‘One cannot step into the same river twice,’ objected warrant officer Sviridov.
He had left his third year of philosophy studies to go to war.
‘It doesn’t matter what river we’re stepping into,’ said Captain Kologrivov. ‘The main thing now is to not drown.’
Spurring his horse, he galloped off after the general. They had much to accomplish in the day ahead. To begin with, they placed some brand-new shoeshine booths on the corners of several streets (the ones that had stood there previously had been dismantled for firewood by residents during a cold spell). The general ordered that the booth on Morskaya Street be moved fifty meters away from the corner since it had stood on that very spot during his childhood.
Housed in the booths were shoe shiners who mastered their profession in short order. Remembering his cadet training, the general personally showed them how to shine shoes properly. He urged them not to misapply the polish since too much polish would not allow you to attain the necessary shine. It should be taken from the jar with the very edge of the brush. The general demonstrated to the trainees the proper methods for brush-handling and for rubbing a cleaned shoe with velvet. They shined shoes pretty decently for people who had held nothing but rifles in their hands for two years.
The general placed a group of men on Autskaya Street to repair the roadway. At his request, city officials sent two cartloads of cobblestones to Autskaya (across from the St. Theodor Tiron Church). The general asked that they not send round and rough cobblestones (the kind called cats’ heads). He ordered the highest quality paving stones: cut granite blocks.
At the city council, they attempted to draw the general’s attention to the fact that the roadway in the area around the St. Theodor Tiron Church had recently been repaired; they proposed repairing a lower, thoroughly worn, part of Autskaya Street. The general’s childhood memories, however, pointed to his chosen spot, which essentially did not permit him to agree with the city officials’ arguments. He recommended pulling up the old stones to install the new ones.
The general also reopened two stores abandoned by their owners: a shoe store and a sweet shop. All told, ten people were dispatched to staff them. Thanks to the breakdown of shoe and sweets production, there was nothing to sell in those stores. Strictly speaking, there was nothing to sell them for, either, since money was swiftly becoming simply paper. In a brief parting address, the general emphasized that the absence of wares was a temporary phenomenon since both sweets and shoes were in demand under any regime. He did not know if there would be money under the new regime. In honor of opening the sweet shop, they gave the general a lollipop that appeared, upon close examination, to be in the shape of a rooster. It was the only ware they discovered in the store. The rooster smelled of burnt sugar and had no color. When the general went outside, he gave it to a newspaper delivery boy.
A barbershop opened up after noon. In giving brief instructions to the future barbers, the general announced to them that under no circumstances should they stop making cutting motions, even when they were lifting the scissors over the client’s hair. According to the general’s observations, it was customary among genuine barbers to cut air, too. He sharpened a razor on a leather strop and neatly wiped the blade on a towel while shaving one of the trainees. In so doing, he showed several characteristic gestures he had noticed as a child—barbering mastery is judged based upon their accuracy. He cautioned against approximating a barber’s actions, saying that every little bit counts in this field. He advised taking a cigarette out of an ashtray with the ring and little fingers because only those fingers remain free of lather. The top of the head should be scratched, if necessary, with those same fingers. He recommended discussing city news during haircuts and shaving, because that is the usual practice in barbershops. He depended on their intuition for everything else.
The general lodged soldiers Shulgin and Nesterenko in a vacant two-apartment house. He was concerned the soldiers’ bachelor life might provoke inquiry into their past and ordered that two women who agreed to simulate marriage be brought to them. On top of all that, the general vaguely recalled that two families truly had lived in a house like this. The families were friends for many years. It was already impossible to decide if it was this house or not because the general remembered nothing but the front stoop.
He and his father had walked up a stoop like this to go into a house at one time. Two men were playing chess in the living room. They represented families on friendly terms. One of them held a knight (the future general could never have mistaken that figure for anything else) in his hands, touching it to his lower lip from time to time. The knight’s ears rode fully into the chess player’s puffy lip. The other man repeated some phrase, in a reverie. He had uttered the phrase many times but the general could not remember it, try as he might. Had they played here?
The general warned the reestablished families (he was certain of the resemblance between the present and past families) about the emphatic need to be friends. It was noted in the margin across from this statement that friendship did occur, as was to be expected, and eventually both couples had children as a result of simulating marriage. Boys: Shulgin junior and Nesterenko junior.
The general gathered both families in the living room of one of the apartments and proposed that the men play chess. He sat Shulgin and Nesterenko on chairs opposite one another. A chessboard was placed on a stool between them. Shulgin crossed his arms on his chest and Nesterenko was requested to press his hands into his knees. This lent a naturalness to the game that had begun. They played briskly but were not in much of a hurry. Sometimes the women would appear behind the players’ backs and cast contented gazes at the board, not understanding anything. The general advised the women to wipe their hands on their aprons during those moments. Or wrap themselves in a shawl, as if chilled. Crockery clinked ever so slightly in the sideboard when the women trod on the plank floors. The general delighted in the coziness that had come about.
‘Someone should say,’ he requested of the players, ‘“We’re bringing in the minor pieces.” That’s what they say in similar situations.’
‘Is that obligatory?’ Shulgin was curious.
The general thought and answered, ‘No, it’s not obligatory. You can just press the knight to your lower lip and say something of your own. The main thing is to utter it pensively. Several times.’
Then they left for the church, where the general seated paupers in the necessary order. One of them very much resembled Maxim Gorky, which was a definite plus in this particular situation. The similarity was so great that this person later even posed for Yalta’s monument to the proletarian writer. Another pauper, who did not resemble Gorky, was ordered to simulate not having a leg. Only this, in the general’s opinion, could ensure him certain immunity when the Red Armymen appeared.