The Good Angel of Death

by Andrey Kurkov

  My tiredness was augmented by a certain feeling of fear. I remembered the tracks around the spot where I had spent the night.

  I started thinking.

  ‘Maybe it’s border guards?’ was the first thought. ‘After all, this isn’t the USSR any more, it’s Kazakhstan!’

  ‘What is there to be afraid of?’ was the second thought to come up. ‘They walked round you, but they didn’t touch you, they didn’t wake you and they didn’t ask to see your documents!’

  ‘You’ve got it backwards,’ I said to these thoughts. ‘According to you, I ought to be glad that there’s some other life around here and it’s showing a lively interest in me. But I’m already tired of interest being taken in me . . . I’d be happier if no one even knew I existed . . .’

  Although I was tired, this vague fear forced me to collect up my things, put the camera in the rucksack, pick up the canister and the tent and walk on for a kilometre before settling down for the night.

  I didn’t sleep soundly, but I was comfortable, because I laid the tent I had found on the sand.

  Occasionally I would wake up suddenly and listen. But the silence reassured me, and I dived back into a shallow sleep until the next internal alarm signal.

  23

  NEXT MORNING I walked several more kilometres along the edge of the waterside plateau. The shoreline was moving away to the left. I was feeling irritated by the monotonous trembling of the horizons surrounding me – the horizon of the sea and the horizon of the desert, which was blurred by a warm haze, as if at that point land was being smelted into sky, or vice versa.

  I no longer looked for ships on the sea or eagerly examined the distant expanse of desert. I simply walked forward, not completely certain that I had chosen the right direction.

  There was no more than two litres of water left in the canister, although it seemed to me that I was using it more than sparingly, not to mention the fact that I was washing myself in the sea. But the pleasant weight of it glugging in the canister gave me confidence that I was safe here in the desert. And the weight in the rucksack gave me confidence that I would not go hungry, even if the diet was monotonous.

  The tent was hanging partway out of the rucksack, but I had already calculated that if I ate another five or six cans of fish, it would fit in completely.

  All in all, my progress along the shore of the Caspian felt both spontaneous and planned at the same time. And in addition a certain faith, or even confidence in my luck – good luck, of course – also cheered my mind and my body.

  After all, the one-man tent I had found was an example of a stroke of good luck. Who could say what else I might find?

  And so I walked on until the heat became unbearable. Beginning to feel in my lungs the parching force of the air heated to incandescence by the sun, I made a halt in my journey and went down on to the shore.

  I found a comfortable rock, spread the tent on it and settled in, like a seasoned traveller.

  I automatically glanced at my watch, but it didn’t show the time. The frozen hands merely reminded me of my arrival on this desert coastline, they reminded me of the recent past.

  I cooled my lunch – a can of Caspian Herring – in the waters of the Caspian, and I lowered the plastic canister into the water too. After waiting for half an hour, I ate and then lay down on the same rock, revelling in the damp Caspian coolness.

  I fell into a doze in the shade, listening to the quiet splashing of the waves. Through my doze I felt the gusts of the Caspian breeze on my face and in my mind I tried to prolong their touch, as if they were a woman’s fingers – gentle, light, caressing.

  Time passed imperceptibly, urging the sun on towards evening, towards sunset. And while still in my doze, I sensed the approaching evening, although it was still a long way off – the sea breeze simply became bolder and the surface of the Caspian gleamed less brightly than a few hours earlier in the sun that I could not see from my grotto.

  I had to continue with my journey. I clambered up on to the plateau and moved on.

  When the sun was already turning crimson, hanging just above the sea, I saw ahead of me the outlines of low mountains or hills. I felt a sudden thrill somewhere inside.

  Although I was tired, I quickened my step, as if I intended to reach the hills that very evening. But my sudden spurt was almost entirely psychological. My body could not sustain it. My shoulders started to ache, and the increased pace made my legs start to feel heavy.

  And so very soon I stopped, realising that today’s march was over and it was time for another halt.

