A Fine Red Rain ir-5
Page 20
"Thank you, Colonel," Rostnikov said.
"And you say," the Wolfhound asked, tapping his cheek with a long, immaculate finger, "that I can add two men to my staff by simply requesting it?"
"Yes, Colonel."
"Is one of them tall?"
"Yes," said Rostnikov. "Quite tall."
"Good," said the colonel as Pankov came running into the meeting, a look of morning fear on his face. "We can use a bit of height on the staff."
When the Gray Wolfhound's official morning meeting began, Rostnikov's grin showed white, uneven teeth to the puzzled Pankov, who wondered and feared where this morning would end.
For Rostnikov the morning ended a few hours later in Arbat Square. When he entered the metro, the sky had been threatening and dark, with the rumble of thunder from the northwest in the direction of the town of Klin. When he climbed to the square on the steps of the Arbatskaya Metro Station, the rain had already begun, a fine, thin rain with a hint of red in it from the heavy traffic on Suvorov Boulevard. He stood in the shelter of the station next to one of the pillars facing Gogol Boulevard. Beside him a woman hesitated, looked at the dark sky, looked at him, covered her head with a magazine, and dashed toward the nearby Khudozhetvenny Cinema. The sky rumbled and Rostnikov looked toward the statue of the smiling Gogol, about the distance of a soccer field away. He shivered with a sudden slap of cool air and had the uncanny feeling that no time had passed since he had last stood in this same place, in a similar rain, looking toward that statue. He knew he had not dreamed the man on Gogol's head, but at the same time there was the feeling of a dream about the past few days, just as, to a lesser degree, there seemed to be the feeling of a dream to his life, as if he were not within his vulnerable body but an observer who could not be affected by the outside world, could not be affected in spite of the reminder of his leg, which even now throbbed a bit in the dampness, in spite of the' vulnerability of the people he knew and touched and who touched him.
The rain eased a bit and Rostnikov left the small group of people who were waiting under the cover of the metro station's roof. He limped slowly to the boulevard, found a break in the traffic, and crossed to the small park in front of Gogol's statue. The rain was now at that point where one cannot tell if it is still raining or one is only imagining it. The street was wet, puddled with reflections of people, traffic, sky, and it smelted the smell of city he remembered as a boy. When Josef came in on leave, he would bring him here, bring him to the sad Gogol a few blocks away in the courtyard of the building where Gogol had lived. He was not sure what he would say to Josef when they came, but he was sure his son would understand.
Rostnikov sighed deeply and looked at the clearing sky. Morning was over and he could put off no longer his trip to Lubyanka. Major Zhenya was waiting. If he hurried just a bit, he knew he could catch the bus that was just turning in at Arbat Street. As he crossed the street, he was certain that the rain had now stopped.
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Document creation date: 01.07.2012
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