‘Next man inside.’
He went inside.
The guards’ dormitory was exceedingly tidy; iron beds, not bunks, and all made up with military precision. There was also a long table and a few comfortable chairs but these had been moved to the far end of the room, beyond reach of contaminating Evenks. The only piece of furniture for the Evenks was a bare form, and three of them sat on it, with their hats on. A guard stood beside them, his uniform fur hat held ostentatiously under his arm. They moved up, winking, and made room for the new man, and Kolya sat.
There was a small sauna off the dormitory. It had running water, and here the surgery had been set up. Another guard, hat under his arm, stood sternly outside it. The door was a little ajar and he could hear her voice. She dealt just as briskly with the new patient, and soon another man had come in and he was moving along the form. In no time he was at the head of the form — the last three Evenks shuffling along with him and grinning so broadly that even the guards began to stare. He couldn’t tell what they made of it. No sense was expected of the Evenks; what sense was there, after all, in keeping hats on because a baby had been named? But it kept him on tenterhooks, until it was his turn to go in.
He saw at once that something was wrong.
Her face was tight, stiff, paler than ever.
She sat at a table with a pile of papers, her medical case open. A sheet had been spread on another table and a pillow placed on it. She was writing.
‘Well? Any medical problems?’
‘I’ve pulled a muscle, Doctor. Here, in my back.’
‘All right. Let’s see. Take your top clothing off.’
He did so, and she shook her head at him as he opened his mouth. ‘Yes. I can feel it. I’ll give you an injection, and a preparation to be rubbed in. Guard!’
The guard outside the door looked in.
‘Send my driver in.’
The guard looked at her, and shook his head.
‘Can’t do that, Doctor. If there’s something you want, I’ll send for it.’
‘Yes, very well. It’s the diethylamine salicylate solution, camphorated, and quickly, please.’
‘The — what was that?’
‘The diethylamine sal — Just a minute.’ She irritably shook her head and wrote swiftly on a slip of paper. ‘It’s in the fixed brown compartment, left upper quadrant. And I want a spare 100-millilitre bottle. And funnel. Lift your arm,’ she said to her patient.
‘Fixed brown compartment, hundred millilitres, upper quadrant and a funnel,’ the guard said and went bemusedly out of the room with the slip of paper. This he gave to the guard outside the barrack door, who went with the instructions to the bobik. He returned presently and conferred with the surgery guard, who tapped on the door and put his face in again.
‘He doesn’t know what you mean,’ he said.
‘Doesn’t know what — How many patients are out there?’
The guard had a look.
‘Three,’ he said.
‘Still three? Send that driver in!’ she said, with fury.
‘Doctor, I — Well, for a moment,’ he said, seeing her mouth open again; and in a minute or two the driver was lounging in, with his fancy balaclava and his fine hat, chewing gum. ‘Sorry, Doctor, I couldn’t make out —’
‘God above! … Just a minute — you! Leave the room!’ she said abruptly, noticing that the guard had come in with the man.
‘Doctor, he can’t come in here unaccompanied.’
‘And you can’t come in when I have a patient!’ The patient was now bent over the sheeted table with his shirt up, and she was bent over him. ‘Get out at once!’
The guard hastily vacated the room, and the medical officer slammed the door on him, and stood against it, while the two remaining occupants swiftly changed places, and clothes. Papers, too, passed.
‘A bottle, a funnel, and solution from the brown case!’ her voice rang out. ‘Here, written in the largest letters. Does it take so long to understand a simple —’
It didn’t take so long, and the driver was soon out again with the paper, ruefully shaking his head. He was not allowed to remain unaccompanied for long. The surgery guard accompanied him outside. The barrack guard accompanied him to the bobik. And the bobik guard watched closely as he unlocked the rear of the vehicle. The rear was now stacked with cases of empty jars and drums, but the fixed compartment was accessible and it took him no time to pick out the large jar of liniment, with an empty medicine bottle and a funnel.
These he was not allowed to take back in himself, so he returned to the driving seat; from which, less than ten minutes later, he hopped out to open the passenger door for Medical Officer Komarova. She was leaning on her stick and carrying the file of medical papers, one guard holding her medical case and another the liniment jar and the funnel.
Major Militsky, forewarned, hurried out of his office.
‘I can’t tempt you to stay for a bite, Medical Officer?’
‘No, thank you, Major. I must get on — the weather is very threatening.’ She handed over the file. ‘And thank you for facilitating the matter of the baby’s name. The Evenks are happy about it. It means a great deal to them.’
‘We must respect their traditions. It was a pleasure.’
‘Very good. Is everything ready here?’
Everything was ready. The funnel and the liniment were back in the fixed compartment; the rear shut; the escorting jeep waiting.
‘Goodbye, Medical Officer.’ Major Militsky handed her gallantly into the bobik, and snapped off a most happy salute.
‘Goodbye, Major.’
‘Until next time … Off you go, Sergeant.’
And off they went, through the two sets of gates and down the icy path.
‘Something’s wrong,’ he said.
‘Yes. I’ll tell you later. I feel sick.’
He slowly followed the jeep down. They halted at the lower checkpost to be signed out, were saluted off the premises, and entered the creek.
‘What is it?’ he said.
She had heard the news this morning at a settlement where she and the driver had spent the night — both nights had been spent at European settlements: the man unknown at either. Her secretary had telephoned to say that Tchersky militia wanted the Chukchee driver, Khodyan. Why? The secretary didn’t know, but they had asked for the medical officer to call them.
This she had done immediately.
The militia chief was an old patient, and he had told her that a small matter had cropped up: an inquiry late last night from Batumi on the Black Sea. A man called Ponomarenko was being held there, and Tchersky had been asked to find out who was at present occupying his apartment. He had told them it was Khodyan and they’d asked for him to be held and his papers checked. From the transport company he had learned that Komarova had him for a few days. Was she coming back now?
Yes, some time today. Was this man a criminal?
Not as far as the police chief knew — probably just needed to confirm some aspect of Ponomarenko’s story. They’d be sending him more information on it. Anyway, get him to look into the station with his papers when they returned.
They drove for some minutes in silence.
‘You can’t go back to Green Cape,’ she said.
‘No.’
He kept silence and she looked at him.
He was like an animal, scenting.
‘If they’re inquiring who’s in his apartment,’ he said at last, ‘that’s a funny inquiry. Why should anybody be in it? Why should they want to know? He’s told them. He’s told them how he was fixed. I’m blown.’
He stopped the car suddenly.