The Untouchable

Chapter 87

"Grandma, do you really think you can get my papers with just two fried chickens and a bottle of vodka?" Daniel shook the bags indignantly. Baba Songolik didn't even bat an eye, staring at him with bored arrogance, waiting for him to accept the situation. She looked at her Soviet wristwatch and stomped impatiently with her mud-covered leather boot. Daniel shook his head and protested again, "Ivan and I look nothing alike! We're two completely different people in the photo. How are you going to pull this off?"

"Easy," Baba Songolik snorted, resolutely moving toward the door of the Federal Migration Service. "Watch and learn, Daniel. And keep quiet!"

They entered the dark, dusty office, hissing at each other. Daniel tried to hold her back, but she resisted fiercely. An elderly, gnarled official squinted, sniffed the air recognizing the aroma of grilled chicken, and exclaimed, "Hello! Who do I see! Songolik Gidargunovna! What brings you here?" He adjusted his glasses and fixed his curious gaze on nervous Daniel.

If Daniel had known why she insisted on cutting his hair, making him shave, and dragging him to the district center, he would never have agreed. A fresh cut stung on his cheek, his heart pounded erratically, and his palms were sweaty. What was he getting into? The last thing he needed was to get caught in some trivial fraud.

The stubborn woman sat opposite the official, plunked a large reticule on her lap, and smiled sweetly.

"Hello, Semyon Vasilyich, long time no see. I brought my grandson to get a passport. He lost his old one."

"Gr-grandson?" Semyon Vasilyevich stammered, his watery eyes bulging at Daniel, who wished he could disappear. He looked at impenetrably confident Granny Songolik and hiccupped again, starting to turn purple. She waved Daniel over with a grand gesture.

Daniel forced himself to approach, signaling to her that it was time to drop the joke and leave. Baba Songolik pulled out the vodka bottle, placed it on the table, then pulled out the two golden-fried chickens and confirmed with a sweet smile, "Grandson. No passport. Needs one for a trip to Thailand."

Semyon Vasilyevich eyed the vodka like it was manna from heaven, licked his lips at the fragrant chicken, and blinked rapidly. Behind his dull facade, his thoughts raced - Daniel could almost hear them clicking. Finally, Semyon Vasilyevich gave a cheerful quack.

"Ah, grandson! Well, we rarely make passports these days, except for issuing them through the state services. Normally, you first apply, then go to Irkutsk for biometrics. We don't have the equipment here," he said meaningfully, his eyes shifting to the vodka and chicken.

"We don't need biometrics. Just a simple passport, the old-fashioned way," Baba Songolik said, moving the roll of paper back with fake disappointment. "Or can't you do that, Semyon Vasilyevich? How so?"

The man leaned forward, greedily eyeing the disappearing bag, opened his mouth helplessly, and spoke quickly.

"We can do it, we can do something simple. But first, you have to restore your internal passport. I'll submit the statement about the loss myself; just sign the form. You can take a photo around the corner, and I'm sure you have the rest of the documents," he said, checking the camera in the corner. Baba Songolik packed the vodka and chicken back into the bag and placed it on the floor.

Daniel's knees buckled. He slumped into a chair, wiped sweat from his forehead, and stared admiringly at the skillful manipulator. The crucial phase of negotiations was over; now came the technical part. Baba Songolik filled out the application, checked it against the document, and tsked at Semyon Vasilyevich, who buzzed like an annoying bumblebee.

"He was registered at the psychiatric clinic," Semyon Vasilyevich hissed, "he should be properly examined, the diagnosis removed. Do you hear me? This one is healthy," he added, looking shrewdly at Daniel.

"We'll go through it," Baba Songolik sang absent-mindedly. "We'll take it off, but not right away. We need time. What's the rush? Sign, Vanya," she said, sliding two forms towards Daniel and waving her hand. "It's hot in here, Semyon Vasilyevich. Is the heater on?"

"I suffer from radiculitis; it hurts like hell when it's cold," Semyon Vasilyevich accepted the forms, scratching his nose thoughtfully. "Everything seems to be in order. Kid, run and take a photo. Don't torment your grandmother; let her sit here, and we'll chat."

Daniel hurried around the corner, took the photo, still not believing what was happening, and when he returned fifteen minutes later, he found them both laughing. They must have had a good chat because Semyon Vasilyevich no longer scanned him suspiciously. He accepted the documents and even shook Daniel's hand in farewell, sternly advising.

"Take care of your grandmother; she's a remarkable woman."

"Ah-ha," Daniel replied, still in shock, picking up the package from the floor. Semyon Vasilyevich's face showed such universal sorrow that Daniel almost let go of the bag.

"Put it in the corner," Baba Songolik said ventriloquially, and Daniel, relieved, complied.

Outside, Baba Songolik took her time buttoning her coat, closed her eyes, cooling off after the hot office, and smiled contentedly.

"Are you surprised?"

"Of course I am. It was so easy," Daniel shook his head in disbelief. "Bam, and the man's identity was taken over. Thank you, Grandma, I really appreciate it. I won't let you and Vanya down."

"Please don't. He was good and kind. If it hadn't been for meningitis in childhood, he would have been brilliant," Baba Songolik said sadly. "Well, let his soul rest, and his name will serve you. What's in a name when the person is gone? Don't be surprised about the ease. We have Chinese and North Koreans applying for citizenship, and in general... Do you know we still pass children from family to family? It's easier to re-issue documents than in other regions."

"Pass children?" Daniel gave her an elbow, and she leaned on it gratefully.

"It's been that way for centuries. Poor, fertile families used to give their children to richer relatives to feed them. Nowadays, they do it for a different reason - there are many childless couples. Official adoption takes time, and you never know who you'll get. People don't want complications. So they look for relatives willing to give their children. And when the children grow up, they sometimes demand their real names back. If they fight with their adoptive parents, they seek their biological relatives. Sometimes it's real Santa Barbara here, the American soap opera. We took a child into our family once - already an adult," Baba Songolik said good-naturedly. "Don't worry, we'll get you a passport too."

"I can't get a passport yet, Grandmother," Daniel hesitated. They had opened up to each other, but he had left out many dirty and scary details. "I'm not sure what kind of check the passport process involves, but I think my identity could be flagged. Maybe it's paranoia, but I'm afraid I could be found through a photo."

"Well, we'll wait then," Baba Songolik replied nonchalantly. "What's the rush? Life is long."

Daniel exhaled, overwhelmed by her boundless kindness. The sky suddenly dripped warm on his forehead, then a fine, blinding rain fell through the bright sunshine. Unexpected manifestations of warmth and kindness from strangers or semi-familiar people: Sonya, who didn't condemn, Maxim, who helped him escape, the Kamaz driver who drove him across the country, Baba Songolik, who took a stranger to heart....

A light glimmered in the tunnel.

Daniel threw his head back, catching the small, frequent drops with his lips, and smiled through a sob. He picked up Baba Songolik in his arms and spun her around. She gasped, clung to his shoulders, and laughed girlishly.

Under the bright Baikal sun in the wonderful blind rain, two immensely lonely but happy people twirled and laughed.