NINE
Page 14
«Come on, come on!» Alex got on her knees.
Berg threw up his hands, calling for silence, and froze in an awkward pose.
The train confidently gathered speed.
«We're off,» Berg determined with relief.
Several people were still running along the embankment. Berg opened the door and whistled at them. A rock hit him in the forehead, and he sat down on the floor.
An «Ah!» resounded from a corner they thought held only Mollie.
Alarmed, the company looked in the sound's direction. In the corner stood a young woman in a calico peasant dress. Berg, covering the bump on his head, whispered:
«Good God, how beautiful you are, mademoiselle, madam, panna, miss!»
He crept over to her, but she waved her hands in protest.
«I'm afraid of you.»
«Oh, please don't be! We're actors, servants of Melpomene's circus,» Berg babbled. «That is, culturally educated people, and those two are circus stars.»
The woman began clapping her hands.
«Really? I just worship the circus, but I've never been.»
«I myself have only seen it on televi…» Berg cut himself off. Then he noticed that Mollie was lying atop a dead chicken. He tore the bird away and offered it up to the woman like a bouquet.
«You can boil up some boullion for your husband back home.»
«Would that I had a husband,» she said, embarrassed.
«Would that I had a home,» he dreamily countered.
«I'm so tired of chickens on that farm…»
Berg chucked the fryer away with a grand gesture:
«Fly thee hence, winged one!»
«What about you? Don't you have any place to live?» asked the woman — almost hopefully, it seemed.
«Wheresoever I'm obliged to live, I have no wish to go there.»
«A mean wife?»
«Brothers, actually. But never mind. You're from that poultry farm, eh?»
«Uh-huh. I take the night train home. I live in Zheltokrysino, twelve kilometers off. I had a flat tire on my bike, so here I am, taking the freight train…»
«Is the pay any good?»
«They pay us in eggs and carcasses.»
«Convenient.»
All along Berg had been crawling up to the woman, and now his face had come level with her knee. She blushed and squatted down. They silently stared into each other's eyes.
«If you don't have a place to live, why don't you settle down with me and my mother,» said the woman. «She'll be so happy. It's been ages since we had a man in the house.»
Alex and Orest, in the meantime, had been sitting on the floor, letting their legs dangle over the side of the doorway in the open air, surveying the streaming landscape. An exhausted Mollie lay next to them, fast asleep.
«One of them manages to get out of his cage all of a sudden, with the car wide open — they'll fall out,» muttered Orest. «Or else catch cold, God forbid.»
«And they're all hungry,» Alex took up the theme. «But, come on, one of our guys has to look in on them sometime during the trip. They're always stepping out during stops.»
«Mollie's here sleeping like a baby, no skin off her back!» said Orest. «It's all her fault we're in this mess…»
Mollie slightly opened her eyes, looking at him in silent reproach.
«Zheltokrysino,» the woman announced in a happy voice. Berg, no less delighted, embraced her about the shoulders.
The train braked to a halt and all four disembarked, Berg gallantly offering a hand to his new acquaintance, and then taking her by the elbow.
Alex tossed them a «See ya!»
«Uh-huh,» answered Berg, peremptorily. For him, only the poultry farm woman in the calico dress existed. The two lovebirds paused in a small square near the station, by a fountain. Mollie went with them and jumped in the fountain, greedily lapping up some water.
«Let her drink her fill,» Alex and Orest kept an eye on her from a distance.
Her thirst quenched, Mollie decided to have a bath.
Alex noticed a policeman walking along the platform and ran to the fountain.
«Come on now, climb out of there!»
The command only egged Mollie on: she frolicked with greater abandon.
Orest hastened over to them.
«Double time outta here! Come with me!»
Mollie, splashing up a storm without let-up, poured forth some joyous barking.
Berg and the poultry woman were engaged in an ecstatic kiss.
«Second Lieutenant Bruskov,» uttered a dry, officious voice. There he was already, the policeman, plain as day.
«May I see your documents, citizens?»
«Hi, Uncle Slava,» the poultry woman turned. She was glowing a scalded red, her eyes gleamed insanely, and her chest bobbed up and down, as if she were asphyxiating.
