Sam had to get out of the restaurant for a smoke. Over a minute went by before he realized that he had been sucking air through an unlit cig like a complete asswipe – nothing unusual. Sam had recently lost his Dad. The funeral was in two days, and not just any funeral – a real turn-it-out Moscow celebrity do. The date was set, invitations sent, a plot was bought, actor hired, everything was ready, well... everything but the deceased.
Sam had literally lost his father – to be precise, he had lost the urn with his Father’s ashes which had been flown half way around the world to help Sam secure his inheritance. All he had to do was deliver on every one of the burial requirements.
Sam thought about Freud’s essays on the unconscious. What if this is how it’s supposed to be, he thought to himself, maybe he lost it on purpose, to finally get even with his father, who started the whole mess. You see, Sam’s Dad, Mark, had put the family in a difficult position. Sam, who lived for being at the reigns of important family matters, was up to his neck when the will was read. Having three lovers, an ever increasing inability to deal with practical matters, a massive ego and an extreme case of cynicism as well as a business, if you can call it that, consisting of collecting and redistributing bribes, Sam only lacked one thing - a will which stipulated the following: his father was to be cremated in Baltimore but buried in Moscow in a specific plot in a specific and expensive graveyard. But his troubles did not end there – the date had to be approved by an astrologist and worst of all, he had to convince one of Russia’s greatest actors to recite a poem Mark had written and dedicated to his children. To put it simply: his father made sure that his death would be harder on Sam than his life.
Mark also made sure that his lawyer and old friend would oversee that all his demands were fulfilled by Sam and not his sister. With great emotion, she had said:
“You know, it's sad that Daddy didn't request that all of this take place in Red Square, nobody else but Sam would have even tried to pull that off.”
Maria, like many people, “loved” Sam. She had reason enough. Once, he had put a used condom into his 15-year-old sister’s room and then ratted her out leading to Maria being put on probation and not being able to go out for a month. This cost her a trip to a foreign language camp. And Sam did all of this just for fun.
You're probably asking why the hell didn't Sam, who had zero morals, just ignore the bullshit will.
One simple reason, Konchalovsky. Konchalovsky, the painter, not the filmmaker. Konchalovsky's artwork had been significantly appreciating and Sam's Father owned a sizeable collection valued in the millions. All the family jewelry was left to Maria while the paintings were left to Sam but with the previously mentioned burial conditions and a sale embargo that lasted for a decade.
The will was read in front of the whole family by Mark’s lawyer. Maria laughed out loud. Sure, the jewelry was worth significantly less than the art, but she could wear the bling or sell it at any time.
Sam got mad, it wasn't the money. Even a million dollars didn’t mean all that much, it was about fairness and… fairness. Steamed, Sam took the lawyer aside.
“Igor, I was just thinking…”
“My apologies for interrupting you, Sir, but I know what you’re thinking. You're going to propose a bribe so that you can inter your Father as you wish, disregard the ten-year embargo and sell me the collection at a fifty percent discount.”
“How did you know that?”
Sam was slightly in shock. He originally was going to ask for seventy, but now he was ready to take fifty.
“To be precise, you wanted seventy but now you are willing to settle for fifty, am I correct?”
Sam was now convinced that he was standing with the architect of the Matrix himself and stopped bargaining.
“Yeah, what are you, a psychic?”
“Obviously not, but your Father was. In fact, he predicted your future thoughts with astonishing accuracy, he told me everything you would say word for word. He knew you quite well.”
Sam was getting madder and madder.
“Maybe, I should read your mind now”
“Please, Sir.”
As they spoke, Igor was polite and solicitous - the perfect lawyer. Part Saint, part devil. Butter couldn’t have melted in his mouth. He reminded Sam of the Cheshire Cat but with a bloodstained chainsaw hidden in the bushes. Sam practically felt the machine against his skin. He could both smell and taste the metal of the cold blade that was sawing through his life. He became unsteady like he’d lost his sea-legs. He tried to smile but it was hollow. Before this, a down-to-earth grappling with reality had helped Sam save a lot of money and even his life. He trusted his instincts yet again and decided not to argue with this pro, that was no longer a player but the game itself.
