SERGEIDOVLATOV
109
listless greenery and slow-moving rivers. At a railroad crossing Grishanya
put on the brakes, flung open the door, and headed for the bushes. He
busily unbuttoned his fly en route, like a man who scored convention.
"How come he's so sullen?" I asked.
Shablinksy replied, "He's not sullen. He's under investigation. I be–
lieve it has something to do with bribery."
"What'd he do, offer someone a bribe?"
"Don't idealize Grisha. Grisha didn't give; he took. He has nothing
to lose. Soon they'll arrest him." Grishanya emerged from the bushes.
We continued on our way. The landscape changed after Narva. Nature
looked less disorderly. The houses were tidier and more severe.
Shablinsky took a drink and dozed. I kept thinking, why? Where am I
going - and for what? What lies ahead? And how stupid life is! ...
Finally we approached Tallinn, passed through faceless brick suburbs.
Then something Gothic flashed by. And suddenly we were in Raekoja
Square. A bottle clinked under the seat. The car stopped. Shablinsky
woke up.
"Well, we're home," he said.
I got out of the car. Neon lights cast their glow on the pavement.
The flat facades of the buildings stood in bold relief from the darkness.
The cityscape recalled the illustrations in Hans Christian Andersen.
Shablinsky stuck out his hand.
"Call me."
I did not understand.
"My wife will worry," he said.
Shablinsky had been working for the newspaper a long time. He did
not take his role as Party functionary too much to heart. And he even
managed to preserve a certain charm. It has been my observation that it
is
rather difficult to eradicate charm. Much more difficult than, say, rea–
son, principles, or convictions. Sometimes decades of Party work prove
to be insufficient. Honor, maybe, will have utterly vanished, but charm
remains. I even knew - if you can believe it - a channing prison warden
in
Mordovia.... In short, Shablinsky was a normal person. And if he
had to do something nasty, he was not unnecessarily zealous about it. I
almost made friends with him.
"Call me," he repeated.
I had been in Tallinn before. But that was on a business trip - with
all
the necessary papers, money, and hotel room. And most important,
with
the sense of a rational if banal goal. But why had I come this time?
I'd been fired by my editors. I had sixteen rubles in my pocket. The only
guy I knew here was hurrying off to his wife. And Grisha ... was about
to be arrested. But just then Shablinsky thought of something.
"I've got an idea!" he said. "Why don't you look up Busch? Tell
