‘Or?’
‘It’s better to fuck this Evenk. She says they don’t want presents and it’s healthier for you.’
‘Well, it’s true.’
‘Of course it’s true. Where would you keep the bobik?’
‘I know a place.’
‘You can’t just steal one — they’re all registered. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I know it.’
‘So how would you get one?’
‘I could put it together, if I had a friend with the parts.’
The Yakut smiled. ‘You think you could do it on your own?’
‘With a manual, why not? It’s a toy, you said.’
‘One man can’t fit an engine on his own. It’s too heavy.’
‘With a block and tackle?’
Vassili mused. ‘The block and tackle would be for borrowing only? I can’t make a deficit out of a block and tackle. I only have two.’
‘Of course for borrowing only. What do I want with a block and tackle?’
‘It’s a strong heavy engine. The block would need a strong roof to support it.’
‘I have a strong roof.’
‘Well, I’ll see. Don’t bother me with it now.’
Kolya began taking parts for the bobik the same week. Vassili gave him a printed specification of the car and they ticked off the parts as he took them. The first parts he took were the wheels. He had been angling now for regular deliveries to the area.
To Anyuysk was no problem. Scattered developments there meant frequent trips by light truck. The problem was the further leg to Provodnoye. Factories and apartment blocks were going up there — top class ones, an inducement for European Russians to stay in the wilderness; good heating, big boilers, triple glazing. Heavy loads, and for a big Kama. As the season went on, and the drivers could pick and choose less, big Kamas would regularly do this journey. Two-man crews. No good. He had to be on his own.
He saw he was going to have to do it at night. He could always get a bobik for the night. But there were difficulties here, too. He could get a bobik, but how about the parts? The Light Vehicles depot wasn’t open at night. He would have to take the parts during the day and keep them somewhere. Where? Not in the apartment. How could he run an engine up there, gear box, transmission?
He thought about it while taking the wheels, and a load, down to Anyuysk. He dumped the load quickly, and took off with the wheels towards Provodnoye.
Off the made road and on to the tributary; round and round the tight bends. It took him sixty-five minutes from Anyuysk to the cave. With a bobik he could cut that to maybe forty-five. And from Green Cape to Anyuysk itself — another hour and a quarter. Total, two hours. Four hours there and back. If he started at nine at night when nobody was about, he could be back soon after one in the morning. Nothing.
It would take time to build up the parts before anything could usefully be put together. The heavy engine would be a problem. He would need help getting it in the bobik. Vassili would help him get it in. Then he would have to take off immediately with it, in the lunch hour — whatever other jobs were scheduled for him. He couldn’t leave an engine dumped in a bobik. He would have to take it right to the cave. And then? How to get it out of the bobik and into the cave? A block and tackle could raise and lower it. It couldn’t get it in.
The ptarmigan had shot up again as he approached.
He left the engine running and walked over to the cave and parted the frozen branches. The entrance was wide, far wider than it looked. He tried to find a way of keeping the shrubbery held back but couldn’t. He got back in the truck and, with his headlights on, drove slowly through the screen of branches, careful not to break any off: the screen effectively hid the cave.
He got the nose of the truck in and climbed out and looked about him. The headlights brilliantly lit up the place, a hoary ice box: roof, walls, floor, all glittering like diamonds. A spacious ice box, too. Plenty of room to build a bobik, and also to drive one right in. He looked up at the roof, and the hole he had drilled. In the wrong place, but yes! Of course. A piece of cake! He could fit the block to the roof at the rear of the cave. Then back the bobik in and hoist the engine out. No problem.
He wasted no more time, got the wheels out and stacked against the end wall, reversed the truck on to the river and drove back to Green Cape.
He’d build up the supplies fast; on as many days as he could. And night after night if possible. Yes, he’d start seriously now.
And this he did, by day and also by night.
29
The Despatch depot: ‘Kolya — Yura wants you. Run down and see him now.’
‘But I’ve got a load here, ready to go.’
‘Leave it. He’s in a temper, very excited. Take the bobik there — the key’s in.’
He drove down to the Kama hangar, puzzled and cautious.
The place had greatly changed, he saw. No longer the vast array of vehicles lined up row on row. Only a dozen or so of the giant trucks were scattered about now; most being worked on by mechanics.
Yura was in his glass booth and on the phone again. He frowned at the Chukchee and motioned him in.
‘Kolya, what’s this?’ he said, putting the phone down. ‘Piddling about all the time to Anyuysk — and with little Tatras and Urals. What is it?’
‘It’s trips. It’s okay. They give me the jobs.’
‘They’re taking advantage of you. This is no good, Kolya.’
‘I don’t complain, it’s fine.’
‘You don’t complain, but it bloody isn’t fine! You’re picking up no money! And getting no time on a 50! What experience are you getting?’
‘I didn’t come for experience. I’m filling in.’
‘You’re mine! My driver! I told you so. There’s a good distance man in you — young, stamina, plenty of go. You need time on a 50. Piddling about locally is no good. It’s no good, Kolya!’
‘They want me, what can I do?’
‘You can go to Bilibino. Tomorrow. I’ve cleared it with Bukarovsky. You’re down on the sheet. No arguments. It’s done!’
Well, if it was done; on the sheet. He couldn’t make a fuss about getting off it. To Bilibino and back was 1400 kilometres — a plum three-day job for the drivers, and soon to be scarce as the backlog cleared …
He cursed as he drove back. Three days away, and what shape would he be in for his night work afterwards? To hell with Bilibino!
But to Bilibino he went.
They left at eight in a snowstorm and day didn’t dawn till almost eleven. They drew a twenty-ton trailer, with another one hitched on behind, and were in a convoy of four, all big Kamas. The two in front could not be seen through the wall of snow in the headlights, but as the day slowly came and the dim shapes emerged lumbering ahead, Vanya relaxed. He was a grizzled elderly fellow, specially selected as a mentor for the Chukchee.
‘You’ll take over after the first stop,’ he said. ‘There’s a straight stretch coining, but plenty of uphill shifts. Mustn’t lose your footing — it’s a long slide down for these bastards.’ His yellow teeth showed in a grin.
The first stop came soon after eleven, No. 1 of the road stations. The two trucks in front had pulled in, together with another couple going the other way; and behind them, as they parked in a clutter of bobiks, came the fourth of their convoy.
A radio was going and it was very warm and smoky in the log hut. Cooking smells drifted from the kitchen, and cigarette smoke hung over the tables where the drivers sat so that in the fug it was some minutes before he saw that one of them was a woman. She was also smoking, and in conversation, and his eyes were drawn in that direction because he heard his name mentioned. The drivers were grinning as he looked over.