«Nastya, is that you?!» said the amazed lieutenant. «Hmm. I didn't recognize you. Guess you'll be rich someday, like that superstition says.»
«I've already found my treasure,» Nastya leaned against Berg's shoulder. «Has your Zorka calved yet?»
«I wish! She can't seem to get it over and done with. Bad enough she's not delivering in winter, like a normal cow, but only in summer does she get it into her head. And even then, she can't do it! By the way, who're these folks with you?»
«Circus people,» Nastya tenderly caressed Berg. «They got left behind by their train.»
Bruskov penetrated the newcomers with a Sherlock-Holmeslike stare, and nodded to the sweetly smiling Berg:
«The other day someone stole a hat just like yours from the Skumbak's country store. It was American humanitarian aid. Where did you get yours?»
«On tour in America.»
«Oh really? From America?»
«From the state of Amazonka.»
«A-ah… And a long-skirted silvery raincoat…» The lieutenant produced a small notebook and buried his head in it: «Also some Finnish smoked sausage, half a kilo of 'Yeltsin's Golden Dawn' apples, 200 grams of cheese, a pair of rubber slippers, size 42…» Bruskov lifted his gaze up to Berg, who was already without his cowboy hat, raincoat and rubber slippers. «Haven't I seen you somewhere before?»
«In the arena!» Berg blurted out.
«And just how did you get left behind, if your train is ri-i-ight over there?» he was pointing to precisely where the train stood.
«Well, we're off then!» Berg tiptoed on his bare feet.
Alex and Orest were already starting to take off, but they ran into another policeman — a broad one, enormously tall.
«What's the problem?» he grabbed the would-be escapees by the scruff of their necks, like kittens.
«Well, here's the deal,» the lieutenant reported quite merrily. «They say they got left behind by the circus, but what do you know: the circus is right over there!»
The bull stood the fugitives on their feet and said in a deep, grave tone:
«Confess everything.»
At that moment Mollie climbed out of the fountain's bowl, ran over to the guardians of order and shook herself dry. A torrent of spray rained down on their gray tunics. Alex and Orest had managed to take cover behind the square-shaped policeman.
«Let's bring them in to Gorlogryzov, Pasha,» mumbled the one who resembled a tower, wiping his eyes. «Let him figure it out.»
«To Gorlogr… gr… gryzov… But what for?» Berg babbled out in anguish, rubbing his Adam's apple.
«Come on, citizens, let's go!» Lieutenant Bruskov raised his voice, and elbowed his partner in the buttock, since he couldn't reach any higher. «Should we take Nastya too?»
«I'm not going anywhere without Heinrich!» she said, latching on to Berg.
«Our train cars are leaving,» muttered Alex, as in a dream.
«Listen up, you!» Orest craned his head up at the uniformed giant. «I don't see your badges… Our cars are taking off. We've got valuable animals in there!»
Nastya weighed in, moaning, «Heinrich is
kind, he loves birds…»
By the station entrance there hung a glass case, declaring, «Wanted by the Police.» Two sheets were stuck over the glass: «Vote for Gorlogryzov» and «Vote for Kuroschupov.» Lieutenant Bruskov angrily tore off Kuroschupov's poster, indignantly crumpled it up and tossed it into a trashcan. From underneath the glass, a badly-printed photograph of Berg stared out at them: «Wanted: Especially Dangerous Criminal.» Berg darted off to the side, jumped from the platform and onto the rails, and bolted across the lines. The policemen, coming to their senses, yelled out, «Stop! Stop!» and ran up to the edge of the platform. But here they stopped, as if rooted to the spot. Bruskov, in the heat of the moment, started to put one leg down, but abruptly drew it back, as if out of a cold river.
«Potapov,» he said to his hale partner, «you go after him, I'll handle the accomplices.»
Potapov held onto his paunch and squatted down, gathering himself to jump, but in the end couldn't manage such a feat.
Meanwhile the track-layers working the lines, strapping women in orange vests, with crowbars in their grease-smeared mittens, shrilly screamed, «Hey, we'll drop him!» and flung their crowbars at the barefoot man without a second thought, striking home on the first try. The bars mowed Berg down on the spot. The track-layers seized up the body, like a crosstie, and delivered it up to the platform at Potapov's feet.
