The Senility of Vladimir P by Michael Honig

to say, Russia needed another him.
    â€˜Well, you’ve got another six years before you need to worry about that,’ said Monarov. ‘Tonight, let’s enjoy what you’ve achieved.’ He raised his glass. ‘Vladimir Vladimirovich, our president for the fifth time: To your health!’
    They drank.
    Then they put down their glasses. Suddenly they looked older, greyer, anxious. Vladimir knew there was something wrong. What was it? Why had they all come to see him?
    â€˜Vladimir Vladimirovich,’ said Monarov. ‘It’s time to go.’
    â€˜I’m the elected president! I have another year to serve!’
    â€˜Yes. And now it’s time to go.’
    He looked around at the others. Luschkin, Narzayev, Serensky, they all stared back at him, faces grim.
    â€˜Vova, we came to see you together, so you wouldn’t suspect that any one of us was plotting. We all agree. You can’t go on. People are noticing.’
    â€˜What?’ demanded Vladimir. ‘What are they noticing?’
    â€˜I just told you.’
    â€˜No, you didn’t.’
    â€˜I did. See, you can’t remember.’
    â€˜I can! I can remember everything!’
    â€˜You’re forgetting things all the time.’
    Was he? There seemed to be words in his head, something that he had just been told, floating somewhere in there, but he couldn’t quite grasp them. ‘That’s a lie!’ he shouted. ‘You just want to get me out!’
    â€˜Vova, we’re your friends. Your most loyal friends. Resign now. Put in Sverkov —’
    â€˜Sverkov’s nothing. Sverkov’s a piece of stuffing you put here, you put there, wherever there’s a hole you want to fill.’
    â€˜Put in Sverkov, Vova, and he’ll win us the next election. That way we keep Lebedev out for at least the next six years.’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Every day you stay, Lebedev gets stronger.’
    â€˜I don’t care. I control Russia. I control the money, I control the agencies —’
    â€˜Actually, Vova, that’s not quite true. You remember the decrees you signed?’
    â€˜What decrees?’
    â€˜The decrees,’ said Monarov.
    Vladimir looked around. Luschkin, Narzayev and Serensky were gone. ‘What decrees?’ he cried.
    â€˜The decrees,’ said Monarov.
    â€˜What decrees? ’he cried in panic. ‘ Zhenya? What did I sign? I can’t remember! What decrees?’
    Monarov was gone too now. Then Vladimir remembered that Monarov was dead. Yes, he had been to his funeral. And yet there he had been sitting in the chair, eating caviar by the spoonful!
    He frowned in confusion.
    â€˜What is it, Vladimir Vladimirovich?’ asked Sheremetev, who had come back from the dressing room with a set of casual clothes in case he could persuade Vladimir to change.
    â€˜Who are you?’
    â€˜Sheremetev, Vladimir Vladimirovich. Are you hungry?’
    Vladimir looked at him suspiciously. ‘Yes, I’m hungry.’
    There was a knock on the door.
    â€˜Here’s lunch,’ said Sheremetev.
    He went to the door. One of the house attendants was standing outside with Vladimir’s lunch.
    â€˜Is everything alright in the kitchen?’ asked Sheremetev, taking the tray, still struck by the glimpse he had caught of Stepanin pacing around on the grass outside the dacha.
    The attendant shrugged.
    â€˜With the cook? Is he alright?’
    â€˜I didn’t see the cook,’ muttered the attendant. ‘They just gave me the food.’ He stood for a moment longer. ‘Can I go now?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Sheremetev. He carried the tray to the table and set it down. ‘Come on, Vladimir Vladimirovich. Here’s something to eat.’
    â€˜It is time already?’
    â€˜It’s time. You’re hungry, remember?’
    â€˜Is it breakfast?’
    â€˜Lunch.’ Sheremetev smiled. ‘It’s easy to forget. You