She seemed to recoil in horror. Then, breathing deeply, she took it, carried it across to the room, and set it on the countertop. She began scooping ice into the cooler. He noticed that her legs were not quite steady. The first time around was always a shock to the system. Even Gregor had had his queasy moments the first time. Nadiya would get over it.
He turned to the operating table. The anaesthetist had already zipped up the shroud, and was now gathering up the bloodied drapes. The surgeon had made no move to help. Instead, he was slumped back against the counter, as though trying to catch his breath. Gregor regarded him with distaste. There was something especially disgusting about a doctor who let himself get so grotesquely fat. The surgeon did not look well tonight. He had wheezed his way through the entire procedure, and his hands had seemed more tremulous than usual.
"My head hurts," the surgeon groaned.
"You've been drinking too much. Probably got yourself a fucking hangover." Gregor moved to the table and grasped one end of the shroud. Together, he and the anaesthetist lifted their burden and slid it onto the gurney. Next Gregor picked up the pile of dirty clothes and set those on the gurney as well. He almost overlooked the stuffed dog. It was lying on the floor, the fatty fur soaked with blood. He tossed it on top of the dirty clothes, then he and the anaesthetist wheeled the gurney to the disposal chute. They opened the hatch and deposited the shroud, the clothes, and the dog into the chute.
The surgeon moaned. "This is the worst fucking headache…" Gregor ignored him. He stripped off his gloves and went to the sink to wash his hands. One never knew what one might pick up handling those filthy clothes. Lice, perhaps. He scrubbed as thoroughly as a doctor preparing to operate.
There was a loud crash, the clatter of falling metal instruments. Gregor turned.
The surgeon was lying on the floor, his face bright red, his limbs jerking like a puppet gone out of control.
Nadiya and the anaesthetist stood frozen in horror. "What's wrong with him?" demanded Gregor. "I don't know!" said the anaesthetist. "Well do something about it!"
The anaesthetist knelt beside the convulsing man and made a few helpless attempts to revive him. He loosened the man's surgical gown, clapped an oxygen mask on his face. The convulsions were worse now, the arms flapping like goose wings.
"Hold the mask on for me!" said the anaesthetist. "I'm going to give him an injection!"
Gregor knelt at the man's head and took hold of the mask. The surgeon's face felt repulsive, doughy and oily. Spittle had dribbled out of his mouth, turning the oxygen mask slippery. His skin was beginning to turn blue. Gregor knew then, looking at the darkening cyanosis, that their efforts were futile.
Moments later, the man was dead.
For a long time, the three of them stood around staring at the corpse. It seemed to have ballooned even larger and more grotesque. The stomach was distended and the fleshy folds of the face had spread out like a boneless jellyfish.
"What the fuck do we do now?" said the anaesthetist.
"We need another surgeon," Gregor said.
"You can't exactly pull one out of the sea. We'll have to head into port sooner than planned."
"Or transfer the live cargo…" Gregor suddenly glanced upwards. So did Nadiya and the anaesthetist. They all heard it now: the whup-whup of the helicopter. He looked at the cooler on the countertop. "Is it ready?"
"I packed it with ice," said Nadiya.
"Go, then. Bring it up to them." Gregor looked back down at the carcass of the dead surgeon. He gave it a kick of disgust. "We'll take care of the whale."
The blue eye was shining on deck.
From his hiding place under the bridge stairway, Yakov had watched the blue light flare on first, followed by the surrounding circle of white lights. They were all blazing now, so brightly he could not look directly at them. Instead he looked up at the sky, at the helicopter hovering overhead. It descended from the darkness, and Yakov closed his eyes as the wash of the rotors whipped his face. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that the helicopter had landed.
The door swung open, but no one emerged. It was waiting for someone to board.
Yakov crept forward so that he was gazing through the gap between two steps, straight at the helicopter. Lucky Aleksei, he thought. Aleksei must be leaving tonight.
He heard the clang of a door shutting and a figure appeared at the edge of the lit circle. It was Nadiya. She crossed the deck, her body bent forward at the waist, her ass sticking in the air. She was scared those rotors would chop off her stupid head. She leaned inside the helicopter door, her ass still poking out as she spoke to the pilot. Then she backed out and retreated to the edge of the lights.
A moment later, the helicopter lifted off.
The lights shut off, plunging the deck into darkness.
Yakov eased around the stairway to watch as the helicopter rose. He saw the tail swing away like a giant pendulum on a string. Then the craft thundered away, swooping low over the water, and vanished into the night.
A hand grabbed Yakov's arm. He gave a cry as he was yanked backwards and spun around.
'what the fuck are you doing up here?" said Gregor. "Nothing!"
"What did you see?"
"Just the helicopter-' 'what did you see?"
Yakov only stared at him, too terrified to answer.
Nadiya had heard their voices. Now she crossed the deck towards them. 'what is it?"
"The boy's been watching again. I thought you locked the cabin."
"I did. He must have slipped out earlier." She looked at Yakov. "It's always him. I can't watch him every second."
"I've had enough of this one anyway." Gregor gaveYakov's arm a jerk, pulling him towards the stairway hatch. "He can't go back with the others." He turned to open the hatch. Yakov kicked him in the back of the knee. Gregor shrieked, releasing his grip.
Yakov ran. He heard Nadiya's shouts, heard footsteps pounding after him. Then more footsteps, clanging down the bridge stairway. He darted forward, towards the bow. Too late, he realized he had run straight onto the landing deck.
There was a loud clank, and the deck lights flared on.
Yakov was trapped in the very centre of their brilliance. Shielding his eyes, he stumbled blindly away from the sounds of pursuit. But they were all around him now, moving in. Grabbing his shirt. He flailed.
Someone slapped him across the face. The blow sent Yakov sprawling. He tried to crawl away, but his legs were kicked out from under him.
"That's enough!" said Nadiya. "You don't want to kill him!"
"Little motherfucker," Gregor grunted.
Yakov was yanked up by the hair. Gregor shoved him forward across the deck, towards the stairwell hatch. Yakov kept stumbling, only to be dragged back up again by the hair. He couldn't see where they were going. He knew only that they were going down some steps, moving along a corridor. Gregor was cursing the whole way. He was also limping a little, which gave Yakov some small measure of satisfaction.
A door swung open andYakov was tossed over the threshold.
"You can rot in there for a while," said Gregor. And he slammed the door shut.
Yakov heard the latch close. Heard footsteps fade away. He was alone in the darkness.
He drew his knees to his chest and lay hugging himself. A strange trembling seized his body, and he tried to stop it but couldn't. He could hear his own teeth chattering, not from the cold, but from some quaking deep in his soul. He closed his eyes and was confronted with the images of what he'd seen tonight. Nadiya crossing the deck, gliding, floating through an unearthly field of light. The helicopter door open and waiting. Now Nadiya bending over, reaching out as she hands something to the pilot.
A box.
Yakov drew his legs more tightly to his chest, but the trembling didn't ease.