no wish to give the impression that he was upset. Why, he wasn’t upset at all. Surprised, maybe, but that was a trivial matter.
Casting aside his diplomatic reservations and canceling all his meetings, Granovsky accompanied Mr Popp personally to the construction site. Granovsky also accompanied Mr Popp to Solikamsk and returned with him. The appropriate documents were signed, and a gratified Mr Popp was ready to return home to America.
‘I have some extra time,’ Mr Popp said to Granovsky. ‘I’ve saved two weeks, thanks to the excellent work of our engineers.’ Here he paused, then continued: ‘And yours too. The Kama is a beautiful river, and I’d like to take a boat trip down it to Perm – or, maybe, to Nizhny Novgorod. Is that possible?’
‘Of course,’ Granovsky said.
‘Can I rent a boat?’
‘No. Our system of government is different from yours, Mr Popp.’
‘Could I buy one?’
‘No, you can’t buy one either.’
‘Well, I guess I can understand that I can’t buy a passenger ship. That might hinder navigation on an important body of water. But how about a tug? Something like that Chaika over there?’ Mr Popp pointed at a tug passing by the windows of the chief of construction’s office.
‘No, a tug is out of the question too. You have to understand…’
‘Yes, I’ve heard a lot… Buying one would be the simplest way. I’d leave it in Perm. I’d make a present of it to you.’
‘No, Mr Popp, we can’t accept such gifts.’
‘But what can I do then? It’s absurd. Here we have summer and beautiful weather. This is one of the finest rivers in the world. It’s a real Volga – I read about it. Besides, I have the time. And I can’t leave. Ask Moscow.’
‘Moscow’s far away,’ Granovsky quoted from habit.
‘Well, you decide. I’m your guest. I’ll do whatever you think best.’
Granovsky asked for a half-hour to think things over. He summoned to his office the chief of navigation and Ozols, the local head of the OGPU (the secret police). Granovsky told them about Mr Popp’s desire.
There were only two passenger ships that passed Berezniki – The Red Urals and The Red Tataria. They connected Cherdyn and Perm. Mironov said that The Red Urals was far downstream and couldn’t arrive with any speed. Farther upstream, The Red Tataria was approaching Cherdyn. If she turned around right away and made no stops, she could be in Berezniki tomorrow. ‘Your boys would have to help out, Ozols.’ In a word, Mr Popp could have his trip.
‘Get on the telegraph, and tell your boys to get moving. Let one of them get on the boat to make sure they don’t stop off somewhere and waste time. Tell them it’s an important government assignment.’
Ozols contacted Annov, Cherdyn’s dock, and The Red Tataria left Cherdyn.
‘Get a move on!’
‘We are.’
The chief of construction visited Mr Popp at his hotel, where the commandant had already been replaced. He announced that a passenger boat would arrive at about two o’clock the next day and would have the privilege of taking an honored guest on board.
‘No,’ Mr Popp said. ‘Give me the exact time so I won’t have to wait around on shore.’
‘At five o’clock then. I’ll send a car for your things at four o’clock.’
At five o’clock Granovsky, Mr Popp, and his secretary arrived at the landing. There was no boat.
Granovsky excused himself and rushed off to the OGPU telegraph.
‘They haven’t even reached Icher yet.’
Granovsky groaned. Icher was at least two hours away.
‘Maybe we ought to return to the hotel and have a snack. We’ll come back when the boat arrives,’ Granovsky suggested.
‘You mean breakfast,’ Mr Popp said expressively. ‘No thank you. It’s a beautiful day with a great sun and sky. We’ll wait here on shore.’
Granovsky remained at the landing with his guest, smiled, made small talk, and kept glancing toward the promontory upstream, where the boat was to appear.
In the meantime Ozols and his men were on the telegraph demanding that things be speeded up.
At eight o’clock The Red Tataria appeared from behind the promontory and slowly approached the landing. Granovsky smiled, expressed his thanks, and said goodbye. Mr Popp returned the thanks without a trace of a smile.