“It’s me …”
“Well, well! At last.”
“I know this may be an intrusion, not only on your sleep, but on your dreams. Still, I thought it best to talk to you in private, with no one else around.”
“You needn’t apologize, young man. At my age, sleep is a waste of time. I’m happy to hear from you at any hour.”
“I didn’t want that weasel of a journalist you put on my tail to overhear our conversation.”
“You’re right. It’s best to keep your distance from him. I wouldn’t spend too much time worrying about him, though. He’s seeking atonement for himself. The editor promised he’ll be more sympathetic this time.”
“It’s almost morning here, sir.”
“I’m aware of the difference in time. I’ve been trying to follow your strange escapade on the map …”
“I see you already know everything.”
“No one knows everything. It’s enough to know the main points. When I saw yesterday that you were keeping radio silence, I phoned our consul. She told me you had decided to turn your mission into an expedition.”
“What was your reaction?”
“I’ve known of your fondness for adventure since your days as a travelling salesman, but I had no idea that your guilt towards that woman was so great.”
“You’re wrong, sir. It’s compassion I feel, not guilt. Not just for her, but for her son. He insisted at the airport that his grandmother attend the funeral … and since we couldn’t bring her to us, I thought, as long as we’re here anyway, why not give this woman what our overburdened government can’t afford and bring her home to her native village at our expense? That’s the proper ending for this story.”
The old man sighed. “Who knows what is or isn’t proper? Or whether your ending will really be the end? But what’s done is done. The consul has described the fair-haired boy who put you up to it.”
“He didn’t put me up to anything. I felt sorry for him. He’s a lonely youngster whose father treats him like a stranger. And he has the legal right to decide where his mother will be buried.”
“Yes, I know all that. The consul isn’t sparing of words. Or of details and commentaries. I know about your armoured vehicle, too, and about the battery you couldn’t charge. Not to mention her magnificent husband whom she can’t stop praising …”
“He’s an excellent fellow.”
“Well, she misses him. I believe she’s jealous that he’s minding you instead of her. By the way, what does she look like, this consul?”
“A giraffe.”
“That’s just what I thought. She talked on and on. I can’t remember all she said.”
“Let’s stick to the point, then. We’re in the middle of a long trip and can’t back out. There’s no way of knowing how much it will cost.”
“I’ve already told you the expenses don’t concern me.”
“I am not the only one who feels guilty, sir, am I?”
“If that’s how you wish to interpret my generosity, so be it. Just don’t worry about money. You have unlimited credit.”
“Things are very cheap here, but they still have a way of adding up.”
“I’m relying on your judgment … on your instincts.”
“Don’t rely on them too much, sir. My intuition has taken to dreaming. Are you awake enough to listen to a wonderful dream I had?”
The old man seemed to shudder. “No! Your phone costs too much to dream over it. You were told to go on a short mission. If it turns out to be a longer one, that’s fine with me. Just don’t go off on any tangents …”
“We’re already on one.”
“How’s that?”
“A minor one. To a former army base that’s now a tourist site.”
“What kind of base?”
“A nuclear command post from the Cold War. Our drivers heard great things about it and decided to use our rest time for an educational tour.”
“You’re talking to me from a nuclear command post?”
“No. We haven’t visited it yet. We’ll do that in the morning. I’m out in the open now, next to the coffin. It’s cold, but not unbearable. I’m facing east because the dawn has planted a rosy kiss there.”
“A rosy kiss?”
“Actually, the mist makes it pink.”
“Watch out, young man, watch out! You’re leaving me more worried than I was at the beginning of this conversation. Don’t go off on any more tangents or tours at my expense. And remember, that woman won’t last forever, not even in the cold.”
“Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten her. We have a document from the Pathology Institute that says we have lots of time.”
“Listen!” The old man’s apprehension was growing by the minute. “Don’t rely on any documents. Trust your instincts. And remember that you’re an emissary, not a general. I want you to stay in close touch with me from now on. And don’t waste your battery on foolish conversations, yours or anyone else’s.”
6
At first he thought he had identified the exact point at which the sun would rise — a bare, snow-covered crag between two rounded hills — because the rosy glow was brightest there. Yet the loitering sun surprised him by appearing far away, from behind a distant mountain, flooding the wooded valley with a cloudy yellow light.
If the ground I’m standing on, thought the human resources manager, is one big nuclear shelter, there must be visible or concealed air vents. Looking for them, he noticed instead, beyond some distant trees, silhouettes and smoke. These belonged, he saw as he approached, to a group of vendors or gypsies setting up a market in a clearing. Was it for local inhabitants or tourists? Or might it be — but why not? — solely for him, the utter stranger, an emissary from afar who had risen early because he feared another dream?
Slowly, he made his way through the trees. Although the appearance of a mute foreigner caused the stall holders to pause in what they were doing, this did not keep him from inspecting the merchandise they had taken from their sacks and crates. The still-fresh memory of his dream of their countrywoman, whom he was returning to her native soil, was like a protective bubble around him. He strolled past heaps of potatoes, carrots, and winter squashes, red-rinded cheeses, pink, skinned suckling pigs, furry rabbits in their cages, freshly baked rye breads of different shapes and sizes, old household utensils, glasses, plates, embroidered tablecloths, linens, colourful dresses, icons, statuettes of saints. Smells of cooking enveloped him.
Only now did he notice, by signs glimpsed through their scarves and heavy coats, that most of the vendors were women. Now some smiled at him and softly called out their wares. Although he had no local currency, he was certain they would accept anything he offered.
But what should he buy? What was typical of the region? Perhaps he should wait for the consul’s husband to help him tell the real from the fake. Meanwhile, he would have something to eat — something hot, even scalding, to fortify him against the death that had hovered in his dream. At the far end of the clearing, steam rose from a large pot. A woman of uncertain age, wearing a tatty fur coat, stirred the pot while singing hoarsely to herself. He couldn’t be sure whether she was retarded or belonged to some exotic Arctic race. Next to her, swaddled like a gift package, a baby lay on a thick woollen blanket. What did its sweet little face, peering from beneath its bonnet, remind him of?
The emissary, lured by an excess of initiative to the ends of the earth, recalled how five days previously he had followed his secretary’s baby as it scuttled down the corridor and rapped with its dummy on the old owner’s door, so that he’d had to scoop it up in a quick embrace. If only he could touch the reality of the warm little body in front of him long enough to shake off his dream! Yet as no mother would lend her baby to a mute stranger, he took out a bill and pointed to the dark contents of the pot, which appeared to be some kind of stew.