Yakov, too, looked up. The thunder was moving closer. No longer just a growl, it deepened to a rhythmic whup-whup. The two men retreated from the floodlights. The sound drew right overhead, churning the night like a tornado.
Aleksei clapped his hands over his ears and shrank deeper into the shadows. Yakov did not. He watched, unflinching, as the helicopter descended into the wash of light and touched down on the deck.
One of the men in overalls reappeared, running bent at the waist. He swung open the helicopter door. Yakov could not see what was inside; the stairway post was blocking his direct view. He eased out from the shadows, moving out onto the deck just far enough to see around the post. He caught a glimpse of the pilot and one passenger — a man.
"Hey!" came a shout from overhead. "You! Boy!"
Yakov glanced straight up and saw the navigator peering down at him from the bridge deck.
"What are you doing down there? You come up here right now, before you get hurt! Come on!"
The man in overalls had spotted the boys too, and was crossing towards them. He did not look pleased.
Yakov scurried up the stairway. Aleksei, in a panic, was right on his heels.
"Don't you know enough to stay off the main deck when a chopper's landing?" yelled the navigator. He gave Aleksei a whack on the rump and pulled them inside, into the wheelhouse. He pointed to two chairs. "Sit. Both of you."
"We were just watching," saidYakov. "You two are supposed to be in bed."
"I was in bed," whimpered Aleksei. "He made me come out."
"Do you know what a chopper rotor can do to a boy's head? Do you?" The navigator slashed a hand across Aleksei's skinny neck. "Just like that. Your head goes flying straight off. And blood shoots everywhere. Quite spectacular. You think I'm joking, don't you? Believe me,! don't go down there when the chopper comes.! stay the hell away. But if you want your stupid heads sliced off, be my guests. Go on."
Aleksei sobbed, "I wanted to stay in bed!"
The roar of the helicopter made them all turn to look. They watched as it lifted into the sky, the rotor wash whipping the overalls of the two men standing on deck. It made a slow ninety-degree turn, then veered off, to be swallowed up by the night. Only a soft rumble lingered, fading away like retreating thunder.
"Where does it go?" askedYakov.
"You think they tell me?" said the navigator. "They just call me when it's coming in for a pickup and I turn the bow into the wind. That's all." He reached for one of the panel switches and flicked it.
The floodlights were instantly extinguished. The main deck vanished into darkness.
Yakov pressed close to the bridge window. The chopper rumble was gone now. In every direction stretched the blackness of the sea.
Aleksei was still crying.
"Stop it now," said the navigator. He gave Aleksei a scolding slap on the shoulder. "A boy your age, acting like a woman."
"But what does it come for? The helicopter?" askedYakov. "I told you. A pickup."
"What does it pick up?"
"I don't ask. I just do what they tell me."
"Who?"
"The passengers in the aft cabin." He tugged Yakov away from the window and gave him a push towards the door. "Go back to
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your bunks. Can't you see I have work to do?"
Yakov was following Aleksei to the door when his gaze lit on the radar screen. So many times before, he'd stared at that screen, transfixed by the hypnotic sweep of the line tracing its three hundred and sixty-degree arc. Now he stood before it again, watching the line circle around and around. He saw it at once, a small white sliver at the edge of the screen.
"Is it another ship?" Yakov asked. "There, on the radar." He pointed
to the sliver which suddenly pulsed whiter as the line swept over it. "What else would it be? Get out of here."
The boys went outside and clattered down the bridge stairway to the main deck. Yakov glanced up and saw, against the green glow of the bridge window, the navigator's silhouette. Watching. Always watching.
And he said: "Now I know where the helicopter goes."
Pyotr andValentin were not at breakfast. By then the news of their departure during the night had already spread toYakov's cabin, so when he sat down at the table that morning and faced the row of boys sitting across from him, he knew the reason for their silence. They did not understand, any of them, why Pyotr and Valentin should be the first to leave the ship, the first to be chosen. Pyotr, they'd all thought from the start, would be among the leftovers, or would be consigned to some unlikely family who favoured idiot children. Valentin, who'd joined the group in Riga, had been clever enough, handsome enough, but he had a secret perversion known to the younger boys. After the lights went out at night, he would crawl into their bunks without his underwear, would whisper: "Feel that? Feel how big I am?" And he would grab their hands and force them to touch him.
But Valentin was gone now, he and Pyotr. Gone to new parents who'd chosen them, Nadiya said.
The rest of them were the leftovers.
In the afternoon, Yakov and Aleksei climbed to the deck and stretched out on the spot where the helicopter had landed. They lay gazing up at the hard blue glare of the sky. No clouds, no helicopters. The deck was warm and, like two kittens on a radiator, they began to feel drowsy.
"I've been thinking," saidYakov, his eyes closed against the sun.
"If my mother is alive,! don't want to be adopted."
"She's not."
"She could be."
"Why didn't she come back for you, then?"
"Maybe she's looking for me right now. And here I am, in the middle of the sea where no one can find me. Except with radar. I'm going to tell Nadiya to take me back. I don't want a new mother."
"I do," said Aleksei. He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Do you think there's something wrong with me?"
Yakov laughed. "You mean besides the fact you're retarded?" When Aleksei didn't answer Yakov squinted up at his friend and was puzzled to see the boy had his hands over his face, and his shoulders were shaking.
"Hey," saidYakov. "Are you crying?"
"No."
"You are, aren't you?"
"No."
"You're such a baby. I didn't mean it. You're not retarded." Aleksei had folded into a ball of arms and legs. He was crying all right. Though he didn't make a sound, Yakov could see the chest spasmodically sucking in gulps of air. Yakov didn't know what to make of this or what to say. A fresh insult was what automatically came to mind. Stupid girl. Crybaby. But then he thought better of it. He had never seen Aleksei this way, and he felt a little guilty, a little scared. It was just a joke. Why couldn't Aleksei see it was a joke?
"Let's go down and swing on the rope," saidYakov. He gave Aleksei a poke in the ribs.
Aleksei lashed back with an angry shove and jumped up, his face red and wet.
"What's the matter with you anyway?" saidYakov.
"Why did they choose that stupid Pyotr instead of me?"
"They didn't choose me either," saidYakov.
"But there's nothing wrong with me!" cried Aleksei. He ran from the deck.
Yakov sat very still. He looked down at the stump of his left arm. And he said, "There's nothing wrong with me either."
"Knight to bishop three," said Koubichev, the engineer.
"You always do that. Don't you ever try anything new?"
"I believe in the tried and true. It's beaten you every time. Your move. Don't take all day."
Yakov rotated the chess board and studied it first from one angle, then another. He got on his knees and peered down the row of
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pawns. Imagined black-armoured soldiers standing in formation, awaiting orders.
"What the hell are you doing now?" said Koubichev. "Did you ever notice the queen has a beard?"
"What?"
"She has a beard. Look."
Koubichev grunted. "That's just her neck ruffle. Now will you make your move?"