“You will reject any offer I make, right?”
“Splendid insight. By the way, a decade of looking at artwork will enlighten the soul.”
“Mine or the artist?”
“Mine, I have no interest in other’s souls, only their bodies, living or dead.
You also do not have permission to gift the paintings, formally they are owned by a charity in my name. There is also a side-agreement attached to the will. Let’s just both agree to agree. By now, I feel certain that you have grasped that any nefarious idea that can cross your mind has already crossed mine. Your Father's Will is to be executed no matter the cost, And I do believe you understand the words ‘no matter the cost’ in this context.”
Though miserable, Sam could only muster a nod.
“Then we are finished, Sir. Dismissed. Little joke. It was a pleasure seeing you again, as always.”
Konchalovsky's newest fan and avid art lover, Sam, entered the reception area.
“Did he tell you to fuck off? Are you feeling a little squeezed? ” – asked his sister gloating.
“Yeah, and I can't sell this shit or even donate it” – Sam spat out on automatic.
“Jeez Sam, do you know who Konchalovsky is? He isn't just some painter with six-figure paintings that you can show off to your hookers. He’s a national treasure, an icon!”
Again, Sam snapped at her, on auto-pilot.
“Ok, lets swap, I'll take the diamonds and you take the paintings? You can create the greatest goddam museum on earth and I can go there every weekend for 200 rubles?”
“What, so you can give away great grandma's jewels to your hos?”
“You know me better than that. I never give anything to anyone. Especially, not for free. My wife gets all my money, she deserves it.”
“I know. You're this amazing Jewish husband. It’s always freaked me out. You know what I can’t believe? That women sleep with you for free… why?”
She’d gone from gloating to picking a fight.
“There's no one else to have sex with here. This country is cursed. I think all the craziest, most beautiful bitches die, get reincarnated and end up in Moscow for punishment. These babes are given great bodies but zero hot guys. So, what about the swap?”
“No way, Sam. I'll be waiting for my fancy invitation to the burial, don't spare any expense. Oh, and I'll come wearing the diamonds. If you need anything, please call…”
Maria smirked and added: “It’ll be so much fun, telling you to go fuck yourself.”
Next, Sam survived a total three-ring Circus with an overseas cremation, a search for high end contacts in one of the best cemeteries in the capital, (this was made easier by his Dad’s influential connections in the world of physics), deals with actors, invites out to all VIP guests and the arrangements made for the delivery of the urn to Russia before the deadline. One of his father's old friends in the
Academy of Sciences even asked Sam if he would be willing to let the urn stay in the states and hold the funeral there. He offered that they could just have a reception in his Father’s home city. His argument was that Moscow puts everyone on the same level.
Honest people, politicians and murderers are pretty much on equal footing.
The thought of the Cheshire Cat with the chainsaw scared away any thought of going with that idea. Then, there occurred a true snafu.
Sam collected the urn at the airport and was about to put it in the back seat of his Ferrari when a gorgeous model type approached him and asked for directions. After flirting successfully, Sam offered her a ride home. He completely forgot about the urn and only remembered it hours later when he had convinced his new friend to come back to his secret apartment. The art of having sex in “less than 24” after meeting was something Sam did well and did often. He kept a list and competed with himself on the number of these blitzkriegs he could pull off annually.
It was looking at an ash tray on his coffee table that made the thought of the urn pierce his brain like a spear from Ivan the Terrible’s chest of war toys.
He went outside, struggled to get his cigarette lit and called the airport. They said they would check the security cameras and try to find the urn. Then he returned to his friend and told her.
“Your Dad's a fucking dick, what a mess he made, couldn't he get on a plane back to Moscow when he knew he was going to die? People only think about themself.”
“Them…”
“What?”
“It’s plural, it needs to be... Never mind, could you ever not do what it says in your Dad's will?