«Carry him in to the station,» he ordered Alex and Orest.
Once they'd dragged the unconscious Berg into a cell, the circus performers were immediately sent in to see Major Gorlogryzov, the station chief.
Gorlogryzov sat monolithically behind a double-posted desk, under a portrait of Bill Clinton (the work of a local painter), austerely working his furry eyebrows. After five minutes of silence, he sharply demanded:
«How long have you known Tsarapkin?»
«Who's that?» Orest shuddered in surprise.
«Your companion,» Gorlogryzov venomously screwed up his eyes.
«Berg?» mumbled Alex.
«Oh, so he's also Berg, is he? Mm-hm, mm-hm, well, he's been Luciferov, he's been Hellkin, he's been Trolleybusov… but, if we go by his given name, he's Yuri Andreyevich Tsarapkin, born 1962, escaped from prison one month ago. Do you know Potma?»
The circus folk shook their heads.
«I was born there,» Gorlogryzov revealed, dreamily, then frowned. «But not in the prison zone, of course. Meaning in those parts.»
«Excuse me,» Alex said, tiredly. «We couldn't care less… We're circus performers, left behind by our train. We've been trying to catch up with it, by relay, all the way from Gnilukha. We met up with this Tsarapkin of yours, or Berg, on the road. It's all elementary…»
«No, it's not elementary,» answered Gorlogryzov, in an offended tone. «Do you have your documents on you?»
«What damn documents?!» Alex was on the verge of tears.
«We haven't got any documents, or any money, we don't have a goddamn thing on us!»
«You watch your mouth,» the major suddenly looked at Clinton's portrait. «We're people of faith here, and you go off invoking unclean spirits.»
«Comrade station chief, let us go,» moaned Alex. «For the love of Christ!»
«But how am I supposed to believe you without documents?» Gorlogryzov asked, growing pensive.
«How?» Orest gruffly answered, and all of a sudden started twirling about the room in a circle, performed a somersault and wound up in a handstand right on top of the astonished major's desk. «That's how!»
«Mm-hmm,» said Gorlogryzov inimically staring at Orest's inverted face. «Very nice. Stand up straight.»
Orest resumed a normal, two-footed stance.
«Bruskov,» said Gorlogryzov, «did any circus pass through here?»
«Yessir!» the lieutenant replied. «Just now a train set off for Communist Future.»
«So why,» smiled Gorlogryzov, «didn't you skedaddle out of here on that?»
«You arrested us, that's why!» yelled Alex.
«We detained you,» the policemen corrected her, in unison.
«But now how are we gonna get to this Future of yours?»
«Don't you be laying some other strange Futures on us,» pronounced Gorlogryzov, menacingly. «And anyway, for a long time now this ComFuture hasn't been ComFuture; it's now CapProspects — Capitalist Prospects.»
An excited Policeman Potapov burst into the office, crumpling sheets of paper.
«We caught us another Kuroschupov follower. Right in our john, making use of enemy pamphlets! Here's proof!»
«I had to pee,» came a heart-rending cry from the corridor. «That's why I was in there! I had to pee-e-e!»
Gorlogryzov jumped up and pounded on the table with his fist.
«Give 'im fifteen days! For disturbing the peace!»
His gaze fell on the unfortunate Alex and Orest.
«What, you're still here! You're free, I believe you for some reason.»
«Ha!» Orest squeaked. «Thanks a bunch! But where do we go now?»
The station chief was taken aback, but didn't come up with anything.
«Bruskov, see to the sending-off of our comrade actors.»
«Yessir!» the lieutenant clicked his heels. But soon enough, on the platform, he said to his charges, «Now what am I gonna do with you? Aha! Thisaway!»
Nastya was standing by the wanted poster display case, crying bitter tears, gazing at Berg's photo as if in supplication.
«I'll wait for you, Heinrich. I will. As long as it takes. I'll wait all my life, I will.»
Bruskov led the circus folk to the railroad yard, tarrying next to a train car with a little tablet on it that read, «Glass hauler.»
