The Speculist

Chapter Eleven

Part I

Chapter Eleven

As he entered the great hall, Reuben marveled at how perfectly Betty had realized her holiday vision. The room was awash with different hues of soft, warm light. There were dozens, perhaps hundreds, of candles flickering in the new chandelier and in candlesticks on the opulently set table, and elsewhere throughout the room. A fire blazed in the enormous fireplace. And the Christmas tree flashed delicate points of red and white.

Standing by the fire were Dr. Chevlenko and Olga, along with Maria and a young man Reuben had never seen before. This would be Maria’s boyfriend.

In the large open area between the fireplace and the dining table, Betty stood with the old man next to a rolling cart on which sat an enormous bowl of eggnog. Betty was fussing over her creation: first seasoning it, then stirring it, then giving her husband a taste. For his part, the old man stood by ready to make his own contribution with a large crystal decanter, its contents a dark, nutty brown.

Either brandy or bourbon, Reuben thought. Depending on the old man’s mood.

On the other side of the dining table, in the far corner of the room, sat three musicians: one playing the flute, one on the violin, and one playing an enormous harp. Reuben could not make out the tune they were playing, but the sweet, light sound of the music blended with the candlelight and the warmth and the cheerfulness of the room. Reuben breathed deeply the scent of pine needles and wood smoke, of candle wax and food cooking in the kitchen.

He felt good, better than he could remember feeling. The memory of the incident earlier that day was still with him, but the shadow had passed. He had connected with something, something that he could not put into words. Or actually, he could, but they were the wrong words.

Everybody dies.

That was true, but it wasn’t the point. What Reuben had glimpsed for a thousandth of a second was a truth even more dreadful.

But whatever is was, it was real. Something that could be confronted. There was a strange comfort in this. Reuben found that his hope was inexplicably renewed. He felt a surge of purpose, a desire to begin.

He approached the eggnog cart.

"Are you open for business yet?" he asked

They both looked up and smiled at him.

"Merry Christmas, darling," Betty said.

Reuben bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas," he said. "And to you, old man."

"How are you feeling, son?" said Keyes.

"I feel fine. And that’s not just my opinion. Isn’t that what Dr. Chevlenko told you?"

The old man sighed.

"Yes, it is. But he also said you should stay here and rest for at least the next couple of months."

Betty looked up, puzzled.

"Why? Why would the doctor say that? Were you thinking about going somewhere?"

"The old man has been talking about putting me to work. Now that I’m ready to go, he’s not sure that he wants to send me."

Betty glanced at Keyes.

"Of course Mike wants you to start," she said. "But why not work here?"

Reuben shook his head.

"No, the job I was offered requires travel, and that’s the one I’m ready to start."

Betty looked from Reuben to the old man and back again.

"So what is this project?" she asked. "And where will you go?"

"I’ve got to find some people who haven’t been seen around for a long time. They have some information we need."

"That sounds shady and dangerous," Betty said. She turned to Keyes. "What have you got him into? This isn’t what we talked about."

"It’s not shady," the old man said, uneasily.

"Oh, meaning that it is dangerous?"

"No, listen," said Reuben. "We don’t know that it’s dangerous. I kind of doubt that it is. But it doesn’t matter. The point is, something significant happened today. The old man thinks I’m losing my mind, but it’s not so. I just saw something very clearly, something that I didn’t expect to see. And now I have to get to work."

"So what was it," the old man asked, "that you saw so clearly?"

"I can’t tell you. And I’m not being coy. I just mean that I can’t say it without misrepresenting it. I have to learn the right words before I can tell you."

"Then what is it that you have to do?" asked Betty.

"Find the people with the information."

"And do what?’ she persisted.

"I don’t know. I’ll figure that out when I find them."

Betty glared at the old man.

"I can’t believe it," she said. "You’ve turned him into you."

The old man shrugged.

"I didn’t do it," he said. "It just happened."

"Never mind all this," Reuben said. "We can talk about it tomorrow. We have a lot of important things to deal with tonight. This eggnog, for example. I have to wonder why I haven’t been offered a cup so far."

