Vanja registered at the entrance, hung her anorak on a peg by the door, and looked around for a seat. The tables along the walls were almost full. Children who couldn’t sit still were chasing each other below the dais at the far end of the hall. Only on Sevenday were they allowed to run wild like that. Vanja found a free seat at the end of a table. She greeted the others, who nodded, smiled, and returned to their conversations. Their murmur enveloped her.
Sometime later, the cooks emerged from the kitchen carrying huge pots to rapturous applause. Vanja’s hands clapped along. Someone put a bowl in front of her. The clatter and banging of cutlery on bowl rims filled the air. After a while, Vanja became aware that someone had gently nudged her aside and now sat in her spot at the end of the table. It was Evgen. He had said something.
Vanja blinked. “What did you say?”
“I said hello.” His face looked sallow.
“Hello.”
“You look like I feel.”
“Ivar killed himself,” Vanja said.
Evgen’s eyebrows shot up, but then he merely nodded. “Was he afraid they’d do a procedure on him?”
“How did you know?”
He smiled thinly. “It was a guess. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
They ate in silence for a while. The meal was a slapdash, over-salted stew of shiny mushroom caps. Further down the table, people had started drinking and were talking loudly. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” Evgen mumbled next to her.
“What’s that?” Vanja put a spoonful of stew in her mouth and focused on chewing. The mushrooms were leathery and seemed to grow in her mouth as she chewed.
“I can’t stop thinking that the door might have led somewhere else, and that we’re not in the real Amatka anymore.” He hacked at an agaric with his fork. “I know it makes no sense, that can’t be the case. I’m not saying I want it to be true. I just can’t stop thinking about it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Because this fake Amatka might be even worse than my own.”
Vanja glanced out at the crowded hall. “You probably shouldn’t say things like that in here.”
“If we’re in fake Amatka, maybe the rules don’t apply.” Evgen giggled.
One of their neighbors shot them a glance. Vanja managed a hollow laugh and elbowed Evgen in the ribs. “You’re impossible!”
Evgen laughed back. “You bet!”
Their neighbor turned his attention back to his own company. A tapping noise from the podium made them fall silent. It was time for the first reading of the night.
When they had sung “The Pioneer Song,” their host called the children up on the dais.
“And now it’s fun time for the children!” he shouted. “We’re going to sing ‘The Marking Song’!”
They sang several rounds of “The Marking Song.” The children took turns pointing to different objects in the room, and everyone laughed whenever it was tricky to fit the words in. After six rounds, it was time for “The Farmer Song,” and after that “When I Grow Up.” There was a quiz, too. Extra credits were awarded to citizens who answered questions about the number of houses in the colony and the number of inhabitants and streets correctly. Even more credits went to comrades who could name all the different types of buildings, their functions, and the number and names of the mushrooms grown in the chambers. Then they all sang “The Marking Song” again.
On the dais, their host’s gestures grew ever wilder and more sweeping, until he finally gave up his spot for a poetry recital. While the reader slowly chanted his way through “The Streets,” the host took a seat in a corner by the coatroom. The happy grin had vanished from his face. He looked sweaty and feverish. He’d found a bottle of liquor somewhere and was swigging straight from it. When he noticed Vanja watching him, he bared his teeth in a grimace and waved at her. It took her a moment to realize it was supposed to be a smile. She waved back.
Ulla was in the kitchen, putting on her boots. She looked up at Vanja with a small smile. “Going somewhere?” Vanja asked.
“Just out for an evening stroll,” Ulla replied. “Did you notice the pipes? No one else seems to have.”
Vanja paused. “I had forgotten about them somehow. What with Ivar…”
“Of course.”
“Ulla, what’s going on?”
Ulla finished tying her boots. “What do you think?”
“I think you know exactly what’s happening,” Vanja said.
Ulla stood up. She seemed younger somehow, more sprightly. “You want freedom,” she said. “Don’t you?”
“I do,” Vanja whispered.
“So do I,” Ulla replied. She squeezed Vanja’s arm gently. “Go to bed.”
Nina had fallen asleep in Ivar’s bed with her face buried in his pillow. She was wearing one of his sweaters. Vanja went into her own room. She hadn’t been in there for days except to sleep and fetch new clothes. She took a turn around the room, touching furniture and objects. Then she curled up on the bed with her clothes on.
THE FOURTH WEEK
FIRSTDAY
When the thunder of breaking ice died down, it was as though it left a buzz in the air. Not quite audible, it was more a sensation than a sound. Nina was still in Ivar’s bed. When Vanja sat down on the edge of the bed, Nina turned her face to the wall and pulled the blanket over her head. Vanja went down to the kitchen. It was chilly, somehow bigger and emptier than before. She made coffee and porridge, too much porridge—since Ivar wasn’t going to have any. She filled two bowls and left the rest on the counter to cool.
Nina didn’t react when Vanja put a bowl and a cup of coffee down on her desk. Vanja ate her own porridge in the kitchen, washed the dishes, and sat back down at the table. The silence was compact, except for that low drone she couldn’t quite hear. Eventually it was time to put the leftovers in the fridge and go to work.
A janitor arrived midmorning, carrying a bucket and a stack of good paper. She greeted Vanja curtly and came in behind the counter uninvited. Then she picked a paintbrush out of the bucket and slathered some of its contents on the wall. She dropped the brush back into the bucket, leafed through the papers, and slapped one of them in the middle of the sticky mess on the wall. She walked around the counter to the front of the reception, repeated the procedure, and left without another word.
The reception occupies a total area of 366 square feet. The space is furnished with one (1) reception counter with drawers, two (2) writing desks, six (6) storage shelves, and three (3) office chairs. The storage shelves contain assorted office supplies (see separate list of contents), two (2) typewriters, one (1) duplicating machine, and manuals, log books etc. (see separate list of contents). The staircase to the reception archive is furnished with doors at both ends and has eighteen (18) steps of standard height. The archive contains twenty (20) filing cabinets with drawers containing archive material (see separate list of contents). From the archive, one (1) security door leads to the Secure Archive (see separate list of contents).