Kolymsky Heights (28 page)

The Evenks were especially jovial to Kolya Khodyan on this, his last morning at Tcherny Vodi.

One of them, cleaning Major Militsky’s suite, had heard that the lower guard post was being opened up at eleven. Medical Officer Komarova would be at the camp before noon. And surgery would be held as usual in the
guards’ barracks
: which had occasioned so much winking and chuckling that Kolya was apprehensive that even the thickest of the staff must notice it.

Major Militsky noticed it.

‘They’re cheerful today, Sergeant,’ he said, on his rounds.

‘They are, Major. No accounting for these fellows.’

‘This baby’s name, is it – making them so happy?’

‘Ah. That. Never thought of that, Major. I think you’ve got it. Childish people.’

‘Yes. They
are
childish,’ the major confirmed, with a nod. ‘Respect their traditions, though, and you get good work out of them. Makes for order.’

‘Well, that’s certain. I’ve known ’em turn very awkward, otherwise. Oh yes, that’s certain.’

‘Yes,’ the major said. He was never more certain of anything in his life.
To be congratulated on his tactful
handling
. He felt tactful. He felt well braced. His face was rosy as an apple this morning. ‘Good morning all,’ he said in the storage sheds. ‘Everything in order here?’

‘All in order, Major.’ The corporal of the stores detail
saluted him. ‘Empties stacked. Got them ready for a quick hitch in case the medical officer has to take off fast again.’

‘Ah well, she won’t be in such a hurry today,’ the major said, smiling. ‘That was a special situation before.’ Although said with a smile there was nothing particularly humorous in the remark, so that he was surprised at the great explosion of mirth it drew from the Evenks. He continued nodding kindly at them. ‘Very good news – that the baby now has a name. Excellent!’

‘Yes. Excellent, Major!’ agreed the Evenks, grinning.

‘My congratulations again,’ the major said, and took his leave; but somewhat puzzled. There was something anticipatory in all the grins as though they expected him to say something even funnier. Well, they just felt good, and it made them smile. He felt good and it made
him
smile.

It had not, however, made Kolya Khodyan smile. There was a childish delight in guile among tribal people that he knew too well. He hoped the guards didn’t know it so well. Just a few hours more to get through. He felt very tense. He had a sense of premonition. Something wasn’t right today. He scented the freezing air. Something not right.

He had shown them the sealed letter, and the ring. They knew, and very joyfully, what they had helped him do; and what still had to be done. And an unexpected problem had arisen. In the guards’ barracks, where the surgery would be held, the rule was ‘hats off’. The Evenks in the general business of the camp remained always covered but here, as a courtesy in the guards’ quarters, they did uncover. Obviously he couldn’t uncover. The matter had been debated. Since the present squad of guards had only seen them covered they couldn’t tell whether or not one of them had a shaven head. But it would draw attention to him, at the last moment, and he could do without that.

Then what?

Then they would all keep their hats on.

And say what?

‘We’ll see,’ they said.

This happy-go-lucky attitude filled him with foreboding. He wondered if it was responsible for his feeling. He didn’t understand the feeling. He was very tense.

But he continued at work. Yesterday’s plane had again filled the storage sheds, and the tractors were kept on the go to the delivery bay at the rear. A good deal more snow had fallen and he wondered if she could even make it today; whether the thing wouldn’t be cancelled at the last moment. But at a quarter to twelve, returning to the sheds, he saw the small convoy appear at the perimeter gates, and his heart leapt.

He carried on working. The guards would be attended to first at the surgery; and the dinner hour was being staggered so that everybody would see the doctor in turn. Already it had been agreed he would be among the last.

He had his dinner. He had trouble eating it, but he ate it; and while doing so was joined by the first returning Evenk patient, grinning.

‘It’s okay with the hats.’

He looked up inquiringly.

‘For the baby!’

He didn’t inquire any further, wiped his mouth, and went out to take his place. A guard stood in the porch outside the barracks keeping the few Evenks in line. As one came out he sent another in. Kolya evaded the grinning eyes and looked around him. It was dark, but under the floodlights he could see the bobik. It stood outside Major Militsky’s office and a guard was standing by it, beating his hands together. The motor was running and the driver was sitting inside out of the cold.