Remembering himself, the old man began pouring the contents of his decanter into the punch bowl.

"One moment, son," he said. "I got distracted, but I don’t want you to miss out on having this at full strength."

"Fine," said Betty. "Tomorrow. You’re not going anywhere until we’ve had a chance to talk. Agreed?"

Reuben nodded.

"Well, then," she continued, "what else can we talk about? My new girl is coming with Sergei. So this will be a chance for her to meet everyone."

"Ah, the new girl," said Reuben, "The one who knows how to shop properly. What’s her name?"

"Oh, and I forgot," Betty continued, ladling out a cup of the mixture and handing it to Reuben, "you’ve never met Sergei’s wife and daughter, have you?"

"No," Reuben said, taking a sip. "Hey, that’s good. Really good."

"Is it strong enough?" asked Keyes.

Reuben took another sip.

"Actually, it strikes me as being little weak. But maybe I’ve been living in Russia for too long."

Keyes looked at the bowl dubiously and poured in some more liquor. He then wheeled the cart towards the fireplace, where Anatoly and his wife had joined the party. Reuben and Betty followed. Introductions ensued, and the serving up of the eggnog. As the first cup was followed by the second and then, for some, the third, the conversation grew louder and merrier. It shifted from English to Russian and back, often splitting into smaller tributary conversations along the way. Olga, Maria, and Dr. Chevlenko served as interpreters for Reuben and the old man on one side of the language barrier, and Inga (Anatoly’s wife) and Niklaus (Maria’s boyfriend) on the other. Betty and Anatoly put up a brave front of participating on both sides, but didn’t try to pass themselves off as interpreters.

Inga was especially pleased to meet Reuben. She had seen him around the dacha, but they had never met. Ordinarily, Inga was the cook and housekeeper, supervising a small staff that included Anatoly and two or three maids. But different arrangements had been made for Christmas Eve.

Inga was very much a participant in the festivities, and seemed to have nothing to do with whatever was going on in the kitchen. She was a woman of about sixty, as thin as her husband and with razor-sharp eyes. She had heard some outrageous stories about Reuben — not least of which was the one about how he had paid a small fortune for a worthless dog — and she wanted to know if they were true. Reuben was happy to admit that they were. She asked if he would mind if she touched his head; she had never felt a gunshot wound before. Reuben let her do it. She placed her hand on his head and then quickly withdrew it, looking disappointed. Reuben couldn’t figure out what it was that she had expected.

Dr. Chevlenko and Olga told about their trip to Venice — Reuben finally realizing that they were married — and their planned trip to Canada. Niklaus perked up at the mention of Canada, and asked whether they would be going to the US as well. They weren’t planning on it. Niklaus explained that he worked for a company that manufactured machine parts, and there were plans to begin selling into western Europe and America as soon as the plant re-opened. He didn’t say why the plant was closed, and no one asked. In his threadbare tweed suit, which hung loosely from his narrow frame, he looked like he hadn’t seen a good meal, much less a paycheck, in quite some time.

Reuben was talking with Niklaus, through Maria, about what there was to do in Chicago — a city with which he was inexplicably fascinated — when Sergei’s family arrived. Reuben heard the door open and saw Betty dash off to greet them. Eager to see her new helper, he thought. They filed into the great hall a few minutes later and made their way towards the fireplace. Sergei’s wife was on the short side; she was blonde and plump and rosy-cheeked. Behind them walked their daughter, a girl of about 18, who was a taller and thinner version of her mother. After the girl came Betty, who was having an animated conversation with the woman who must be her new girl. She looked furtive and uncomfortable. She was wearing a familiar wool cap. Even so, it took Reuben a minute to recognize the face that had been so burned into his memory.

Betty’s new girl was Ksenia.

Later, there would be time to ask how Betty had done it, maybe even ask why she had done it, but now what towered above everything was the realization that she was there; she had come. Reuben was overwhelmed with happiness. There was a part of him that, deep down, that sternly objected to this sentimental claptrap, but he had no use for that part of himself at the moment: she was there; she had come.

