Radiant Terminus. Antoine Volodine
the basements of the Soviet, the whistling that always resulted when he was entering his worlds or other people’s dreams. Hannko Vogulian went back to her place after the concert to warm the bed and she waited in vain for Schulhoff to come join her. After putting his zither in its cover, Schulhoff went out in the street to smoke a cigarette in front of the Pioneers’ House, to look at the starry sky and come back down to earth after hours and hours of poetic and musical soaring. Then there was no trace of his existence on earth. In front of the Pioneers’ House there was no cigarette butt nor lighter to be found, and, when she was asked about the whole thing much later, the Gramma Udgul grumbled that in all probability Schulhoff had been swallowed up by a black hole, which nobody believed, except for herself and Solovyei.
As for Solovyei, even if most of the Levanidovo’s inhabitants believed that he had entered the Soviet’s cauldron, the core of the backup power plant that had run smoothly since the larger power plant’s failure, even if his daughters were convinced that he had gone through the flames to reach the shamanic space of non-life and non-death, to organize within this darkness Schulhoff’s abduction and liquidation, he claimed to be astonished by Hannko Vogulian’s husband’s inexplicable departure. He called on all the police powers at his disposal in the kolkhoz so that the Sunday hunt would have a happy end, then, in the days that followed, he led an energetic and thorough investigation with searches through the village’s empty huts and the underground passages that crisscrossed the Levanidovo to allow movement during the iciest and snowiest months, but his efforts came to naught, and he demonstrated his annoyance publicly. When Hannko Vogulian realized she had been widowed, he seemed to sympathize with her grief, and he promised her that her husband would come back to life one day, that she would find Schulhoff again, and that he himself would track Schulhoff down through his divinations. He never implied that he bore the least responsibility in this saga. But, in everybody’s opinion, he did.
• After the shower, Kronauer went back up the prison hallway to his cell, the room where he had lain during his blackout, then, hearing some noise, he went in that direction and found himself in the kitchen, which had barely any utensils or cupboards and more closely resembled a small refectory. The two sisters were waiting for him with tea and a plate of toasted flour. They told him that they had forgotten to put anything for shaving in the shower room, and that there was a razor and washbasin in a nook, in case he still had any hair.
—Eh, my hair doesn’t grow very fast these days, he said.
The daughters simpered, especially Myriam Umarik, who also stroked her thick and shiny jet-black hair.
—If you stay in this place, it’ll come in even slower, Hannko Vogulian said.
—I’m not staying, Kronauer said.
Hannko Vogulian shrugged. After a few seconds, she told him that, generally, he was free to come and go and that he could walk through the village, but he should go to the Gramma Udgul’s place by the end of the morning.
—She wants to see what you look like, Myriam Umarik said. She wants to make sure you’re not an enemy of the people.
—The Gramma Udgul can come later, Kronauer said as he choked on a spoonful of toasted flour. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to meet everyone in the kolkhoz. My comrades are dying of hunger and thirst by the railroad tracks. I have to go back there. It’s urgent.
He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to go back immediately. To trek back through the forest, without a guide, with a bag of food on his back and a jerrican filled to the brim with water in his hand. But doing anything else, lounging here, was absolutely out of the question. He couldn’t imagine dawdling along the village’s one road, after having stuffed himself with tsamba, and then making conversation with an old lady, while his comrades were dying by the railroad tracks.
—I have to go back, he insisted.
—Solovyei went down there with Morgovian, Hannko Vogulian said.
—Morgovian?
—Samiya Schmidt’s husband.
—They brought all the necessities, Myriam Umarik said.
Her shoulders and breasts heaved. Kronauer tried not to pay attention, but these heaves bothered him.
—And medicine for your wife, she added.
—She’s not my wife, Kronauer said right away.
He felt unburdened of a great weight. Vassilissa Marachvili and Ilyushenko’s rescue was well under way. So Solovyei was taking care of it, then. He was a gruff giant, completely disagreeable, but he was taking care of it.
5
• Hannko Vogulian took Kronauer to the end of the village, two hundred meters past the prison they had left. She pointed out the buildings when they corresponded to something specific: the Soviet, Myriam Umarik’s house, the canteen, the communist cooperative, the public library, the Pioneers’ House. When they came to the end of the road, she stopped. The road continued into the countryside in the form of a path that climbed up the hill. She indicated with a sweep of her arms the massive warehouse run by the Gramma Udgul. Her arms were bare, and not even the finest down covered her extraordinarily pale skin. The sun played on her left ear and the light shone through with a delicious rosiness.
—I’m not going with you, she said. I have things to do.
Kronauer nodded. Since she was standing next to him, he could avoid meeting her strange eyes.
He went the rest of the way thinking about Hannko Vogulian rather than the Gramma Udgul, and when he stepped into the warehouse, he was almost surprised to see the old woman standing right in front of him. She was twisting and turning at the bottom of a mountain of scrap iron, wearily repeating the same fruitless gestures. In fact, she was putting on an act to welcome Kronauer, who she must have seen on the road since he’d left the village and whom she wanted to understand that the warehouse wasn’t a place to laze around.
The Gramma Udgul got up and put her hands on her waist, mainly to look serious and difficult in front of Kronauer, because she didn’t feel any pain in her back. Her joints had been strengthened by the salutary effects of gamma-ray radiation exposure, and weren’t arthritic now, and wouldn’t be at any point in the foreseeable future. Before she spoke, she slowly looked over Kronauer, from head to toe, suspiciously, unhappily.
—You’re wearing one of Barguzin’s shirts, she said once she was done.
Her disapproval was evident.
—It’s what Myriam Umarik gave me, Kronauer said defensively. I didn’t have anything left to wear.
—Barguzin’s not dead yet, the Gramma Udgul said. I’d be the first one to know. When he dies I pour water over him to bring him back. Thus far, he’s always come back. No need to bury him alive.
—It’s just a shirt, Kronauer said with a puzzled look.
—Myriam Umarik is very beautiful, the Gramma Udgul said.
—Yes, Kronauer agreed. No doubt about it.
—She’s one of Solovyei’s daughters, the Gramma Udgul said warningly. Don’t even think for a second about hurting her.
—Why would I hurt her? Kronauer protested.
—She’s married, the Gramma Udgul said. Don’t expect her to cheat on Barguzin if he’s not dead.
—I’ve never expected that, Kronauer said angrily.
—If you hurt her or her sisters, Solovyei will never forgive you.
Kronauer shrugged.
—He’ll follow you for at least a thousand seven hundred and nine years, the Gramma Udgul warned. A thousand seven hundred and nine years or thereabouts, and maybe even twice that.
• A little later, after having thoroughly interrogated Kronauer about his military and political background, his beliefs, and his class membership, the Gramma Udgul gave him a tour of the warehouse. She showed him the location of the well and its purpose,