‘Okay, next.’

An Evenk had come out, and the first in line went in.

She was taking them very briskly. Within three or four minutes another man was going in; and Kolya had been joined in the rear by two more. One further man was still to come; this had been arranged. The further man arrived at just the moment when Kolya was at the head of the line.

‘Next man inside.’

He went inside.

The guards’ dormitory was exceedingly tidy; iron beds, not bunks, and all made up with military precision. There was also a long table and a few comfortable chairs but these had been moved to the far end of the room, beyond reach of contaminating Evenks. The only piece of furniture for the Evenks was a bare form, and three of them sat on it, with their hats on. A guard stood beside them, his uniform fur hat held ostentatiously under his arm. They moved up, winking, and made room for the new man, and Kolya sat.

There was a small sauna off the dormitory. It had running water, and here the surgery had been set up. Another guard, hat under his arm, stood sternly outside it. The door was a little ajar and he could hear her voice. She dealt just as briskly with the new patient, and soon another man had come in and he was moving along the form. In no time he was at the head of the form – the last three Evenks shuffling along with him and grinning so broadly that even the guards began to stare. He couldn’t tell what they made of it. No sense was expected of the Evenks; what sense was there, after all, in keeping hats on because a baby had been named? But it kept him on tenterhooks, until it was his turn to go in.

He saw at once that something was wrong.

Her face was tight, stiff, paler than ever.

She sat at a table with a pile of papers, her medical case open. A sheet had been spread on another table and a pillow placed on it. She was writing.

‘Well? Any medical problems?’

‘I’ve pulled a muscle, Doctor. Here, in my back.’

‘All right. Let’s see. Take your top clothing off.’

He did so, and she shook her head at him as he opened his mouth. ‘Yes. I can feel it. I’ll give you an injection, and a preparation to be rubbed in. Guard!’

The guard outside the door looked in.

‘Send my driver in.’

The guard looked at her, and shook his head.

‘Can’t do that, Doctor. If there’s something you want, I’ll send for it.’

‘Yes, very well. It’s the diethylamine salicylate solution, camphorated, and quickly, please.’

‘The – what was that?’

‘The diethylamine sal – Just a minute.’ She irritably shook her head and wrote swiftly on a slip of paper. ‘It’s in the fixed brown compartment, left upper quadrant. And I want a spare 100-millilitre bottle. And funnel. Lift your arm,’ she said to her patient.

‘Fixed brown compartment, hundred millilitres, upper quadrant and a funnel,’ the guard said and went bemusedly out of the room with the slip of paper. This he gave to the guard outside the barrack door, who went with the instructions to the bobik. He returned presently and conferred with the surgery guard, who tapped on the door and put his face in again.

‘He doesn’t know what you mean,’ he said.

‘Doesn’t know what – How many patients are out there?’

The guard had a look.

‘Three,’ he said.

‘
Still
three? Send that driver
in
!’ she said, with fury.

‘Doctor, I – Well, for a moment,’ he said, seeing her mouth open again; and in a minute or two the driver was lounging in, with his fancy balaclava and his fine hat, chewing gum. ‘Sorry, Doctor, I couldn’t make out –’

‘God above! … Just a minute –
you
! Leave the room!’ she said abruptly, noticing that the guard had come in with the man.

‘Doctor, he can’t come in here unaccompanied.’

‘And
you
can’t come in when I have a patient!’ The patient was now bent over the sheeted table with his shirt up, and she was bent over him. ‘Get out at once!’

The guard hastily vacated the room, and the medical officer slammed the door on him, and stood against it, while the two
remaining occupants swiftly changed places, and clothes. Papers, too, passed.

‘A bottle, a funnel, and solution from the brown case!’ her voice rang out. ‘Here, written in the largest letters. Does it take so long to understand a simple –’

It didn’t take so long, and the driver was soon out again with the paper, ruefully shaking his head. He was not allowed to remain unaccompanied for long. The surgery guard accompanied him outside. The barrack guard accompanied him to the bobik. And the bobik guard watched closely as he unlocked the rear of the vehicle. The rear was now stacked with cases of empty jars and drums, but the fixed compartment was accessible and it took him no time to pick out the large jar of liniment, with an empty medicine bottle and a funnel.

