Ice Trilogy

by Vladimir Sorokin

  In Dresden, at a holiday banquet honoring the second anniversary of the victory over Germany, he became closely acquainted with his direct superior, General Lieutenant Vlodzimirsky, who headed the GUSIMZ office. Previously, they had met only in the line of duty. Vlodzimirsky, who was considered a tough, unsociable man at Lubianka, suddenly displayed a great deal of sympathy for Korobov, introducing him to his wife, inviting him to the private house where he usually stayed.

  In the town house, he and his wife tied Korobov to a column and hit him with the Ice hammer. He lost consciousness. Then they placed him in a hospital where he came to in a separate, guarded ward. On the third day, Vlodzimirsky came to him, lay down in bed, embraced him, and spoke to him with the heart.

  Thus did Korobov become Adr.

  He asked me about the brotherhood, and I told him everything I knew. From time to time he cried from a feeling of tenderness, embraced me, and pressed my palms to his chest. But I restrained my heart so as not to shake Adr too strongly.

  I understood my strength.

  In the morning we arrived in Moscow at Leningrad Station. An automobile was waiting for us there.

  We drove out of town and a while later arrived at Vlodzimirsky’s dacha.

  It was a warm, sunny day.

  Adr took me by the hand and led me into a large wooden house. Curtains covered the windows. Vlodzimirsky stood in the middle of the living room. He, too, was of medium height and had a compact body; a pair of gold silk pajamas clung to his stocky figure; his thinning dark-blond hair was combed back, and tears of rapture filled his greenish-blue eyes. Even at a distance I could feel his large, warm heart. I quivered in anticipation.

  Vlodzimirsky’s wife stood a ways off — a thin, lovely woman. But she wasn’t one of us, and for this reason I didn’t notice her at first.

  Vlodzimirsky approached me. His head jerked, his strong hands shook. Making a guttural sound, he lowered himself to his knees and pressed against me.

  Adr came up behind me and also pressed against me.

  They both began to sob.

  Vlodzimirsky’s wife also began to cry.

  Then Vlodzimirsky swept me up in his arms and carried me to the second floor. There, in the bedroom, he laid me down on a wide couch and began to undress me. Adr and his wife helped him. Then he undressed himself. Vlodzimirsky was truly built like an athlete. He pressed his wide white chest to mine. And our hearts merged. He wasn’t a newcomer to the language of the heart and he knew fourteen words.

  My small, young, girl’s heart immersed itself in his powerful heart. It breathed and throbbed, burned and shuddered.

  I had never felt so much with anyone, not even with Bro, the old man.

  Our hearts had long been searching for each other. They raged. Time stopped for us...

  We released our embrace two days later. Our arms were numb and would not obey us, we were so weak we could barely move. But our faces shone with happiness. My new brother was named Kha.

  Adr and Vlodzimirsky’s wife led us to a bathroom and put us in a hot bath. Massaging my numb hands, his wife introduced herself.

  “My name is Nastya.”

  I responded with a warm look.

  When we were finally feeling like ourselves, Kha began to speak.

  “Khram, there are only four of us in Russia: you, me, Adr, and Yus. Adr and I are high-placed officers of the MGB, the most powerful organization in Russia. Yus is a typist in the Ministry of Machine Construction. I was pounded in 1931 in Baku by brothers who then left with Bro. We found Yus. You know that the Ice is the only thing that helps us to find our brothers. All of our efforts are currently directed at procuring a regular supply of the Ice, and secretly transporting it abroad where the most active search for our brothers and sisters is being carried out. The Scandinavian countries are the most active of all. In Sweden, one hundred and nineteen of our brothers live in three houses. In Norway there are about fifty. In Finland — almost seventy. Before the war, we had forty-four in Germany. Some of them occupied important positions in the NSDAP and the SS. Unfortunately, everything was more difficult in Russia. Four brothers, employees of the NKVD, perished at the end of the thirties during the ‘great purges.’ One sister from the Moscow City Committee of the Party was arrested and executed because of a denunciation. Two others died in the siege of Leningrad. I wasn’t able to help them. Another one, my closest brother, Umeh, whom we found in 1934, was a colonel general of the tank troops. He died on the front. Thank the Light that this had no effect on the supply of Ice. But it is very difficult for us to look for new brothers. You must help us.”

