Cancer Ward (71 page)

Quietly Kostoglotov stepped into the doorway. Ahmadjan was standing with his bundle of belongings by the bed stripped of sheets and pillowcases, his white teeth shining, waving one arm, confidently treating the ward to the last story.

The ward had completely changed. Federau was gone, so was the philosopher, so was Shulubin. Strangely enough, Oleg had never heard Ahmadjan tell this particular story to the old ward's inhabitants.

“So they don't build anything?” asked Kostoglotov quietly. “So nothing gets built in the zone, is that right?”

“Yes, they build,” Ahmadjan said, a bit taken aback. “But they build bad.”

“Then you could have … helped them…” Kostoglotov said even more quietly, as if his strength was ebbing.

“My job—rifle; their job—shovel!” replied Ahmadjan cheerfully.

Oleg looked at his fellow patient's face. He seemed to be seeing him for the first time, and yet he had seen him for years, framed by the collar of a sheepskin coat, carrying an automatic rifle. Ahmadjan was uneducated above the checker-playing level, but he was sincere and straightforward.

If decade after decade no one can tell the true story, each person's mind goes its own separate way. One's fellow countrymen become harder to understand than Martians.

Kostoglotov didn't give up. “How do you view it?” he said. “Feeding human beings on shit? You were joking, weren't you?”

“I no joke! They no human beings! They no human beings!” Ahmadjan insisted heatedly.

He hoped to convince Kostoglotov, to make him believe like the others in the ward. He knew Oleg was an exile, but he did not know he had been in the camps.

Kostoglotov glanced out of the corner of his eye at Rusanov's bed. He couldn't understand why Rusanov wasn't speaking up for Ahmadjan. But Rusanov wasn't in the ward.

“And to think I took you for a soldier!” Kostoglotov drawled. “Whose army were you in, I'd like to know? You were in Beria's Army,
*
isn't that so?”

“I don't know no Beria!” said Ahmadjan. He became angry and red in the face. “Those up top—not my business. I swear oath—I serve. They force you—you serve…”

33. Happy Ending …

That day it started to pour with rain. It poured all night as well. It was windy too, and the wind grew colder and colder. By Thursday morning it was a mixture of snow and rain, and those in the clinic who had predicted spring and unsealed the windows, Kostoglotov among them, felt as if slapped with a wet rag. On Thursday afternoon the snow ceased, the rain stopped abruptly and the wind fell. The weather became still, cold and gloomy.

But at sunset the western edge of the sky brightened, turning into a thin strip of gold.

On Friday morning Rusanov was due to be discharged. On that day the sky opened out and was cloudless. The early sun began to dry the big puddles on the asphalt and on the earthen paths which cut across the lawns.

Everyone felt that here was the true, irreversible beginning of spring. They cut through the paper pasted over the cracks, knocked off the bolts, opened the inner portion of the storm windows. Bits of dry putty fell onto the floor for the orderlies to sweep up.

Pavel Nikolayevich had never handed his things into store. He had taken no issue clothing and so was free to discharge himself any time during the day. Immediately after breakfast his family came to fetch him with the car.

And what a surprise! It was Lavrik driving the car, he'd got his driving license the day before!

School holidays had started the day before too. There were parties for Lavrik and long walks for Maika—his younger children were in a state of great excitement. Kapitolina Matveyevna arrived with just the two of them, leaving the older ones behind. Lavrik had persuaded his mother to let him take his friends for a drive afterwards. He had to show he could drive perfectly well, even without Yuri.

Like a film played backward, the whole process was being repeated in reverse, only this time it was all so cheerful! Pavel Nikolayevich walked into the nurse's little room under the stairs in his pajamas and emerged in his gray suit. Lavrik was in an excellent mood. A handsome and sporty young man in a new blue suit, he would have looked quite grown up if he hadn't started fooling around with Maika in the lobby. He kept proudly swinging the car key on a little strap round his finger.

“Have you locked all the doors?” Maika kept asking him.

“Yes, all of them.”

“And you closed all the windows?”

“Go and look for yourself.”

Maika ran off, tossing her dark curls, and returned right away. “Yes, it's all right,” she said. Then immediately she pretended alarm again. “But did you lock the trunk?”

“Go and look for yourself.”

Off she ran again.

There were still men carrying jars of yellow liquid through the lobby toward the laboratory. There were other people, faceless and exhausted, sitting there waiting for a bed to become free. One of them was lying stretched out on a bench. Pavel Nikolayevich watched it all with a certain benevolent condescension. He proved himself a man of courage, stronger than circumstances.

Lavrik carried his father's suitcase. With her beige spring coat and mane of copper-colored hair, Kapa seemed to have grown younger with happiness. She dismissed the nurse with a nod, took her husband's arm and walked along beside him. Maika hung onto her father's other arm.

“Have you seen her new hood? Just look at it, brand-new! It has stripes!”

“Pasha. Pasha!” someone called from behind. They turned round.

Chaly was emerging from the surgical corridor. He looked in good spirits and well, not in the least sallow. The only sign that he was a patient was his hospital pajamas and slippers.