«Open up!» he demanded, rapping on the wall.
«Go to hell, you alkie!» echoed a voice from inside, in an Eastern accent.
«Police,» Bruskov clarified.
A dark, shaggy, unshaven head showed itself through a tiny window under the roof, disappeared, and bolts started banging within. The door slid open with a rumble.
«Everything is in order, chief, yes,» an Armenian stood in the doorway.
«Oh, yeah? Drugs, weapons?»
«They checked it out just yesterday. Took two bottles of brandy for inspection, yes.»
«We're gonna make you lose sleep. Another inspection.»
«Why lose sleep? I am as calm as Mount Ararat, yes.»
«Really? By the way, you'll be giving these fellas here a lift to Communist Future.»
«I do not get it, chief.»
«You know, it's going by Capitalist Prospects now.»
«You mean we will be sticking around there after all, yes?»
«More'n likely you'll just tear on through, but who knows…»
«Yes,» nodded the Armenian.
«Yes, indeedy,» sighed the policeman.
Alex and Orest picked up Mollie. Bruskov started to help, but the dog thwacked him in the face with a grimy paw. With a muttered «Bon voyage!» he pushed off for home.
Inside the car, wooden crates of brandy bottles towered from floor to ceiling.
«I am hauling them from Armenia,» said their escort. «Abroad. To Moscow.» He added, indifferently: «Hamlet.»
«The Danish prince,» Alex let out.
«Shakespeare,» Orest assented.
«Name is Hamlet. Please, joinme at table, yes.»
The table was a structure of overturned plank crates in the corner of the car. They sat on matching overturned crates. With a stately gesture Hamlet produced, out of a large box, a huge ripe tomato, followed by a pimply cucumber, some greens, and some sort of flowery root. He lovingly set all these things on a plate and carefully sliced them. Alex and Orest looked on as if hypnotized. For a finale he took out a bottle ofbrandy, looked it over delightedly from all sides, raising it slightly overhead, uncorked it and poured a little into each glass.
«We don't drink,» Alex hastily mentioned.
«What do you mean, 'don't drink'?!» Hamlet flew into a rage. «
Cognac like this, yes? Even if they are calling it 'brandy' now, it is primo stuff! Yes?!»
«Alright, alright,» said Alex, getting embarrassed. She took the glass, put it to her lips. «Mmm, what a wonderful flavor! Really, very nice, mmm…»
Hamlet calmed down and handed a glass to Orest.
Someone unexpectedly stirred in the corner, someone lying on a straw mattress. The figure rose with a wheeze. A boy. He grew shy and hid himself behind Hamlet, who drew him out for a look.
«My youngest. He is Hamlet, too. I brought him with me. To show him Russia. What if he never gets another chance, yes.»
«Do you like Russia?» lisped Orest.
«No,» the boy shot back, unperturbed. «Dirty.»
Hamlet smoothed the child's hair.
«But the people are kind.»
Outside, someone frenziedly banged on the car paneling; some «kind soul» clamored:
«'Ey, ya foreign piece'a crap, hand over the vodka!»
Hamlet gloomily sighed:
«There is no vodka, yes.»
And he quietly added:
«All along the rail line, the alcoholics know that if the car has 'Glass hauler' written on it, it must be carrying liquor, yes.»
«You shouldn't have a sign, then,» Alex suggested.
«If I do not, when the train cars are being sorted they will let this one slide down from the hillock at top speed, like all the others — everything will be smashed. But with the sign they will take care and lower me with a locomotive, yes.»
«Open up, ya turd, I'm dyin' out here!» someone beat on the door as before.
«Just a minute,» said Orest, and, after leading Mollie to the door, opened it a crack. The dog stuck its head in the opening and growled, but this didn't frighten the caller, who had already squeezed himself halfway into the car.
«What do you open up for, yes?» frowned Hamlet and, resigned to his fate, carried a brandy bottle over to the exit. The glaucousnosed customer held out some cash in his trembling hands. Hamlet counted the money by sight, took it and gave up the bottle. Like one blessed with a great bounty, the man stumbled out at once. His retreating steps crackled on the gravel.
«But how are you going to settle up your accounts later on?» asked Alex.