  “How do they get the Ice?” I asked.

  “Before 1936 we organized different expeditions. They were carried out in secret. Each time we hired Siberians, local hunters who crossed the swamps to the place where the meteor fell, and sawed off pieces of the Ice under terribly difficult conditions, bringing it to a secret place. There they were met by officers of the NKVD. The Ice was taken to the train station; it was sent to Moscow in a refrigerator, like valuable cargo. Getting it abroad was much easier. But this method was extremely risky and unreliable. Two expeditions simply disappeared, and another time plain ice was palmed off on us. I decided to radically change the way we acquired the Ice. At my initiative and with the help of influential brothers in the Siberian NKVD, a directorate was created with special authority for the raising of the Tungus meteorite. Two brothers, the ones who died in Leningrad, were prominent people in the Academy of Sciences. They established the scientific importance of the project, proving that Ice from the meteorite contained unknown chemical compounds capable of revolutionizing chemical weapons. Seven kilometers from the place where it landed we organized a corrective labor camp. The inmates of this small camp retrieve our Ice. This is only done in winter, when it is easy to cross the swamps.”

  “But how do they distinguish our Ice from ordinary ice in the winter?”

  “We distinguish it, not they.” Kha smiled. “Here, in Moscow. They break it up with crowbars where it fell, cut out metric cubes of ice, and drag them back to the camp. There the pieces of ice are loaded onto sleds, and horses carry them across the tundra to Ust-Ilimsk, where they are loaded onto railway cars and taken to Moscow. Here Adr and I enter the cars and put our hands on the ice. Only about forty percent of it turns out to be our Ice.”

  “And how much ice is there in the meteorite?”

  “According to external estimates — about seventy thousand tons.”

  “Glory to the Light!” I smiled. “And it doesn’t melt?”

  “When it fell, the block lodged in the permafrost. The tip is hidden by the swamp. Of course, the upper part of the block melts a bit in summer. But the Siberian summer is short: snap — and it’s gone!” Kha smiled in response.

  “Thank the Light, there’s enough Ice to achieve our great goal,” added Adr, as he massaged us.

  “And who makes the Ice hammers?” I asked.

  “At first we did it ourselves, but then I realized that each person should do his own job.” Kha stuck his strong, handsome head under a stream of water with obvious pleasure. “In one of the sharashkas — the closed scientific laboratories where imprisoned scientists work — we established a small department for making the Ice hammers. Only three people. They produce five or six hammers a day. We don’t need more.”

  “Don’t they ask what the hammers are for?”

  “My dear Khram, these are engineers who are serving twenty-five-year sentences for ‘wrecking.’ They are enemies of the people; they don’t have anyone to ask, or any reason to ask. They just have instructions for making the hammers. They have to follow these instructions rigorously if they want to receive their camp rations. The boss of the sharashka told them that the Ice hammers are needed to strengthen the defensive power of the Soviet state. That’s enough for them.”

  The old scars from the Ice hammer could be seen on Kha’s wide white chest. I touched them cautiously.

  “It’s time t
o go, Khram,” he sighed resolutely. “You’ll come with me.”

  We got out of the bath. Adr and Nastya rubbed us down and helped us dress. Kha arrayed himself in his general’s uniform, and they put me in the uniform of a State Security lieutenant. Adr handed me my documents.

  “According to your passport you are Varvara Korobova. You are my wife, you live in Leningrad, you and I came here on a work trip. You are employed by the foreign department of the Leningrad GB.”

  A black automobile waited at the dacha gates. The three of us got in and drove to Moscow. Nastya remained at home.

  “Is it hard to live — with one of the empties?” I asked Kha.

  “Yes.” He nodded, seriously. “But that’s the way it has to be.”

  “Does she know everything?”

  “Not everything. But she senses the greatness of our enterprise.”

  In Moscow we arrived at the massive headquarters of the MGB on Lubianskaya Square. We entered, showed our documents, and proceeded to the third floor. In the hallway, several officers saluted Kha as we passed. He responded listlessly. Soon we entered his huge office where three secretaries stood waiting to greet us. Kha walked past them and threw open the double doors of the office. We followed him, and Adr closed the doors.

