At dinner he chatted about politics, and Nina nodded mechanically.
Klim’s party had already started. It was important to him as a celebration of his professional success. Ten years previously, in Argentina, he had also enjoyed a large following, and now, even out here in China, he had managed to get his life back on track. However, in a fit of petty resentment, Nina didn’t feel like celebrating his achievement. She and Klim had got themselves into the bad habit of trying to prove to each other that they were past caring what the other thought. Of course, nothing could have been further from the truth, but the cycle of self-deception and self-destruction persisted.
Nina said goodbye to Sterling and got into her waiting car.
I’ll apologize, she decided, and tell Klim that I went to the consulate to get our documents. I’m sure we’ll think of something for Kitty. There’s no rule or law that doesn’t have a loophole in it somewhere.
When she returned home, the party was in full swing. The band was playing on the patio, couples were dancing, and the guests were proposing toasts to Klim’s success and good health. However, the host himself was nowhere to be found.
Don Fernando, his face red, approached Nina.
“Is the pretty lady dancing tonight?” he roared above the hubbub, trying to whisk her off in his arms.
She wriggled out of his bear-like embrace. “Put me down and leave me alone!”
“As you wish, ma’am, but when you see your husband be sure to tell him I’m in love with his program.”
Don Fernando grabbed a glass of champagne from the table, drank it down in one gulp, and rushed off to dance with a young woman standing nearby.
After much searching, Nina finally found Klim behind the house on a bench surrounded by a large bamboo thicket. Next to him was Tamara in her wheelchair. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t notice Nina approach.
“Creating art and taking care of others are the two most important things in life,” said Klim.
Tamara sighed. “I’m incapable of taking care of myself, and there’s nobody who cares much about my art.”
“Your art is important for you,” he said. “When you create something significant out of nothing, you grow wings of your own and you make the world a better place.”
Klim and Tamara barely knew each other, but she was happy to confide her innermost thoughts, and he was happy to listen to her sympathetically, despite all his guests waiting for him in the other room.
“Come over to our radio station,” Klim suggested. “You have a nice voice, and nobody will care about your Russian accent. It’s only bigots like Mr. Sterling and his cronies who worry about such trifles, and we at the radio station couldn’t give a damn about their opinions.”
Nina inwardly cringed. She knew who he had in mind when he had said “cronies.” He was ready to help anyone except Nina, even a woman who was partly responsible for their daughter’s death.
In her agitation, the package with the documents slipped from Nina’s fingers and fell under the bench.
Klim spun round.
“Are you looking for something?”
Nina hastily gathered up the papers. “I… Well, we’ve both been granted American citizenship.”
“Congratulations!” Tamara exclaimed.
But Klim wasn’t remotely interested. “I hope you have a safe journey to America. Don’t worry about Kitty and me. We’ll be fine.”
Nina was dumbstruck. Klim wanted her to leave, and he had nonchalantly announced it in front of Tamara, of all people.
When the last guest had left, Nina joined Klim out on the patio where the dinner tables had been set. He took a peach from the vase, weighed it up in his hand, and offered it to Nina.
“Are you hungry? Probably not. The driver told me that you’d already eaten at Astor House with Mr. Sterling.”
Nina was shaking with barely-contained rage.
“It’s none of your business who I had dinner with. Get out of my house!”
Klim put the peach on a plate, slicing it into pieces with quick strokes of the knife.
“This is not your house,” he said coldly. “I learned from Tamara that all this time you have been paying her a largely symbolic rent, although you would have no problem paying her a fair price now. I’ve told her we’ll put that right.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No, my dear, it’s you who is crazy. You’ve become so materialistic that you think nothing of taking advantage of people, even those who are closest to you. You only play with Kitty when you’re in the right mood, and you aren’t even remotely bothered when she misses you. Jiří Labuda died because of you; you didn’t pay your employees in the publishing house on time—while you could easily have pawned these dishes or all the other junk that you’ve filled the house up with!”
Klim hurled the knife into the fruit bowl, smashing it to pieces. Oranges jumped, unfinished wine glasses toppled over.
“Stop it!” Nina screamed, but Klim wasn’t listening. He recalled all the fights she had had with her employees, her shady deals, her cozying up to unscrupulous clients—every single one of her transgressions, imagined and real.
Nina looked at him, shocked. She had thought that Klim was utterly indifferent to her affairs, but it turned out that he had been watching her every step, making a note of her every mistake.
“Do you know what you’re doing now?” she said angrily. “You’re trying to prove to yourself that I don’t deserve your love. You’ve created a perfect hell for yourself and populated it with demons that don’t even exist.”
Nina slammed the door behind her and paused, startled with a strange thought: No one wants me here—not because I’ve done anything bad, but because I’m not the person they want me to be. What on earth am I doing here?
Klim wheeled Tamara into the radio station personally. His studio was a veritable Aladdin’s cave of fantastic devices and cutting-edge technology. He would talk briskly to technicians in Shanghainese, polish new sketches for the program, and juggle apples while summoning up inspiration. As soon as he switched on the microphone, the entire team would gather on the other side of the soundproof glass, anticipating the riotous mayhem that was about to be let loose.
Even Don Fernando would be drawn into the carnival.
“He’s my hero!” he would shout, shaking a newspaper with yet another complimentary review.
Klim was the only person in the world who didn’t patronize Tamara with his sympathy. He had been absolutely right when he said that creative work gives people wings. Tamara was no longer seeking her friends’ attention, and she had no time to invent ingenious ways of exacting her revenge on them.
The audience had no idea that Tamara was disabled. As far as they were concerned she was Klim’s witty female side-kick, who was full of energy and kept them up to date with reviews of the latest movies and books. She and Klim would often act out comical sketches from Shanghai life. In one of them, Tamara cast herself as a grand White Lady and also played the part of a Beggar Boy, while Klim played the role of a Boyfriend.
“Hey, master,” the Beggar Boy whimpered, “spare some change for an orphan? No papa, no mamma, no whiskey-soda.”
The Boyfriend shooed him off, but the Beggar Boy only became more brazen. “Hey, master, is that your new missy? Or did you get the old one cleaned up?”
All the program’s sound effects were created right there on the desk in front of the microphone. Tamara learned how to use police whistles, sacred bells, paper bags, and many other items to make the different sounds needed for their little plays. They imitated footsteps using an empty pair of boots; the electric fan was made to sound like an automobile engine; and the roar of the crowd was recorded onto a gramophone record.