Had she remained more alert she might have detected the sounds of umbrellas scraping the walls as the students from number 37 came bursting through the lower entrance of the museum and filed past the ticket-counter kassa, where phlegmatic Ludmilla slid their tickets under a window. Then she might have heard their stamping and tromping of their many boots and galoshes, the thump of book bags unstrapped and dumped on the long wooden counter that separated her world from theirs.
At the same instant that the children of number 37, in a wave of human noise and coats, pressed against her counter, Yuri's group of tourists—all fifteen of them—descended from the stairs that funnelled past the lavs and deposited them directly in front of Tanya's counter.
'Wake up!' a teacher barked, her brows stitched together in permanent disapproval.
'Devushka!' another woman shouted with the too-stern tone of a teacher. Tanya jolted and her notebook slid from her lap to the floor. Strange how with the simple word 'girl!' her body snapped to the posture of primary school, her legs lifting her up and out of the chair, though her ears knew already from the sound of the woman's voice that it was too late—she had already failed.
'Hey!' Two men in suits, regulars who only came to the museum on account of the chess sets in the mezzanine café, waved their claim disks at her.
'Please!' a woman shepherding two humpbacked pensioners cried. Adding to the bleating of the women was the din of the children, elbowing one another, jockeying for counter space, enthralled at the spectacle of noise.
At the end of the hallway, Head Administrator Chumak materialized, a severe expression gathering on his face, his clipboard pressed to his side—the result being that Tanya, who tended to fluster easily anyway, went completely off the rails, handing the contents of rack 1131 to the holder of disk 1311 and the overcoat with the drooping buttons, 1717, to the bearer of disk 1771. To the businessman went the woman's shawl and to the wilting attendant of the old ladies, the most businesslike worsted wool coat. And on and on until the crush of human bodies, coats and noise dissipated and Tanya was left with Yuri, standing at the foot of the stairs and systematically wringing his hands. Next to him, shifting his substantial weight from his good foot to his leaden prosthetic foot, was Head Administrator Chumak.
Head Administrator Chumak studied her for a long moment. Then he began—thump—slide, thump—slide—to climb the stairs. 'Follow me,' he called over his shoulder.
Tanya collected her purse, her notebook, her coat, the packets of sugar she'd taken from the café, everything she'd need and possibly would not be allowed later to retrieve once he'd fired her.
Inside Head Administrator Chumak's office the interior gloom dampened the attempts of the last light at the windows. Tanya stood at the threshold and waited for Head Administrator Chumak to position himself with dignity behind his desk. He snapped on his desk lamp. From behind the desk loomed a tall soap carving of a frowning Zhilinsky, a painter Tanya had never liked.
'Sit down there, dear.' Head Administrator Chumak's face softened and Tanya noticed for the first time that the splotches dotting his shiny head were, in actual fact, freckles.
Chumak opened her work file. 'I see you've completed university studies and received some medium-high marks.'
'Yes, sir.'
'You have guide licences for several state museums and even a cemetery.'
Head Administrator Chumak nodded at her notebook, still clutched to her side. 'And clearly you've found a way to use your free time. But, I'm afraid it's a black mark for you. Your job performance is not up to standard. Did you know that in one day alone you made seventeen mistakes?'
Tanya glanced at the window and bit her lip. In the newspapers—well, not Olga's Red Star, but the others—they were predicting the coldest winter on record. Already geometric patterns of hoar frost latticed Chumak's office window.
Head Administrator Chumak rubbed his hands together and nodded at the miniature rock collection already shrouded in condensation. 'This museum. These exhibits. They are absolutely unique.'
Tanya nodded solemnly. Having fashioned from stretchy foam the entire basement Kuntskamera exhibit and having spent the better part of the previous spring dipping wrinkled paper bags in wet flour paste to make faux-sculptures, no one knew this better than Tanya.
'It's so hard these days to run a museum such as this one funded completely by the kindness of friends and strangers. And employees.' Head Administrator Chumak wagged his head balefully from side to side. 'That's why we all have to work much much harder. That's why I need much much more from you.'
'More?' Tanya croaked.
'But at least we have art and beauty on our side.' Chumak directed his gaze at Tanya. 'At least there are people who still believe in beauty, such as it is. And they are even willing to pay for it, too.'
'What people?'
Head Administrator Chumak opened another work file and withdrew a single sheet of paper. He smiled beatifically. Americans of Russian Extraction for the Causes of Beautification. They are coming here. Possibly. Maybe. Yes, here.' Head Administrator Chumak peered at Tanya.
'Why?'
The question pushed Head Administrator Chumak's entire face into a pinch. He reached for his reading glasses and read from an official-looking letter printed on fine linen paper. '"The Americans of Russian Extraction for the Causes of Beautification are committed to preserving, protecting and promoting art among the people. Specifically we believe in the power of art to motivate, educate and illuminate the human soul. It is a challenge we wish to embrace with a deserving partner museum in Russia."
'Do you understand what this means?'
Tanya suddenly felt as if her teeth had turned to glass. 'Motivate' and 'challenge' were English words having no direct or at least relevant translation into Russian. Certainly Head Administrator Chumak knew that she, given her medium-high marks in school, knew this. 'This means that I should not mix up their coats and claim disks when they come?' Tanya asked carefully.
'Yes,' Head Administrator Chumak drew the word out. 'But there's more. We need to submit a completed application form, which incidentally requires composition-style answers. All we have to do is beat out four—maybe five—other museums for their grant money. But am I worried? No. And why am I so untroubled?'
'I don't know, sir.' There was something about the even cadence gluing his words together, uncannily similar to her own scripted question-answer patter, that made Tanya very uneasy.
Head Administrator Chumak handed Tanya the file. 'Because you, Tatiana Nikolaevna Bobkov, are a girl of enormous substance.' Head Administrator Chumak laced his fingers together and circled one thumb around the other. It was a completely unnerving gesture from a man himself so portly.
'But, sir, I am the hat/coat-check girl. If I'm not fit to lead the tours, how could I be qualified to fill in the application form?'
Head Administrator Chumak's smile broadened. 'That's why I know you can pull this off—you ask the most interesting questions. And if you can manage questions so creatively, I can't wait to see how you'll handle the answers.'
'But...'
Head Administrator Chumak held up his hands. 'I can't ask Daniilov, anyway, he's far too busy cleaning. It's all Ludmilla can do to sit behind the ticket office. Zoya, though artistic in her own fashion, is limited to a discussion of art as it pertains to hair styling. And Yuri, well, he's Yuri. So you see, it has to be you. And if you do a good job, I might even be able to do something about those black marks on your work record. If we get the grant, I could even get your wages caught up. Just think how all of our situations would improve. So be creative,' Head Administrator Chumak finished with a knowing wink, 'but not too creative.' He slid the thick manila envelope across the desk. Then he laced his fingers over his chest, tipped back in his chair and closed his eyes.