Andrei went back to the drivers’ room, lifted the lamp up over his head, and pointed out Permyak to the Mute. Silently slipping through between the sleeping men, the Mute leaned down over Permyak and took hold of the man’s ears in his hands. Then he straightened up. Permyak sat there, propping himself up with one hand and using the other to wipe away the spittle that had overflowed onto his lips in his sleep.
Catching his eye, Andrei nodded in the direction of the corridor, and Permyak immediately got to his feet, lightly and soundlessly. They went through into an empty room deeper inside the apartment, and the Mute closed the door firmly and leaned back against it. Andrei looked for a place to sit. The room was empty, and he sat down on the floor. Permyak squatted down in front of him. His pockmarked face had a dirty look in the lamplight, and his tangled hair tumbled down over his forehead, with a crooked tattoo—KHRUSHCHEV’S SLAVE—showing through it.
“Thirsty?” Andrei asked in a low voice.
Permyak nodded. The familiar roguish smile appeared on his face. Andrei took a hip flask out of his back pocket and held it out to him—there was water splashing about in the bottom of it. He watched as Permyak drank in miserly little sips, with his bristly Adam’s apple moving up and down. The water immediately sprang out on his body as sweat.
“Warm…” Permyak said hoarsely, handing back the empty flask. “Cold would be good… straight out of the faucet… Agh!”
“What’s wrong with that motor of yours?” Andrei asked, stuffing the flask back in his pocket.
Permyak gathered the sweat off his face with his splayed fingers. “The motor’s shit,” he said. “We built it after the first one, racing against the deadline… It’s a miracle it held out for this long.”
“Can it be fixed?”
“Yes, it can be fixed. We’ll fiddle with it for a day or two and get it fixed. Only it won’t last long. We’ll slog on for maybe another two hundred kilometers, and then we’ll be back sunbathing. The motor’s shit.”
“I see,” said Andrei. “Did you happen to notice the Korean Pak hanging around the soldiers?”
Permyak peevishly disregarded that question. “At today’s lunch break the soldiers got together and agreed not to go any farther.”
“I already know that,” Andrei said, clenching his teeth. “You just tell me who’s running things on their side, will you?”
“I can’t make that out, boss,” Permyak wheezed in a whisper. “Tevosyan shoots his mouth off more than anyone else, but he’s always full of crap, and every morning lately he’s been wigged out.”
“What?”
“Wigged out… You know, stoned, tripping… No one listens to him. But who the real ringleader is, I can’t tell.”
“Hnoipek?”
“Damned if I know. Maybe it’s him. He’s a big man, all right… Seems like the drivers are for it—I mean, not going any farther. Nothing Mr. Ellisauer says makes any sense; he just giggles like a creep and tries to please everyone… which means he’s afraid. But what can I do? I just keep laying it on the line that the soldiers can’t be trusted, they hate us drivers. We ride and they walk, that’s what they say. They get private’s rations, and we get the same as the gentlemen scientists… Why should they like us, they say. It used to work all right, but not any longer. But you know the most important thing? The day after tomorrow is the thirteenth day—”
“And what about the science team?” Andrei interrupted.
“Damned if I know. They cuss a blue streak, but I can’t make out who they’re for. They brawl with the soldiers every damned day over that Skank… And you know what Mr. Quejada said? He said the colonel won’t hold out much longer.”
“Who did he say it to?”
“Well, what I think is, he says it to everyone. I heard him myself, telling his geologists never to part with their weapons. In case they’re needed. Got a cigarette about you, Andrei Mikhailovich?”
“No,” said Andrei. “And what about the sergeant?”
“There’s no getting close to the sergeant. With him you get off at the same stop you got on at. Hard as flint. They’ll kill him first. They really hate him.”
“All right,” said Andrei. “But what about the Korean, after all? Is he working on the soldiers or not?”
“I haven’t seen him doing that. He always keeps himself to himself. If you like, I can keep a special eye on him, but I reckon it’s a waste of time…”
“Right, here’s the story,” said Andrei. “Starting tomorrow there’s a long halt. Basically, there’s no work to be done. Except on the tractor. And the soldiers will just be loitering about and shooting the bull. So what you have to do, Permyak, is figure out for me who’s running this show. That’s your top priority. Think of some way; you know better than I do how it can be done…” He got up, and Permyak jumped to his feet too. “Did you really vomit today?”
“Yeah, I got it real bad… Seems like it’s eased off a bit now.”
“Do you need anything?”
“Nah, it’s not worth the bother. But I could use some smokes.”
“OK. You get the tractor fixed and I’ll give you a bonus. Off you go.”
Permyak slipped out through the door past the Mute, who moved aside for him. Andrei walked across to the window and leaned on the windowsill, waiting the regulation five minutes. The beam of the swiveling headlamp picked out the black, bulky forms of the cargo sleds and the second tractor and set the remaining shards of glass glittering in the windows of the house opposite. To the right the metal heel plates on the boots of an invisible sentry clinked as he wandered back and forth across the street, quietly whistling some mournful tune or other.
Never mind, Andrei thought. We’ll survive. If I could just find the ringleader… He pictured it to himself again—the sergeant lines up the unarmed men in a single rank on Andrei’s order and he, the leader of the expedition, slowly walks along the rank, holding a pistol in his lowered hand and glancing into the stony faces overgrown with stubble, and he stops at Hnoipek, right in front of that red-haired scumbag’s face, and shoots him in the stomach—first one shot, and then another… without charge or trial. “And that’s what will happen to every cowardly rat who dares to…”
And it seems that Mr. Pak really doesn’t have anything to do with this business, he thought. That’s something, at least. Nothing will happen tomorrow. Nothing will happen for another three days, and three days is long enough to come up with all sorts of things… For instance, we could find a good spring a hundred kilometers farther on. No doubt they’ll gallop on like horses to get to water. This sweltering heat is unbearable… We’ve only been here one night and the whole place already stinks of shit… And anyway, time is always on the side of the bosses against the troublemakers. It’s always been that way, everywhere… Where did I get that from? Izya. No, I probably made it up myself. It’s a good thought, a correct thought. Attaboy… So today they conspired and decided they won’t move on tomorrow. They’ll get up sizzling in the morning and we’ll hand them a long halt. No need to go anywhere after all, guys, it was a waste of time showing your teeth… And here’s some rice porridge with prunes for you, a second mug of tea, and chocolate… So take that, Mr. Hnoipek! But I’ll get around to you, just give me time… Dammit, I’m so sleepy… You just forget about drinking anything, Mr. Counselor, you need to sleep. Tomorrow at first light… Damn you to hell, Fritz, you and your expansion plans. The emperor of all shit, that’s you…
“Let’s go,” he said to the Mute.
Izya was still thumbing through his papers. He’d developed a new bad habit now—biting his beard. He collected a handful of the matted hair, stuck it in between his teeth, and gnawed on it. What a booby, honestly… Andrei walked over to his camp bed and started spreading out the sheet. It stuck to his hands like oilcloth.