Sergei greeted Reuben with a hug.

"Happy Christmas to you, my friend," he said. "What do you think of my surprise?"

"Your surprise?" Reuben said. "I figured it to be Betty’s surprise."

"Is true," he laughed. "I am only driver." Sergei introduced his wife, Marina, and his daughter, Dzheyna. Reuben acted as host, serving them eggnog and answering what questions he could about the dacha, although it quickly became apparent that Sergei knew more about the history of the place than he did. Sergei explained that converting the mansion to a medical facility was a project begun by a Brezhnev crony. The project was unfinished and lay dormant during the Andropov and Chernenko years. A friend of Gorbachev flirted with the project, but he was quickly caught up in more pressing concerns flowing out of Perestroika. It was only under Yeltsin’s privatization policies that the house had been acquired by Keyes. It was such a good fit to his purposes, it looked as though it would be finished as a hybrid: the main house would be restored as a stately residence, the wings would be repaired and finished to serve as a medical facility. Although what use, if any, that facility would be put to beyond the immediate care of the clinic’s one patient was unclear.

"But with Mr. Keyes," Sergei explained, "one can never know. He makes plans that reach very far, sometimes."

This was all truly interesting — as was Dzheyna’s lengthy exhortation on choosing a university — but Reuben could not stop glancing around for Ksenia. Betty had steered her over to Maria and Dr. Chevlenko, and she was now standing on the outskirts of a high-spirited exchange between the old man, Niklaus, and Inga. She seemed to be enjoying the spectacle, in a reserved way, but she was also glancing around: looking sometimes Reuben’s way, sometimes in other directions.

It was only a matter of time before their eyes met.

What passed between them was knowing, simple acceptance that the last words she had spoken to him — see you again — had been a promise. Somehow a promise on both their parts. And that promise was now being kept.

"Excuse me," said Reuben, leaving Sergei in mid-sentence on what subject he no longer had any idea. His eyes never left hers as he crossed the distance between them.

"Merry Christmas, Ksenia," he said.

"Happy Christmas to you, Reuben."

Betty, standing nearby, approached the two of them and started to say something. Reuben held his hand out in a halting gesture.

"In a minute, Betty," he said. "I need to show your girl the staircase now that it’s fixed."

Betty backed away. Reuben took Ksenia by the arm and guided her back through the great hall to the dacha’s entrance. Here a smaller chandelier was lit with fewer candles. A moonlit landscape of snow-covered lawn and hedge opened up before them through the new windows.

"Let’s go up one," Reuben said, and guided her up the stairs in the dim light to the second floor landing. Now standing above the chandelier, the moonlight fell on them unfiltered, and brighter than Reuben would have ever guessed was possible.

"I’m glad to see you," he said. "I didn’t know if I was going to get to see you again."

"No, Reuben," she answered softly. "You knew that you would."

"Well, sometimes there’s a thin line between hoping and knowing, and it’s hard to tell the difference."

He looked in her eyes.

"Ksenia, I’m sorry about Pasha," he said after a moment.

"We don’t talk about that now," she said. "This is not time for that."

"Well, what is it time for, then?"

She stepped back and looked at him, examining the scars on his head, looking at his shoulder for any trace of his injuries.

"First, I tell you what I tell Betty. I come and work for her only if it is all right with you. If you don’t want me here, I leave."

"I want you here," he said simply.

"Don’t say that; not if you say it from pity. You are kind man, and brave, but I do not need this job from Betty so much. I can find other job if I wish. So if it is easier for you if I am not here, you must say so. And I will go."

"I want you to take the job, Ksenia. It’s perfect. Betty and the old man will be good for you, and you’ll be good for them."

Ksenia nodded.

"How did Betty find you, anyway?"

"She comes with Sergei one day. They surprise me at my house. Sergei leaves her there and Betty and I talk, many hours. She is very wise lady, is Betty."

Reuben smiled.

"That’s for sure."

"She says to me that she needs someone to help her, that she wants young girl like me. And that she would not ask unless she thinks I can do good job for her. I believe her, but I do not accept. Three more times she visits and then I accept."