These he was not allowed to take back in himself, so he returned to the driving seat; from which, less than ten minutes later, he hopped out to open the passenger door for Medical Officer Komarova. She was leaning on her stick and carrying the file of medical papers, one guard holding her medical case and another the liniment jar and the funnel.

Major Militsky, forewarned, hurried out of his office.

‘I can’t tempt you to stay for a bite, Medical Officer?’

‘No, thank you, Major. I must get on – the weather is very threatening.’ She handed over the file. ‘And thank you for facilitating the matter of the baby’s name. The Evenks are happy about it. It means a great deal to them.’

‘We must respect their traditions. It was a pleasure.’

‘Very good. Is everything ready here?’

Everything was ready. The funnel and the liniment were back in the fixed compartment; the rear shut; the escorting jeep waiting.

‘Goodbye, Medical Officer.’ Major Militsky handed her gallantly into the bobik, and snapped off a most happy salute.

‘Goodbye, Major.’

‘Until next time … Off you go, Sergeant.’

And off they went, through the two sets of gates and down the icy path.

‘Something’s wrong,’ he said.

‘Yes. I’ll tell you later. I feel sick.’

He slowly followed the jeep down. They halted at the lower checkpost to be signed out, were saluted off the premises, and entered the creek.

‘What is it?’ he said.

She had heard the news this morning at a settlement where she and the driver had spent the night – both nights had been spent at European settlements: the man unknown at either. Her secretary had telephoned to say that Tchersky militia wanted the Chukchee driver, Khodyan. Why? The secretary didn’t know, but they had asked for the medical officer to call them.

This she had done immediately.

The militia chief was an old patient, and he had told her that a small matter had cropped up: an inquiry late last night from Batumi on the Black Sea. A man called Ponomarenko was being held there, and Tchersky had been asked to find out who was at present occupying his apartment. He had told them it was Khodyan and they’d asked for him to be held and his papers checked. From the transport company he had learned that Komarova had him for a few days. Was she coming back now?

Yes, some time today. Was this man a
criminal
?

Not as far as the police chief knew – probably just needed to confirm some aspect of Ponomarenko’s story. They’d be sending him more information on it. Anyway, get him to look into the station with his papers when they returned.

They drove for some minutes in silence.

‘You can’t go back to Green Cape,’ she said.

‘No.’

He kept silence and she looked at him.

He was like an animal, scenting.

‘If they’re inquiring who’s in his apartment,’ he said at last,
‘that’s a funny inquiry. Why should anybody be in it? Why should they want to know? He’s told them. He’s told them how he was fixed. I’m blown.’

He stopped the car suddenly.

‘You spoke to this policeman soon after nine? Now it’s two. Call your office. See if he’s been in touch again.’

She switched on, got the crackling, and called in.

No. Nothing. No messages.

‘You may be delayed,’ he told her, softly. ‘You want to know if the militia call.’

‘Irina, I may be delayed a little. Let me know if there’s anything – or if the militia call again, right?’

‘Right, Medical Officer.’

He lit a cigarette.

‘Soon they’ll have photographs,’ he mused. ‘Of Khodyan. They won’t match mine.’

‘Things don’t happen so fast here.’

‘Faxes happen fast. They’ll transmit them … Why didn’t they get in touch with Tcherny Vodi? They knew you were going.’

‘They can’t get in touch with Tcherny Vodi. Only the medical office can do that, and on medical business. It’s a sealed line, teleprinter. The commandant can make calls
out
, the militia certainly can’t call
in
.’

He nodded, thinking.

‘The inquiry came late last night, from the Black Sea?’

‘That’s what the Chief said.’

‘Then, there it must have been earlier. They’re some hours back, surely – four, five?’

‘Eight, I think.’

‘Eight. Then the inquiry was made during the day. And now it will be, what, six in the morning there? Maybe nothing happened in the night. After all, they’d have to get hold of photos, probably from other regions. We could still have a couple of hours.’