Pomerantsev's Wanderings

"Goodbye, America, oh-oh, where I shall never be…" So I arrive in America, and some very rich American, a real millionaire, invites me over, "to the patio", where there's a whole crowd of people. And the reception is in my honour — he's terribly fond of me as an actor. On the millionaire's head sits a cowboy hat with turned-up brim, only huge, like a sombrero. "How on earth does he wear it?" I thought. The American says to me, would I like him to introduce me to his friend. The friend appears, I look — and it's Schwarzenegger, on a Hummer with a fat cigar in his mouth, "the size of my arm". All in all, I didn't take to him straight away. And what's more, he doesn't speak Russian, he speaks English with an accent, which, by the way, I don't know at all. And the main thing is, he hasn't the faintest idea that standing before him is a "Great Russian Actor", and the patio, mind you, is in my honour! The millionaire asks: "Viktor, why are you so glum?" And just then, from above, out of nowhere, the sly face of Rogozhkin dangled down, like Behemoth the cat from "The Master and Margarita": "Viktor is glum because look how many cars you've got, while Viktor has only one, and even that was stolen recently." "Don't fret, Vik-tor," says the millionaire with an accent, "Choose whatever car you like." Of course I grew shy and say: "No need, American, drop it." And then suddenly Rogozhkin's voice again from above: "He really likes that Hummer over there, the one Schwarzenegger arrived in." "A Hummer's a Hummer," says the millionaire, "I've got the very same one in my garage. Take it, Viktor, it's a gift." I thanked him, but kept refusing. But then Rogozhkin's voice again: "Viktor is refusing because he doesn't know how to get the car back to Russia." The American laughed and said: "No prob-lem, I'll sort it out! Everything will be Okay!" And so there I am, sailing on a huge ocean liner, I looked down — it fairly took my breath away! What heights, what beauty! But then, what's this? Ocean spray keeps flying onto my Hummer! So I start wiping it! I wipe and wipe, but the Hummer is all wet, and my face is all wet too. I look down — no, on such a tall ship the spray simply can't reach the deck. And I realise it's not spray, it's tears, I'm standing there weeping. And then a voice from above again, only not Rogozhkin's, but the rich American's: "Why are you crying, Viktor?" I'd barely opened my mouth when Rogozhkin, instead of me, answers him: "He's crying because he thought of how much he'd have to pay to clear this Hummer through customs, and how much for the road tax with an engine that size…" Rogozhkin said this and melted away… I woke up. Where's the Hummer? What nonsense is this? I'm lying there all wet, and something is dripping on my face? Am I really crying? No — nothing of the sort! It's the neighbours flooding me again, and streams are already running down from the ceiling. Off I ran to sort it out, only just came back… The phone! "Ahem-ahem! Hello!" — the voice of Sasha Rogozhkin. "Vitya, can you go to America?" I actually pinched myself and say: "I can! But what for?" "I've written you a part in "Deadly Force", your Pomerantsev is off to the "World Congress of Tramps"! Come to the studio today, we'll talk it over there…" "O'key!" I said. Now there's a "dream come true" or… "I'll be back!"