Sheremetev rested his head against the door jamb. What was it that Nina had said? How hard was it to know how to steal?
He knew how to steal, thought Sheremetev, watching Vladimir sleeping peacefully. If even half the things people said were true – or a quarter, or a tenth – he had been the biggest crook in Russia, the king of bribe-takers and embezzlers. What would he do if his nephew was in prison? He wouldn’t hesitate.
Only he, Sheremetev, would. Only Saint Nikolai, as his colleagues had derisively called him.
Sheremetev closed his eyes. He remembered Stepanin laughing, saying that Sheremetev had drawn the short straw because the old man had nothing that was worth taking, nothing but old clothes. But Stepanin didn’t know what else was up here.
There were a couple of empty niches in the watch cabinet that stood in Vladimir’s dressing room. Occasionally Sheremetev had come across a watch somewhere – down the back of a sofa, in a sock drawer – which Vladimir must have taken at some point and forgot where he left it. Was that why the niches were empty? Or had they never been filled? Or were they the evidence of earlier thefts? In six years, Sheremetev had never seen anyone check the contents of the cabinet. But surely there must be an inventory of these watches? But if there was, surely he would have seen someone check from time to time – or at least once in his time with the ex-president – to see that everything was still there.
Yet he was afraid that there was, and that if he did what he was thinking of doing, someone would find out.
So was that all that had ever stopped him? Fear? The fear that someone would catch him if he did something wrong as a conscript, the fear that someone would discipline him if he took a bribe as a nurse – even though all the time he knew that everyone else was doing it? Not only fear, but cowardice. Extreme, snivelling cowardice. Everyone always thought it was principle, and in the very sharpness of their mockery of him, he knew, there was a certain grudging acknowledgement of his supposed integrity. Funnily enough, the mockery had sometimes made his resolve to stick to his principles even stronger. But how much principle had he really ever had?
There was some, surely. He hadn’t been able to let the poor patients languish just because the rich ones had money, and that wasn’t only because of fear. But was that principle or softness? Well, there was no room for softness in Russia, and if it was principle, there was even less room for that. Wasn’t that what all of this was showing him?
He was a fraud. Cowardice dressed up as virtue – making his brother commit the offence for him. He wondered if Oleg still did such things today. And why not? Why shouldn’t Oleg do it when the whole of Russia was doing it as well? Why be like his idiot older brother?
And he – Sheremetev – what if he had never been afraid? What would he have done then? Would he still have stuck to his so-called principles?
Was he going to continue to be afraid? Now? Always?
Quietly, Sheremetev went to the dressing room. A soft glow came in from the night light next door. Sheremetev peeked back into the bedroom for a moment to check that Vladimir still slept.
He turned. In front of him stood the cabinet. He opened its doors.
Sheremetev counted the trays. Twenty-five, each one resting neatly in its slot.
Twenty-five!
What about his duty to his wife? Nina had flung that at him, and it had cut him to the bone. Had he been too proud, too self-righteous to sacrifice his so-called principles? Even for Karinka?
But Karinka was gone now, and nothing could bring her back, and what he had done he had done – and what he hadn’t done he hadn’t done – and somehow he would have to live with that. But Pasha could still be saved.
In front of the cabinet, with its tray above tray of watch beside watch, Nikolai Sheremetev asked himself: what about his principles now, and what about his duty to his nephew?
12
SHEREMETEV DIDN’T GET MUCH sleep that night. It was almost a relief when he heard Vladimir stirring and had a reason to get out of bed and stop thinking about the questions that had kept him awake. He knew what he was going to do. It wasn’t exactly a decision to do it, more a resignation to the fact that it had to be done. He didn’t know whether it was wrong or right – both, probably – and he didn’t know how to balance one side against the other, and so he gave up trying. Pasha was in jail. That was enough.
After getting Vladimir showered and dressed, Sheremetev went outside and called his brother.
‘Oleg,’ he said, ‘I’ve had an idea.’ Sheremetev looked around to make sure there was no one nearby who could hear him. Even so, he lowered his voice. ‘I have something. Something that… maybe I could sell.’
‘What?’ said Oleg.
‘Like I told you, I’ve never got any money out of caring for Vladimir Vladimirovich, just my salary. I know Nina thinks I’m a fool—’
‘Kolya, listen, she shouldn’t have said those things. I want to apologise—’
‘Wait. Let me finish. In the early days, when he still had most of his faculties, there were times when Vladimir Vladimirovich did want to show his appreciation. I told him it wasn’t necessary, and I didn’t feel comfortable, but he insisted, and he was a hard man to refuse.’
‘Naturally. He was the president.’
‘I wouldn’t accept such a thing now, of course, because he really doesn’t know what he’s doing. But back then, you know, the forgetfulness was much less, and when he said he wanted to do something, he really did know what he wanted. I mean, I think it was ethical to accept, you understand.’
‘Anything you did, Kolya, I’m sure it was ethical.’
Sheremetev hesitated. He had worried that he wouldn’t be able to lie, that Oleg would discern something in his voice, but actually, the story he had made up was sounding remarkably believable, even to his own ears, and surprisingly, almost disturbingly, easy to tell.
‘When you came to me, and yesterday, again, when you asked if there was any way I could help, any way at all… well, naturally, I thought of what I had in the bank. But last night, I realised, maybe there’s something that has some value, maybe I could sell it. So anyway, the thing is…’ Sheremetev paused again, knowing that if he kept going he was about to cross a dividing line, and even if he did nothing further, even if Oleg turned down his offer, he would never be able to go back, at least in his mind.
‘What is it, Kolya?’
Sheremetev took a deep breath, then blurted it out. ‘He gave me a watch.’
‘A watch?’ said Oleg. ‘What kind of watch?’
‘Some… watch. I don’t know exactly. But it’s a nice looking watch and Vladimir Vladimirovich’s doctor happened to be here the other day and he had a watch on his wrist and he said this watch cost him seven thousand dollars – the watch he was wearing, I mean, not the one I have – and there are others that are even more expensive. For example, he said that the one that Vladimir Vladimirovich was wearing at the time was worth much more. A lifetime’s wages for a working man, Olik! And knowing Vladimir Vladimirovich, when he gave me the watch that I have, it was a year after I started working for him – it was to mark the year, I think – and he was genuinely showing gratitude, so I don’t think he would have given me something that isn’t worth anything. Who knows how much it’s worth? Maybe he gave me one that’s really worth a lot.’
There was silence.
‘Oleg?’ said Sheremetev.
‘You’d sell it for Pasha?’
‘Of course I’d sell it for Pasha! It’s a watch, Oleg. Who cares? I don’t even wear it. The old watch I bought when I got my first job is good enough for me. This one just sits in my cupboard. The thing is, it’s not going to be three hundred thousand dollars, right? But it might be something. It might be a start. And if the prosecutor realises that we don’t have the kind of money he wants, maybe in the end this will be enough. I mean, you said normally ten thousand is enough. Who knows? Before I spoke to the doctor, I had never imagined it, but this watch could be worth that much.’