“Me? If it was my fucking Father, I'd cremate that asshole alive and make the fire real low so that it’d take a lot longer and be way more painful.”
Sam realized that there was no way he could fuck this grammar-challenged bimbette in his current mood so he got rid of her but still agreed with himself that her name could be added to the 24 list. He called the airport again – this time, the camera was pointing in a different direction or didn't work at all. With no options left, he called Igor.
“I lost my dad.”
“Yes, I understand. You need some time to let it sink in. To be honest, it took me six months…
“You don't understand, I’ve really lost him.”
“Yes, yes, the fact that you’ve lost him forever only...”
Sam couldn’t hold back anymore.
“No, no, I lost the urn! Nobody knows but you! So, what are we going to do? ”
Sam was able to share blame so quickly that even he was surprised. Uncharacteristically, Igor lost his cool. His voice became hard and aggressive. It took all of Sam’s charm to get the lawyer to calm down.
“Sam, it is easily understood why your father adored you, you are truly one of a kind - What are WE going to do? WE?”
“Well you wouldn't abandon me in a situation like this, I have no one else I can turn to!”
Sam's tone would have made the snakes on Medusa’s head tear up.
“The burial is the day after tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Well Sam, I'm afraid that we don't have the time to borrow ashes from another urn and bring it here.”
Heavy clay bricks fell on Sam's head. He understood the situation thoroughly but was compelled to drag the torture out.
“Get ashes from where?”
“Well... Igor coughed… according to the will, I am only allowed to advise you about this matter forty days after your Father's demise but due to the problematic situation you have gotten yourself into, I believe I am permitted to tell you that your Father has another grave in Baltimore. I sincerely hope we do not have to delve into the reason for this other grave’s existence.”
Sam got it immediately.
“No need, I’m not stupid - how many are there?”
“Graves?”
“No, children, but tell me about the graves too. Maybe my Dad wanted to franchise – a grave in every city - like Starbucks.
“TWO graves, Sir. One is located in Baltimore and one is in your...well, let's say it’s a work-in-progress.”
“Our work-in-progress.”
“Yes, yes, indeed ours. And there are two children in the States, a boy and a girl.”
Sam opened a bottle of whisky, poured a full shot, and drank it down - a toast to his Father.
“Sex, eye color and all that crap doesn't matter - age and what they know about us, that interests me.”
“Seven and Twelve. I can assure you that they know nothing about you and your Sister. Your Father was adept at keeping secrets.”
“No shit. Why did he leave everything to us?”
The whisky calmed his nerves. Sam began to ask more pointed and logical questions.
“What makes you think he left everything to you, Sir?
Igor couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing. Sam remembered how his dad used to lecture him about the four stages of parenting: work, ambivalence, pain and regret.
“So, Dad did have more socked away didn't he?”
“Certainly.”
“I'm not surprised, it's just that I recently sent him cash because he was moaning abouthow po or he was.”
“Maybe he was indeed poor, compared to certain individuals, it's all a matter of perspective.”
Igor was starting to sound like the Cheshire Cat again.
“Your father didn't hold on very long to the finances you provided him with. He chose to dispose of it at the casino. Your money was the only money he was willing to use at the roulette wheel. In his words: “I will restore these funds to where they came from. He did appreciate that you didn't forget about him though. For his invaluable service to the motherland, your father was made a wealthy man by our government. He then invested this income into stocks and other instruments and earned a great deal more…”
“How much?”
“Seventy-five million US Dollars.”
Sam almost took a bite out of his glass but then remembered how many teeth he had left and thought better of it.
“And EVERYTHING to those two bastards?! ”
“Your father did mention that you would refer to them in those exact words. As I mentioned, forty days after your father’s demise, I am required to explain the situation about other members of the family to everyone. Funds will be dispensed in the following manner: To the two children I mentioned previously, five each, three to Maria, ten to any grandchildren born after his death – upon their turning eighteen years of age. And a lifelong insurance policy against serious illness, two million per person.”
“I’m good with numbers, who got the rest?”
