Read Someone Else's War: A Novel of Russia and America Page 33
CHAPTER TWELVE, MOSCOW AND GUDERMES, SUMMER 1995: KRISTINICH
“Two things I want you to think about while I’m in Chechnya this time, Mister Borodkin,” Olivia said. “The first is, how feasible is a new kind of self-destruct mechanism in these sensors, more reliable and safer than acid? The second is silicon-germanium.”
“If I understand correctly, that line of semi-conductor research has been abandoned by all the companies that pursued it, including IBM.”
“You are correct. However, we shall try. Success never comes easy.”
“And yet it seems that is what you have had.”
She laughed. “I spent years trying to do this in America. I have those years of failures and false starts and having my projects cancelled or destroyed by others. Good failures, some of them.”
“In Soviet engineering, there was no failure. There was sabotage and there were personal shortcomings. But there was no concept of failure as part of creation.”
“And many, many American engineers avoid failure. They avoid studying what doesn’t work and why it doesn’t. My father made sure I never made that mistake.”
“Your father was an engineer?”
“Yes. And my mother was an architect. They had their own design bureau. When I was a girl, my father told me about John Roebling, who was an absolute master of the suspension bridge. Roebling preferred to study failed bridges and so the beauty and strength of his work has lasted.”
“I understand,” Borodkin said bitterly. “We didn’t study failures. We stole what worked.”
Olivia’s eyes softened. “Your country did what it had to, to survive. So are we stealing what works because we can’t start from scratch, but we are also going to steal promising failures. That is another thing you should think towards while I am gone. We are going to need more engineers and more technicians and we are going to need some expanded, permanent production facilities.”
Borodkin found himself feeling a wave of real pleasure, interrupted by fear and the resentment that fear occasioned. It had become a daily pattern with him. His resentment of Olivia protected him from himself, a resentment that grew ever more complex, nuanced, and serrated. “Yes, Doctor.”
“Good.” She rose abruptly, awkwardly, catching her right hip bone hard on the edge of the desk.
In the aftermath of the accident, her ligaments, which connect bone to bone, and lie beneath the tendons that connect muscle to bone, had knotted up to support the breaks and fractures. Many of them were still corded, one in her lower right back so much so that it felt like bone, stubbornly resistant to all her attempts to stretch it. With the normal flexion between her pelvis and lower spine greatly reduced, she felt the impact deep in both structures. It seemed that her body was being torn apart and set on fire.
Taken by surprise, without the least opportunity to prepare herself, the pain overwhelmed her in an instant. She found herself choking back vomit until she could locate the wastebasket behind her desk. Olivia knew she would never make it to the bathroom, so she didn’t try. She motioned to Borodkin and said, “Water, please. Paper towels.” Borodkin complied, his concern for her vanishing into resentment that he should have to do such a thing, then sudden pleasure at her incapacitation. He returned with the items, then looked away as she rinsed out her mouth, spat into the wastebasket, covered the remains of her lunch with the toweling while struggling to gain control over her breathing. She had morphine although she seldom used it, but this pain was as bad as anything since rehab. She thought she could feel, with great precision, the breaks and the metal pins. Her hands were shaking. She reached into her purse and found the vial, shook out two tablets and washed them down with the dregs of her cold tea. After a few moments, she was able to force composure into her voice and manage coherence. “I will be worthless for the rest of the day, so please call a car for me and I will see you in the morning.”
Borodkin obeyed with sullen happiness, sullen at having to obey another order, happy that, for the rest of the day, he was free.
The next morning, she began her daily routine of stretching while in bed and continued in the hot shower, a necessity everywhere but in Chechnya. It took at least fifteen minutes and was brutally hard. But she felt she had just the slightest bit more flexion in her lower spine and pelvis. Putting her body away, she dressed and went to work.