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Napoleon Great-Great-Grandson Speaks. Rafael Grugman
Читать онлайн.Название Napoleon Great-Great-Grandson Speaks
Год выпуска 0
isbn 2300000000153
Автор произведения Rafael Grugman
Издательство Мультимедийное издательство Стрельбицкого
The truth is a lie that has been repeated over and over. Sophia swore that Grisha was a traveling companion, and exclaimed with feeling: «How could a defenseless woman like me cross the ocean by herself?»
Then came the rebuke. Since I had left her (I wonder who left whom first!), Grisha would live with us for a while, until he got a job. And finally, a new vow (thank God, she had no need to sin or to take the vow with her hand on a Bible): she loved me and so forth. The Song of Songs. Again I swallowed the bait-for the last time, I told myself-and resigned myself to the idea of Grisha’s staying temporarily.
They both enrolled at Kingsborough Community College and began to conscientiously attend English classes. The idyll didn’t last long. Within a short time Sophia disappeared, without even leaving a note. I decided not to notify the police, because I didn’t want to attract attention to myself. Besides, where was she going to go? New York City has a bewitching effect on newly arrived young women, and maybe she found herself a wealthy sponsor, an American, and packed her bags. Hello to you, husbands and traveling companions!
Like me, Grisha was completely in the dark about where she had moved. He was still preoccupied with the crazy notion of a buried treasure. So he moped around for a while-a broken heart, after all, does deserve to be nursed with Stolichnaya-he abandoned his studies and took off for Kansas City to be close to the Missouri River. I breathed a sigh of relief. Good riddance!
Sophia suddenly turned up, by phone from Maryland. She reported that she was working as a nanny for an American family. The reason she went into hiding was about as unoriginal as you can imagine: money. A representative of Chechen leader Aslan Maskhadov had found her at Kingsborough Community College and demanded that she return the money immediately. She had spent it all, and in order to avert any trouble, which could have also been in store for me, she made the only correct decision-and she disappeared. And that’s that. You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to.
Our relationship hit the skids; I don’t feel like getting into it. There’s no point in dredging up the past and going through dirty family laundry. To this day, thinking about her escapades makes me ill.
To be candid, I loved her, and I forgave a lot, even though I could see that she had no equals when it came to scheming. Consider, for example, the business with the old lady for whom Sophia later worked as a companion.
First of all, you have to be lucky enough to find a rich grandmother who doesn’t have a dozen heirs hovering over her, and second, you have to distinguish yourself in a such a way that the millionairess doesn’t forget you in her will. Sophia succeeded in both aspects of the program. When the grandmother died, it turned out that the companion had been left a five-room condominium on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan worth $10 million.
I thought that once she received this money that tumbled from heaven she would ease up. For a time, that’s just what happened. Once again she came back to me. She bought an apartment and registered it in my name. Her student visa had expired, but she didn’t want to change her immigration status. She would have been required to remarry me and become Mrs. Nevelev.
We lived under the same roof for slightly more than six months, after which Sophia vanished again. Frankly, I was fed up with her erratic behavior and sudden comings and goings. I didn’t give a damn whether she was sleeping with Grisha or, as she did with me, was taking him for a ride. I came unglued. Just like before, Sophia was in no hurry to give notice of her whereabouts after she disappeared. So in order to forget her as soon as possible, I got involved with a woman. Then with another one…
In August 2001, I marked five years since my arrival in the States. At the time I was working as a programmer for a small Internet company in Lower Manhattan. Life was like the exuberant song of my childhood: «Orange sky, orange sea, orange greenery, orange camel…»
On September 11, the world became different: New York City saw Pearl Harbor. I was late to work, and I arrived when the first plane crashed into the North Tower. Amid the throng of gawkers I watched a slow-motion rehearsal of the end of the world. In the finale, I thankfully survived. I saw tiny figures on the upper floors of the skyscrapers waving their handkerchiefs, then jumping out of the windows. May God spare me from ever seeing anything like it again. America was at war.
I didn’t work for a week after the attack on the World Trade Center, because the company had suspended operations. Overnight I had lost everything: my job, confidence in the future. Lower Manhattan, the pride of New York City, was shut down up to 14th Street. I took advantage of the hiatus and in an hour prepared the required package of documents in Brighton Beach to apply for citizenship. Until Sunday I was completely in the dark. There was the milky haze-the ashen sky, the ashen sea, the ashen greenery and the ashen camel-and the phrase, like a slap in the face, that came by e-mail on the evening of September 11: «Wait until things clear up, then we will let you know…» Wait how long? A day? Two days? A month? On Sunday a ray of hope peeked through as I was summoned to work. The company had found space at the Brooklyn Business Center and… lasted a month. The market collapsed, re-enacting what had happened to the twin towers. Millions of Americans lost their jobs. I was one of them, as the wave of layoffs killed the Internet company and smashed a prosperous business to bits.
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