  Kha tossed a leather dossier on his large desk, turned, and embraced me.

  “There are no eavesdropping devices here. How happy I am, Sister! You and I will accomplish great things. You are the only one of us who knows all 23 heart words. Your heart is wise, strong, and young. We will tell you what needs to be done.”

  “I’ll do everything, Kha,” I said, stroking his athletic shoulders.

  Adr approached me from behind, embraced me, and pressed against me.

  “My heart wants yours so dreadfully,” he whispered at the nape of my neck, his voice trembling.

  “And mine as well, and mine...” Kha muttered warmly.

  One of the four black phones rang.

  Growling with displeasure, Kha loosed his embrace, walked over to the table, and picked up the receiver.

  “Vlodzimirsky here. What? No, Bor, I’m busy. Yes. Well? What do you mean you can’t? Bor, why are you fucking around with mummies? He’s ready to drop, damnit. As soon as I leave the department, everything falls apart. Inform Serov. Well? So? He actually said that? Jeezus...” He sighed with displeasure, scratched his heavy chin, and chuckled. “You’re a bunch of no-goodniks. Viktor Semyonich is right to write about you. All right, bring him over here. You have twenty minutes.”

  He replaced the receiver and looked at me with his blue-green eyes.

  “It’s my work, Khram. Forgive me.”

  I nodded with a smile.

  The oak door of the office opened timidly and a balding head poked through.

  “Excuse me, Lev Emelianovich?”

  “Come on now. Carry on!” said Kha settling at his desk.

  A small, thin colonel with an ugly face and a thin black mustache entered the office. Behind him, two hefty lieutenants were dragging a plump man in a tattered, bloody uniform with the epaulettes torn off. The man’s face was swelling from the beatings and turning blue. He collapsed helplessly on the rug.

  “The best of health to you, Lev Emelianovich.” The bald man approached the desk in a half-bow.

  “Greetings, Borya.” Kha stretched out his hand in a lazy gesture. “What are you doing violating the rules of subordination? You’re shaming us in front of the Leningraders!”

  “Lev Emelianovich!” The colonel smiled guiltily, as he noticed Adr and me. “Ah! Hello there, Comrade Korobov!”

  They shook hands.

  “Now, then, Borya, follow Korobov’s example.” Kha pulled a cigarette out of a cigarette holder and stuck it in his mouth without lighting it. “He got married. And you’re still entangled with actresses.”

  “Congratulations,” the colonel said, offering me his small hand.

  “Varvara Korobova,” I said, giving him my hand to shake.

  “You see what sumptuous young maids they have wandering around 4 Liteiny Prospect? Not like the dried-up vertebrates we have here.” Kha directed his gaze to the injured fat man.

  “So what’s going on?”

  “The viper has gone stubborn over Shakhnazarov,” the colonel said angrily, looking at the fat man. “He gave evidence on Alexeev, he gave evidence on Furman. But with Shakhnazarov — I don’t know...that was it. The bastard’s forgotten how they sold the motherland to the Japanese together.”

  Kha nodded and placed the cigarette in an ashtray.

  “Emelianov. Why are you holding back?”

  The fat man sniffed, but said nothing.

  “Answer, you bloody wrecker, you saboteur!” shouted the colonel. “I’ll rip your liver out, you Japanese spy!”

  “Now, now, Borya,” Kha spoke up calmly. “Sit down over there. In the corner. And hold your tongue.”

  The colonel quieted down and sat on the chair.

  “Pick the general up. And sit him in the armchair,” Kha ordered.

  The lieutenants lifted the fat man and sat him down in the chair.

  Kha’s face suddenly grew sad. He looked at his nails. Then he directed his eyes to the window. There, against the background of a sunny Moscow day, stood the black monument to Dzerzhinsky.

  Silence fell in the office.

  “Do you remember the Crimea in ’40? June, Yalta, the resort?” Kha asked quietly.

  The fat man raised his glassy eyes to Kha.