The rest will be donated to the Alzheimer’s fund for research and development. Sam took a deep breath.
“Alzheimer’s...that’s because of mom, right…”
“Of course, he truly loved her. Her last year was hell on earth for him. It's a pity you never visited. Your Father was really hurt... ”
The Cheshire Cat was getting ruthless. Igor felt no sympathy for Sam - only hard-edged truth, no compassion. Sam responded quickly and coldly.
“She wouldn't have been able to recognize me, it wouldn’t have mattered. ”
“To her, no. But, to him. He needed you to visit at that time. He was waiting. Do you understand the word waiting? Have you ever waited for someone? ”
”No, I have never waited for anything. ”
Sam, of course, understood what he was hearing. Truly cynical people value real emotion the most. Back then, he was scared to visit. He sent money, big money, money that was necessary for his survival. But money sounded stupid now after the news of the seventy-five million dollars. Maybe, that’s why Sam broke down again.
“I also cared a lot, okay! That’s…that's why I didn't show up.”
He realized his mistake so quickly that Igor didn't have time to answer.
“Sorry, that was stupid.”
“Stupid? No, only human. I am in no position to judge.”
“Thank you, Igor, I have two questions, they’re important.”
“Well if it’s important, then please, go ahead”
“Why do you think he left me just the art? Revenge? To teach me a lesson? To mock me?”
“And the second?”
“Why 40 days? ”
“Why forty days after his death was I allowed to disclose everything? ”
“Yes.”
“I don't know, no matter how bizarre this may sound he did believe in something. So perhaps, in his mind, something happens in heaven on the 40th day. Maybe he wanted to see how you would react or he was frightened by the thought of it. I know he considered multiple options, he even asked me to consult an astrologist so that everything would be accounted for. He was always that kind of individual. Remember when you were still in school you always had two sets of uniforms and two school bags. You must remember.”
“Yes, yes I do…”
Sam felt a strange tinge of nostalgia. He tried to shake it out of his system but repeated the question that was certain to bring him nothing but bad.
“Why did he leave me just the paintings? Give me the truth, I'm ready for anything.”
“Your father said that you would never have financial worries. You are too talented and unscrupulous to be lacking any funds but you lack something really irreplaceable and important, you don't enjoy people. He thought: maybe, you would learn to admire art, or people through art. In addition to that, he thought that for at least ten years you would be forced to remember him. By the way, apart from the Konchalovsky works there is one painting you are going to receive that is from an artist that every single person in the world knows.
“What?”
“This one painting is worth more than all the others put together. I am certain that you are familiar with the artist.”
The Cheshire Cat had returned but this time without the chainsaw.
“Maria also has a very heavy and shiny surprise. We are not rushing anywhere now, are we?”
Sam felt like a child who for the first time sits down to play cards with adults and sees their way of thinking and playing as something beyond human. His father had taught Sam all of the usual games from a young age. Their card partners were some of the most notable superstars of the era. Sam saw now that his Father, even in death, had played the ultimate trump card and won the final game.
Sam, caught up in the past, answered dreamingly:
“No, now there is no rush for sure.”
Abruptly, he returned to the present and the overriding problem.
“What are we going to do about the funeral?”
“I will reach out to my American counterparts and attempt to get the ashes removed from the Baltimore grave and delivered here by tomorrow.”
“What if we can’t make it, let's postpone the funeral?”
Even with his above average cynicism Sam still was afraid of offering a plan B. But his father's closest friend, his lawyer, wasn’t. Igor felt indignation for the first time this week.
“Sam, have you lost your mind? What do you mean postpone? This is not some cheap affair with one of your women, this is your father's and my best friend’s funeral, it's an event. It cannot and I repeat cannot be postponed. If we are unable to secure the ashes in time then we will bury air. Pure Moscow air. And then we will get the ashes later! Perhaps, we can risk offending the Gods but we cannot risk offending the guests.”
It is… For once, Igor was at a loss for words. He laced and unlaced his fingers.