Pavel Nikolayevich shook his hand cheerfully. “Look, Kapa,” he said, “this is our hero from the hospital front line, I want to introduce you. They scooped out his stomach and all he does is smile!”

When he was introduced to Kapitolina Matveyevna, Chaly gracefully clicked his heels and inclined his head to one side, half in play and partly as a mark of respect. “Pasha, your telephone number! Give me your telephone number!” Chaly accosted him.

Pavel Nikolayevich pretended he'd got stuck in the doorway and hadn't heard the question. Chaly was a good fellow, but they moved in different circles, had different ideas, and it might not be quite respectable to get involved with him. He tried to think up a way of refusing politely.

They came out onto the porch and at once Chaly caught sight of the Moskvich.
*
Lavrik had turned it round ready to move off. Chaly cast his eye over it. He did not ask, “Is it yours?” All he said was, “How many on the clock?”

“Just under fifteen thousand.”

“Why are the tires so worn, then?”

“Oh, you know, we just happened to get a bad set … It's the way these workers make them…”

“Shall I get you some?”

“Can you? Maxim, that's wonderful!”

“You bet your life I can! No trouble at all! Write down your phone number, go on!”—he poked a finger at Rusanov's chest. “As soon as I'm discharged I guarantee you'll have them in a week.”

There was no need to think up an excuse now! Pavel Nikolayevich tore a page out of his notebook and wrote down his office and home telephone numbers.

“Good, that's settled then, I'll give you a call,” said Maxim in farewell.

Maika leaped into the front seat, the parents got into the back.

“We'll be friends!” Maxim gave them this parting encouragement. The doors slammed shut.

“We'll have a good time!” shouted Maxim, holding up his fist in a Red Front salute.

“Well, what do I do now?” said Lavrik to Maika. He was giving her a test. “Turn on the ignition?”

“No, first you check that it's in neutral!” Maika's answer came out pat.

They drove off, splashing through the occasional puddle, and turned the corner of the orthopedic wing. There, in a gray dressing gown and boots, a long, lanky patient was walking down the middle of the asphalt road, enjoying an unhurried stroll.

“Blow your horn at him! Give him a good toot!” said Pavel Nikolayevich as soon as he noticed him.

Lavrik gave a short, loud burst. The lanky fellow moved briskly to one side and looked round. Lavrik stepped on the gas and drove past, missing him by about ten centimeters.

“I call him Bone-chewer. A really unpleasant, envious type, if only you knew him! You saw him, Kapa, didn't you?”

“Why does it surprise you, Pasik?” Kapa sighed. “You'll find envy wherever there's good fortune. There are always people who will envy you if you're happy.”

“He's a class enemy,” Rusanov grumbled. “If circumstances were different…”

“I ought to have run over him, then. Why did you tell me to blow the horn?” Lavrik laughed, turning round for a moment.

“Don't you dare turn round when you're driving!” cried Kapitolina Matveyevna in terror.

And it was true, the car had swerved.

“Don't you dare turn round!” repeated Maika with a ringing laugh. “But I can, can't I, Mama?”

She turned her head back to look at them, first to the left, then to the right.

“I'll stop him taking his girls for a drive, that'll teach him!” said Kapitolina Matveyevna.

As they drove out of the Medical Center, Kapa wound down the window and threw a piece of trash out on the road. “Damn the place, I hope we never come back!” she said. “Don't anyone turn round!”

Kostoglotov flung a long stream of obscenities at them as they drove away, carrying on to his heart's content.

The conclusion he had come to was that they were right, he must get himself discharged in the morning. It would be inconvenient to leave in the middle of the day when everyone was discharged. It would be impossible to get anything done outside.

They had promised him his discharge tomorrow.

It was an agreeable, sunny day and growing hotter. Everything was drying up quickly, absorbing the heat. In Ush-Terek too they were doubtless digging their gardens and cleaning the irrigation ditches.

He strolled along, letting his thoughts wander.

How lucky he was! Last winter during fierce frost he had left Ush-Terek to go away and die. Now he'd be back there at the height of spring, he'd be able to plant his little garden. It was wonderful sticking something in the ground and watching it come up.

Except that the gardens were worked in couples, and he was on his own.

He strolled on a bit further and then had an idea: he'd go and see Mita. Some time had passed since the day she had stopped him and kept telling him there were “no vacancies” in the clinic. They had known each other well for some time now.

Mita was sitting in her windowless den under the stairs. The only light came from the electric bulb. His lungs and eyes found it intolerable after walking in the grounds. Mita was stacking and restacking some record cards.

Kostoglotov stooped to squeeze through the low door. “Mita,” he said, “I have a favor to ask. Something important.”

Mita lifted her long, sharply chiseled face. She had always had an ill-proportioned face, ever since she was born. For forty years no man had been attracted enough to kiss it or stroke it with his hand. The tenderness which might have enlivened it had never had a chance to express itself. Mita had become a packhorse.

“What is it?” she asked him.

“They're discharging me tomorrow.”

“I'm very glad for you!” Mita was a kind woman. It was only at first glance she seemed grumpy.

“But it's not about that. There are things I must do in town tomorrow, before I leave in the evening. But they always bring our clothes so late in the day from the store. