The Museum of Abandoned Secrets

I wait another minute? Now—or wait another bit? Rode a hundred and twenty five miles like that. And you know, it helped. I didn’t have ideas like that after that...for a long time. Knowing how to wait—that’s the thing. That is the key. Another minute, another day. Someone will press your button for you eventually, so why hurry? Why jump the line?
    No, it was intelligence that worked with her: blue bloods—that’s how they thought of themselves. Everyone wants to think themselves better than they really are, don’t they? They were trained in Moscow, in the Dzerzhinsky Academy. And here, in Ukraine—this was their finishing school, to train them for the dirty work, at detention sites. Beg pardon? I couldn’t say I know about that—if anyone ever self-liquidated...some might have...back under Stalin, when there was still fear. In my memory, there wasn’t anyone left who was stupid enough. And no one cared about those three pages—that was just, boilerplate, you know. Half of our archive, Daryna Anatoliivna, consists of boilerplate like that. The common, pardon me, bullshit. So please don’t think that as soon as you find a document—that’s it. Documents—they are written by people, you know.
    Only please don’t tell Nika.
    Well, one never knows...you might run into each other somewhere.
    She is the only one I have. My wife—that’s, you know...
    Nika, when she was born, weighed just over four pounds. And five ounces. I went to the milk kitchen...fed her from bottle myself; my wife didn’t have enough milk. Had it been a boy, I don’t know if I’d have managed. It’s different with a girl...as long as I can stay on my feet, she’ll need me.
    So that’s how it goes.... Another one? To our children.... You should have your own, have them soon, don’t put it off, someone has to help the demographic situation in the country! I’m kidding, of course. Alright, here we go!
Uff
...down it goes.... My father-in-law used to say, if work gets in the way of drinking, time to quit working. He, my father-in-law, was also from the military, rest his soul. Retired in the rank of lieutenant colonel, even made it to Afghanistan. And wished to be buried where he was born, in the Cherkasy region...in the village both he and his wife came from. He and I went fishing there. He was such a character, you know...always kept himself busy. He retired in ’91—and became a taxi driver. A Soviet Army lieutenant colonel—working the wheel like a common cabbie! Whynot? he’d say. I’ve got my own car; I’ll make enough to cover the gas, and the passengers share cigarettes—so I’m ahead all around. That’s the kind of man he was...humble. That works better in the army; we had it a bit differently in our organization. He helped me a lot in this life. I was fortunate to have him. I’m lucky, I’m telling you.
    My mother-in-law—she got bent out of shape a little when she learned I was adopted by the Boozerovs. With her, it was a simple, rural thing, you know—she wouldn’t have people say she let her daughter marry a Jew...a Jew, please! She got her daughter worked up against it, too. The wife got scared they’d ship me somewhere provincial, just to be on the safe side, and she’d already got a taste of the good life. Good thing my father-in-law didn’t fall for it, set them both straight...my wife and my mother-in-law, too. After Father, Boozerov, told me...if it weren’t for that, he may not have told me the whole story. But the way things went—he had to interfere...reveal all his inside information, so to speak. Yes...
    I think that’s what did him in. In a certain sense, so to speak...cut him down. That fact that his life’s work—everything he did, raising me—didn’t do anyone any good. His service. I was a captain already. The youngest captain in Republic’s entire KGB! If you see things from the government perspective, he really should’ve been made a Hero for that...only no one appreciated it anymore. They used the old man up—and spat him out, forgot about him. And it was quite a shock to me—when he told me.
    So that’s how it all started...because of the Jews.
    Dear, dear Daryna Anatoliivna...ask your matinka—she ought to remember, it was a colleague of hers. Yeah, yes. They worked at the same museum...it was a Jewish woman who applied for emigration to Israel. And I was working with her...talked to her. Spent two months talking to her, and all for naught. And how did you think