"Yeah, she’s pretty persistent."

"She loves you, Reuben. She says that you are son to her."

"It’s true. She and the old man are about the only family I have."

"Now I tell you. I take job because Betty is good woman, and I can do good job for her. But I also take job because I want to come here to be with you."

Reuben took her hands in his.

"I’m glad," he said.

"I love you, Reuben."

The words hit him like a heavy weight slammed against his chest, taking his breath away. Charlotte. That was all. Just Charlotte.

"Ksenia," he started, "I have to tell you — "

"Is all right," she said, interrupting him. "Betty tells me everything. I know about your wife. I do not say what I say because I want you to answer."

Reuben drew her in close to him and wrapped his arms around her. It felt good to hold her. They stayed that way for a moment.

He pulled back a little so that he could look in her eyes, his hands locked together behind her waist.

"Why do you still have this on?" he asked, reaching up to remove her cap. He ran his hand through her dark hair.

"I have to tell you something," he said. "I’m leaving, tomorrow or the next day. And I don’t know when I’ll be back."

Her eyes grew wide.

"Why do you go?" she said. "When will you return?"

"It’s something I have to do for Betty. You know that she’s sick, and that the
old…that Mr. Keyes is looking for a way to make her well."

"Yes."

"Well, I’m doing what I can to help him. I don’t know when I’ll be back."

"Then I will wait for you."

He sighed.

"I don’t know. I can’t tell you when I’ll be back. And I can’t say how things will be between us when I do come back."

She turned and looked out the window for a moment, studying the moonlight on the snow.

"I will wait," she said. "You are not wise, Reuben. Not like Betty."

"I’m not?"

"No. Because wise man knows what he sees, even when he sees things long way off. And you see things long way, long time from now. Don’t you?"

Reuben thought of the shadow that had fallen over him earlier. It wasn’t really a long way off; it was close at hand. And yet it was buried deep. It was under or behind the present moment, somehow both immediate and distant.

"Sometimes," he said. "Sort of."

"This is something I can not do. But I can see it in you, da? And I know is there. Sometimes you can see that something is there and you can…what is word, not admit?"

"Deny?"

"Yes, you can deny that you know a thing that you see. But maybe these things you see, you don’t know what are they, do you?"

Reuben thought about that.

"I’m not sure," he said. "I’m not sure that I see anything. Maybe it’s more about what I feel."

"Is strange. You see things and do not know them, is bad enough. But to feel what you feel and you do not know what is it…" her voice trailed off.

"But I know this much," he said. "I can tell you what I felt when I saw you just now. I felt like the world started over."

Ksenia smiled sadly.

"Yes, but you want to live in two worlds — old and new, yes? And now you go to do work for Mr. Keyes, and to help Betty. But also you go to choose which will be your world.

"Is difficult for you," she continued. "Difficult to see differences when everything is the same. When everything in the world is pretty.

"It has always been like this for us. From moment we first meet, and you tell me that you are American, and I tell you I am Russian—when we both know this already. When this is only thing we do know about each other. Then and now, we know what is truth between us."

"So what’s the truth?"

"If this is truth between us, you know already," she said.

Reuben nodded.

"So instead I will tell you something else. I will tell you your future."

"You can do that?"

"Of course. I think you will travel long way, and you will go for long time. Much longer than you think. But I will see you again."

See you again. She had said it once before.

The promise was renewed.

"You will come back to me one day. And then, I think, we will never be apart."

"I like the sound of that," he said, "but it sounds like a fairy tale."

Instinctively, he touched his hand to the wound on his head.

"What you’ve said will happen is what should be," he continued. "It’s a promise. I can’t make that promise, or any promise."

"I see," said Ksenia. "Then before you go, I don’t ask you to make promise. I don’t even ask you to believe. But I do ask for something now, not in future."

"What is it?"

"Kiss me, as you did that day."

Reuben obliged.

It was a long, long while before they made their way down to dinner.

Posted by Phil at March 1, 2004 12:00 AM | TrackBack