  I could hear noise from the direction of the sea – the waves had risen higher than usual. The cool salty breeze carried their smell up on to the plateau. I thought that in addition to the noise of the sea I could also hear the whisper of creeping sand.

  Carefully, I looked down at my feet and I really did see some kind of movement but because I was tired and the sun had been so bright just lately, my eyes were unable to focus more sharply on the state of the sand. I squatted down on my haunches and looked at my feet again, and at that short distance I saw tiny little sand dunes piling up beside my feet. It didn’t seem to be anything to do with the wind, it was simply that every step I took set the sand shifting and tumbling into the hollows of my tracks.

  But the wind was growing stronger – there was a storm gathering at sea. Not knowing what I should be more afraid of – the storm itself, or the wind that was raising it – I decided to move further inland and settle down there for the night. I walked about eighty metres and found a small hollow in the sand, like some giant’s footprint that had been filled in. I saw that the wind was flying over this spot without touching the sand. It seemed to me that the wind was also getting colder with every gust and so I settled down for the night by simply climbing into the tent as if it was a sleeping bag. I pulled all my things inside the tarpaulin as well and lay on my back with only my head sticking out. I looked at the sky, but I couldn’t see the stars. I couldn’t see anything at all. Where the blue sky had been so recently, there was nothing left.

  The wind moaned constantly, sometimes suddenly speeding up and changing its sound to a hissing whistle. I felt alarmed. The wind brought the sounds of the sea on its gusts, and every gust made me feel afraid and I thought I could feel the sand under my improvised sleeping bag starting to sway and shift about. My body was remembering the storm I had lived through on the floating fish-processing plant. I turned over on to my stomach and crept deeper into the tarpaulin shelter of the tent. The rucksack was lying on my left and the canister of water on my right.

  I didn’t know that tarpaulin had the property of absorbing sound. As soon as I moved down inside the tent, the sound of the wind almost disappeared and the darkness and warmth reassured my body. I put my arm across the rucksack lying beside me. My hand found a smooth, soft spot, and stayed there. I even dozed off. But I didn’t doze for long – after only twenty minutes the wind, stronger now, whistled above me and tossed a handful of sand on to the tarpaulin. I shuddered. And again I felt afraid. I realised how this tent had come to be buried under a heap of sand. But I still didn’t know what had happened to its former owner. Maybe he just thought ‘To hell with it all!’ when he got tired of fighting against the sand. Just dropped everything and walked away. Maybe some fishermen spotted him from the sea and picked him up.

  But the wind, which couldn’t have cared less for my deliberations, flapped its invisible sail again and the blow sent a new wave of sand showering on to the tent. I stuck my head out of the tarpaulin and then clambered all the way out and looked around.

  It wasn’t really that dark. I shook the upper layer of tarpaulin and tossed the sand off it. Actually there was barely any sand there, it’s just that when you’re lying down, trying hard with all your body to sense what’s going on, any sound and any movement is amplified as it passes through you.

  Seeing that the wind was noisy but not really dangerous, I calmed down a bit and climbed back into the tent.r />
  I was drawn back into a doze. I put my arm round the rucksack and fell asleep to the rhythmless sound of the wind.

  About two hours later I was woken by some kind of weight. There was something lying on my back, above the tarpaulin that covered me. I was petrified, and lay there without moving as sleep deserted me. Then I moved a little and heard a kind of hissing sound.

  I slowly turned over on to my back and felt the weight that had been pressing me down growing lighter. I raised myself up on my elbows with a bolder movement, without climbing out of the tarpaulin, and the weight slithered off me. I realised that the wind had almost buried me in sand. I got out, shook down the top sheet of the tent and climbed back in again.

  I didn’t feel like sleeping now. I listened to the wind and beat on the tarpaulin from below to throw off the invisible sand. And I couldn’t think about anything any more. I was on duty, protecting my life and my journey against the dangers that the Caspian wind carried into the desert.

