“Day 28,” he inscribed on a clean page, and underscored what he had written with two thick lines. Then he took Quejada’s report.
“Distance covered 28 kilometers,” he noted down. “Height of sun 63°51ʹ13ʺ.2 (at 979 km). Average temperature: in the shade +23°C, in the sun +31°C. Wind 2.5 m/sec, humidity 0.42. Gravity 0.998. Drilling carried out at 979, 981, 986 km. No water. Fuel consumption…” he took Ellisauer’s report, badly soiled by oil-stained fingers, and spent a long time trying to decipher the chicken-scratch writing.
“Fuel consumption: 1.32 of daily norm. Remaining at end of day 28: 3,200 kg. Condition of engines: No. 1, satisfactory; No. 2, worn wrist pins and problems with the cylinders…”
Andrei wasn’t able to decipher what exactly had happened to the cylinders, although he held the sheet of paper right up close to the flame of the lamp.
“Condition of personneclass="underline" physical condition—almost everyone has abrasions on the feet and the general diarrhea continues, the rash on Permyak’s and Palotti’s shoulders is getting worse. No wounded, no injuries. No exceptional incidents. Shark wolves appeared twice and were driven away by shooting. Munitions expended 12 cartridges. Water expended 40 L. Remaining at end of day 28—1,100 kg. Foodstuff expended 20 daily rations. Remaining at end of day 28: 730 daily rations.”
Outside the window Skank started twittering in a shrill voice, and throats husky from smoking started braying hoarsely. Andrei raised his head and listened. The devil only knows, he thought. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing that she tagged along with us. At least it’s some kind of amusement for the men… Only just recently they’ve started fighting over her.
There was another knock at the door.
“Come in,” Andrei said bad-temperedly.
Sergeant Vogel walked in—huge and red-faced, with wide, blurred patches of black sweat below the arms of his tunic. “Sergeant Vogel requests permission to address Mr. Counselor!” he barked, pressing his palms against his thighs and thrusting out his elbows.
“Go ahead, Sergeant,” said Andrei.
The sergeant squinted sideways at the window. “I request permission to speak in confidence,” he said, lowering his voice.
This is something new, Andrei thought with an ominous feeling. “Come on in and sit down,” he said.
The sergeant tiptoed up to the table, sat down on the very edge of an armchair, and leaned toward Andrei. “The men don’t want to go any farther,” he said in a low voice.
Andrei leaned back in his chair. So, he thought. This is what things have come to… Wonderful… Congratulations, Mr. Counselor… “What does that mean—they don’t want to. Who’s asking them?”
“They’re worn out, Mr. Counselor,” Vogel said in a confidential tone. “The tobacco’s almost finished. The diarrhea has worn them down. But worse than that—they’re frightened. It’s fear, Mr. Counselor.”
Andrei looked at him without speaking. He had to do something. Immediately. But he didn’t know exactly what.
“We haven’t seen a single human in eleven days of walking, Mr. Counselor,” Vogel went on, almost whispering. “Mr. Counselor recalls that we were warned there’d be thirteen days with no people in sight, and then—curtains for everyone. There are only two days left, Mr. Counselor.”
Andrei licked his lips. “Sergeant,” he said, “shame on you. An old war dog like you, believing old wives’ tales. I didn’t expect that of you!”
Vogel grinned crookedly, thrusting out his huge lower jaw. “Not at all, Mr. Counselor. You can’t frighten me. If only all of them out there…” He jabbed a large, gnarled finger at the window. “If only I had just Germans out there, or at least Japs, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, Mr. Counselor. But what I’ve got out there is riffraff. Ities, Armenians or some such—”
“Stop right there, Sergeant!” Andrei said, raising his voice. “Shame on you. You don’t know the army regulations! Why are you addressing me unordered? What kind of laxness is this, Sergeant? On your feet!”
Vogel ponderously got up and stood to attention.
“Sit down,” Andrei said after a deliberate pause.
Vogel sat down as awkwardly as he had gotten up, and for a while neither of them spoke.
“Why have you come to me and not to the colonel?”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Counselor. I did go to the colonel. Yesterday.”
“And what came of it?”
“The colonel was not inclined to take my report under consideration, Mr. Counselor.”
Andrei laughed. “Precisely! What kind of damned sergeant are you, if you can’t keep your own men in order?” They’re frightened, he tells me! Little children… “They should be afraid of you, Sergeant!” he bellowed. “Of you! Not the thirteenth day!”
“If only they were Germans…” Vogel began again morosely.
“What is all this?” Andrei asked cajolingly. “Do I, the head of the expedition, have to teach you what has to be done when subordinates mutiny, as if you were some snot-nosed kid? For shame, Vogel! If you don’t know, read the regulations. As far as I’m aware, this is all provided for there.”
Vogel grinned again, shifting his lower jaw. Evidently cases like this were not provided for in the regulations after all.
“I thought more highly of you, Vogel,” Andrei said harshly. “Much more highly! Get this into your head once and for alclass="underline" no one is interested in whether your men want to go on or they don’t. We’d all like to be at home right now, not trudging through this scorching heat. Everyone’s thirsty, and everyone’s exhausted. But nonetheless everyone carries out their duty, Vogel. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Counselor,” Vogel growled. “Permission to leave?”
“On your way.”
The sergeant withdrew, ferociously stomping across the dried-out parquet in his boots.
Andrei took off his jacket and went over to the window again. The gathering seemed to have calmed down. The impossibly tall Ellisauer towered up in the circle of light, hunching over to examine some document—Andrei thought it was a map—that broad, bulky Quejada was holding up in front of him. A soldier emerged from the darkness, walked past them, and disappeared into a building—barefoot, seminaked, disheveled, carrying his automatic by the strap.
At the spot he had come from, another soldier’s voice called out in the darkness: “Beaky! Hey, Tevosyan!”
“What do you want?” a voice answered from an invisible cargo sled, where cigarettes flared up and faded away like fireflies.
“Turn the light this way! I can’t see a damned thing.”
“What do you need it for? Can’t you do it in the dark?”
“They’ve crapped everywhere here already… I don’t know where to step…”
“The sentry’s not supposed to go,” a new voice joined in from the throng. “Dump where you’re standing!”
“Aw, give me some light, for fuck’s sake! Is it too much bother to move your ass?”
Lanky Ellisauer straightened up, and in two strides he was beside the tractor and swiveled the headlamp to shine along the street. Andrei saw the sentry. Holding his lowered trousers with one hand, he was hovering uncertainly on bent knees beside the massive iron statue that some weirdos or other had put up right on the sidewalk at the nearest intersection. The statue represented a stocky character wearing something like a toga, with a shaved head and repugnant, toadish features. In the light of the headlamp the statue looked black. Its left arm pointed up to the heavens, and its right arm was stretched out above the earth, with the fingers of the hand splayed out. Right now an automatic rifle was hanging on that arm.