He undressed and got into bed. There was still the question of Murmansk, whether inquiries had come from there. He would ask her. Also whether she had written into his record the ban on long-distance driving. She had been writing something, not only the sick-note. He would ask that, too.
And the letter to the collective. Had she written it? Not that he any longer needed a letter. They knew him now in this place, Panarovka. He would come up for her funeral, perhaps … They would take him to the collective, he would meet the Evenks; go out with them to the herds, see this headman Innokenty.
Yes, it was shaping up.
He blew the light out and lay back. He had better do the driving himself tomorrow. He could stop where he wanted then, and do what he had to …
He had a sudden image of the Little Ghost river winding in the moonlight. He would need a spot to overturn the car afterwards; a broken neck had to be explained. He thought it over for some minutes and then stopped and eased himself down in the featherbed. There were plenty of spots, and there would be no problems. Yet he slept badly.
They were out at nine, still in the dark, despite ructions from the mother. ‘No, I am too busy this time,’ Komarova told her impatiently, and handed out perfunctory kisses. He received one himself from Viktoria, and shook hands with the old lady.
‘Let me drive,’ he said, at the car. ‘I am quite relaxed today.’
‘No, I don’t like to be driven. And get in quickly. She will send Viktoria out on some nonsense. Anything to delay me!’
He got in, and the reliable little bastard started immediately. Well, some other way …
She took off down to the river, and drove carefully on to it. ‘It’s even more slippery this morning — last night’s low temperature.’
This was true. In the headlights the river ice had a greasy sheen. He knew he had only about twenty minutes on it, twenty-five at the most, if she drove slowly.
‘Drive slowly,’ he said. ‘There were many sharp bends I noticed on the way in.’
‘I know them. And I trust myself more at the wheel than you. Your hands are shaking.’
‘Perhaps I am tireder than I thought.’
‘You are. You need your rest.’
‘Well, sometimes the patient isn’t the best judge.’
‘He never is. The drivers try and fool me — particularly after sick bay, when they want the long-distance jobs.’
‘Yes. Did you write it in my record — that I can’t drive long distances any more?’
‘I did. But I can change my mind,’ she said, the slight smile appearing.
Yes, but you won’t, he said silently. They had gone a kilometre. He decided to give it another eight, perhaps nine; halfway between the village and the Kolyma. He kept his eye on the clock.
‘Are you watching my speed?’
‘No. I didn’t know I was doing it. A habit of the job.’
‘Of the “boats”?’ She smiled again.
‘Yes. The boats … This seaman you mentioned, the Korean. You thought I looked like a Korean?’
‘Just a look. He had more hair than you.’ She glanced at him, still smiling. ‘A head of hair. With a pigtail, and a moustache. A very angry man.’
‘What was the matter with him?’
‘We thought yellow fever. But it wasn’t.’
‘Why was he angry?’
‘Frustration, mainly. He had almost no Russian. He kept shouting in Korean, bits of Japanese. We thought he wanted to go to Japan — he’d come from there. But it was Murmansk he wanted, and his ship.’
‘So he went there and sailed away?’
‘Yes. I suppose so. He went, anyway.’
‘And you heard nothing more?’
‘No.’ She steered carefully round a bend. ‘Not yet. They’ll acknowledge receipt in time. I discharge a patient from my district, they accept him in theirs. You can’t board a ship after a fever without a proper discharge; which they have first to accept. We get it with Russian sailors sometimes. They’re always slow with the paperwork, Murmansk.’
So something would come. Well, somebody else would deal with it. Two kilometres to go, he saw.
‘Can I smoke?’ he said.
‘You know I don’t permit smoking while I drive.’
‘Then stop for a minute. We’ll both have one.’
‘Don’t be silly, Kolya. You can wait.’
‘It’s true my hands are shaking. Look. A cigarette will pull me together. It confused me, that village. I was quite confused.’
‘So many Chukchees?’
‘Yes. And perhaps — your attitude.’ She had a scarf round her neck. It wouldn’t be in the way. An elbow crooked round the head, a hand at the base of the neck. ‘Stop a while and we’ll talk about it.’
‘I’ll drive, you talk,’ she said dryly.
He took his cigarettes out and opened the packet.
She glanced at him swiftly. ‘Put them away, Kolya. I told you!’
‘Stop the car,’ he said.
‘Don’t talk to me in that way!’ she said angrily.
‘Stop the car.’
‘What do you —’
He got a foot up and kicked both hers off the pedals, at the same time wrenching the wheel. The car slewed and hit the bank and he pulled on the handbrake, still fighting her for the wheel, and managed to steer it round, and again, two complete circles, before it bounced again off the bank, and slowed to a long slithering halt, aslant the track.
Her mouth was open, her face chalky in the reflected light of the headlamps.
‘What are you —’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘No, don’t! Don’t!’
He had an arm round her neck, could feel her breath.
‘It’s me! Understand! Kolya — it’s me you want! You’ve come here for me. For Rogachev — don’t you understand? Rogachev!’
Her head was crooked in his elbow, and he relaxed it slightly, staring at her. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I know who you are! I landed you from the ship. I waited for you! Idiot — fool! Let me go!’
He let her go and they stared at each other. Her mouth, her whole jaw was shaking, eyes still glassy with fright. ‘Were you going to kill me?’
‘Yes.’
They still stared at each other.
‘Where are the cigarettes?’ she said.
He found them under his feet, the packet crumpled. He found two whole ones, and lit them, one for him, and one for her.
Five
THE HOUSE OF DR KOMAROV
33
Her ankle was bruised and swollen where he had kicked it. They sat in the dark room and he watched as she bound a compress on the swelling. They had barely spoken since reaching the house.
He poured himself another vodka. ‘For you?’ he said.
‘No. It’s too early. One is enough.’
It still was early. It wasn’t yet eleven.
The house was a wooden one, like her mother’s, on the outskirts of Tchersky. It was crazily lopsided, a veteran of many thaws; but it stood alone, was not overlooked, had a large shed alongside. The bobik was now in the shed. He had noted all this and was now turning it over in his mind, together with all the other matters revolving there.
She finished binding the ankle and sat back with her own drink. The eyes were still somewhat glassy but now from the vodka, perhaps. She was palely controlled, watching him.
‘Why did you wait so long?’ he asked at last.
‘To see how you managed here. If you were capable.’
‘Did I manage?’
‘Yes. Well enough.’
‘Then why Panarovka, the inquisition?’