  But the wind increased in strength. My back began to hurt – either from the uncomfortable position or the constant squirming about. My hands began hurting too. Without even noticing it, I had worn myself out. The thought came to me that the effort I had made in struggling with this flying sand had been excessive. That I could toss the sand off the tarpaulin simply by turning from one side on to the other every half-hour. And I stopped moving completely, to allow my exhausted body some rest.

  I lay there, listening to the wind. I tried to guess what time it was, but that soon made me tired again – this time mentally.

  Then, suddenly, either the situation or my own condition reminded me of the flight into invisible space that I had made in the baby-food storeroom where I was working as a nightwatchman. I recalled the amazing sensations of flight that the ‘out-of-date dried milk’ had given me when I added it to instant coffee. A sensation of flying, granted me in exchange for the fear I was feeling at the time. The exchange was clearly unequal, but to my advantage. I gutted my rucksack and found a can of the powder, then opened it.

  I stuck two fingers in and licked the powder off them, then turned over on to my other side, towards the canister of water, and took several sips. At first it seemed as if these two components really had combined in my mouth to produce warm milk. But after about thirty seconds my tongue felt an unexpected sweetness, and then the sweetness flowed downwards, spreading throughout my whole body. I started losing weight, and this unexpected lightness carried my body beyond my control. I couldn’t move an arm or a leg, although I could still feel them. I tried to regain at least some physical contact with my limbs, without attempting to make any movements. I simply tried feeling my hands and then my feet by turns. I thought I managed it with my right hand. I even seemed to feel the tips of my fingers from the inside. But just then my weight became negative and I started rising up above the ground. I was lighter than air, soaring up higher and higher, without knowing where the tarpaulin tent that was covering me had got to. I was borne along on the Caspian wind, whose strength and smell I knew so well, it was lifting me higher and higher. I saw grains of sand flying along beside me, but they were heavier than me, and as soon as a gust of wind eased off, they went tumbling downwards, as if some invisible supports had been knocked away from under them. But I went on flying along, and I went on rising higher. And the point came when I realised that I had risen higher than the wind. Now my ascent was smooth and vertical. I could already see the stars coming closer, which meant I had pierced the black shroud in which the sky had draped itself for the period of the storm. There were some bizarre celestial insects bustling around me, sometimes catching me with a sharp foot or a feeler. But I didn’t feel any fear – somehow I was sure that they were perfectly harmless and friendly. One of these insects rose with me for a while, right in front of my face, examining me with frank curiosity. It reminded me a bit of a crayfish, only instead of claws it had a multitude of long spider-legs. I felt like shaking one of them and tried to reach out my hand.

  Although my hand did not obey me the insect, clearly sensing my intention, took fright and disappeared into the dense blue mass of the sky that was drawing me into itself.

  24

  TIME STRETCHED OUT like a piece of chewing gum. Then it retracted back into a single lump and changed shape, while still remaining frozen. I toyed with it, like a playful cosmonaut with a drop of water in free fall. My flight turned into a glide, my arms and legs obeying me now, and I used them to continue my smooth movement, feeling more like a slow bird than a man.

  I was floating in a dense blueness that allowed my eyes to see only for ten or fifteen metres ahead. I kept gazing around, noticing strange creatures and objects appearing in my field of vision. They floated past me unhurriedly and disappeared back into that tender, alluring dense blueness, as if they were concealing sweet secrets or the gates of heaven from my eyes.

  At one point I noticed a man with a large bald spot and a grey moustache drifting past me, dressed in old-fashioned clothes – a long shirt belted round with a piece of rope. He had a blissful smile on his face and his eyes seemed to be smiling too, but the expression was fixed and motionless, like the lens of a film camera. He ran this gaze over me and I felt a wave of warmth, as if the fire screen of a village stove had just been opened in front of my face. After he disappeared into the dense blueness, the warmth remained there inside me and seemed to be living a life of its own. It enveloped me in its gentle embrace, and when I thought with a vague discontent that any moment now I would start feeling too hot, the invisible warmth released its grip on me slightly, moved away to an invisible distance and warmed me from there, gently and just a little insistently.