  “Your wife, Sasha, isn’t that right? She liked to swim in the early morning. So did Nastya and I. One time, the three of us swam out so far that Sasha got a cramp in her leg. She was frightened. But Nastya and I are sea folk. I held her under her back, and Nastya dove down and bit your wife on the calf. And we helped her swim back. As she swam she talked about your son. Pavlik, I think it was, no? He had made a steam locomotive himself from a samovar. The steam engine moved. And Pavlik heated it with pencils. He burned two boxes of colored pencils that you had brought him from Leningrad. Isn’t that the way it was?”

  The fat man remained stubbornly silent.

  Kha stuck the cigarette in his mouth again, but didn’t light it.

  “At that time I was just a plain old major in the NKVD. They gave me a bonus — a trip to the resort. And you were commander of a whole corps. The legendary Com corps, Emelianov! I looked at you in the dining room and thought: He’s as far away from me as the sky itself. And now here you are protecting Shakhnazarov. That louse isn’t worth your little finger.”

  The fat man’s chin began to twitch, his round head swayed. Tears suddenly burst from his eyes. He grabbed his head in his hands and began to weep loudly.

  “Take the general to 301. Let him get some sleep, give him a good meal. Then he’ll write it. The way it should be,” said Kha, looking out the window.

  The colonel, who had grown quiet, nodded to the lieutenants. They grabbed the sobbing Emelianov and led him out of the office. The telephone rang.

  “Vlodzimirsky,” said Kha, picking up the receiver. “Hello there, Began! Listen, I opened Pravda yesterday and couldn’t believe my eyes! That’s right! Good for you! Those are the kind of cadres Lavrenty Pavlovich has! Our lads! Merkurov should sculpt a bust of you and Amayak now!”

  Kha let out a booming laugh.

  “Be well, Korobov,” said the colonel, stretching out his hand and, glancing at Kha, shaking his head. “There’s no one else like our Lev Emelianovich.”

  “He’s got an absolute memory, what do you want?” smiled Adr.

  “That’s the least of it. He’s a genius...” sighed the colonel enviously as he left.

  Kha finished his conversation and hung up the phone.

  “You have to complete the documents for a work trip. With Radzevsky on the sixth floor. Then we’ll go to see Sister Yus.”

  Adr and I went up to the sixth floor, and a business trip to Magadan was arranged for us. We received our per diem money and documents. We left the bu
ilding with Kha, got into an automobile, and drove along Vorovskaya Street. Leaving the automobile and driver on the street, we walked through courtyards and ended up at a shabby doorway and then went up to the third floor. Adr knocked on the door. It immediately opened wide, and a tall, elderly woman wearing a pince-nez threw herself on us with a cry. She was literally wailing and shaking with joy.

  Adr held her mouth. We entered the apartment. It was large, with four bedrooms, but it was a communal apartment. However, four of the rooms were sealed. As Kha later explained to me, he had Yus’s neighbors arrested. That made it easier to meet.

  Seeing me, Yus immediately wound her long, gouty, arthritic arms around my shoulders, pressed her large, flaccid breasts to me, and we collapsed on the floor. Adr and Kha embraced in turn, and lowered themselves to their knees.

  Despite her age, Yus’s heart was childishly inexperienced. It knew only two words. But it imbued them with such strength and desire that I was taken aback. Her heart pined, like a traveler lost in the desert. It drank in my heart desperately, without stop.

  Nearly nine hours passed.

  Yus’s arms parted, and she lay flat on the old parquet.

  I felt emptied, but satisfied: I had taught Yus’s heart new words.

  Yus looked terrible: pale and thin, she lay unmoving, her lilac eyes glassily staring at the ceiling; her dentures stuck out of her slightly open mouth.

  But she was alive: I could clearly feel her heavily beating heart.

  Kha brought her an oxygen pillow from her room, and placed the rubber tube with its funnel-shaped opening to her grayish lips. Adr opened the valve.

  The oxygen gradually brought her around. She sighed with a moan.

  They lifted her up and carried her into the room. Adr sprayed water on her face.

  “Maaar-ve-lous,” she said, exhausted, and stretched her shaking hand to me.

  I took it in mine. Her old fingers were soft and cool. Yus pressed my hand to her chest.

  “My child. How I needed you!” she said, and smiled with difficulty.

  Adr brought us all water and apricots.