  Someone else soon went flying past, waving from inside the diaphanous sphere. He flew past slowly, and I had time to see that the sphere was not homogeneous and whirling around inside it, together with the man, there were some small, round objects. ‘A planet-man,’ I thought, and immediately felt a twinge of pain in my chest. An image of the planet Earth, softly muffled in the same kind of sphere, appeared before my eyes. Through the semi-transparent blueness I could see the familiar outlines of continents and seas, and I suddenly realised the Earth had surfaced out of my imagination, materialised as a small, soft, round globe and begun moving away from me, with its outer sphere fluttering. I wanted to catch up with it, and I started swimming forward with the crawl stroke, as if I were in water. As if it had spotted my pursuit, the Earth speeded up and at the same time started moving downwards. I carried on swimming after it. I picked up so much speed that the warmth I had been given went flying off me, and then my speed increased again, but at the same time I started feeling cold. And the Earth started feeling cold too – I saw the way its sphere thickened and the forms familiar from my geography lessons disappeared in its turbid whiteness, so that what was flying along ahead of me now was simply a sphere of milky whiteness. But I knew that it was the Earth, and so I continued to pursue it until I ran into an invisible barrier.

  When I ran into it, I felt a pain in my neck. My throat suddenly felt dry and itchy, then it became hard to breathe, there wasn’t enough air. I opened my mouth and stretched my lips so wide that it hurt, but it didn’t help. My vision blurred. My arms and legs went limp, and someone grabbed me by the legs and started dragging me back. ‘Back to where?’ I wondered as I lost consciousness.

  25

  JAMSHED, A SHORT, lean Kazakh with eyes that were always smiling, lived in a nomad tent, or yurt, with his two daughters, Gulya and Natasha. Gulya was staggeringly beautiful, with long legs and an incredibly clear complexion, which was especially noticeable when she was standing beside Natasha, whose face had been cruelly affected by smallpox. They were both a head taller than their father.

  I was slowly recovering, lying on a heap of rags in the yurt and squinting at the bright sunlight coming in through a triangle where a flap of material had been folded back.

  It was the second day I had been there, still feeling the woodenness
in my muscles and joints.

  But this was the second day of consciousness. I didn’t know yet how long I had been lying there before that. The owners of the yurt took care of me, but without speaking, as if they were afraid that it was dangerous for me to talk. I must say that I myself was by no means certain that I could speak. My tongue lay in my mouth like a heavy, immovable stone and its bitter, sour immobility occasionally made me feel sick. I wanted really badly to rinse my mouth out with some kind of mouthwash.

  Gulya came in wearing a long green shirt-dress and white trousers. She had a large cup in her hand. She leaned down over me and set the cup to my lips. I opened my mouth and a bitter, milky liquid poured into it – not exactly what I felt like just at the moment. But I drank it, especially since my lips had dried out, and the touch of the cool earthenware of the cup proved more pleasant than the drink itself. Still without saying a word, Gulya moved away from me, rummaged in a cardboard box standing on the floor of the yurt and went out.

  I lay there alone for about half an hour, hearing the Kazakh language being spoken loudly and beautifully outside the yurt – Jamshed was arguing about something with his daughters. Then it went quiet.

  I fell asleep.

  I was woken by a sensation of coolness. Surprised, I opened my eyes and immediately looked at the yurt entrance. It was still light outside, but no longer sunny. I could hear the crackling of a campfire; glimmers of light flickered just beyond the open flap. I raised myself up on my elbows. My body was heavy, but it was already beginning to obey me again. My arms, at least, were back completely and I leaned on them, to lift myself up, then lowered my feet on to the carpet and froze. I sat like that for about ten minutes and then stood up, staggering on legs that were not fully under control, and walked to the exit.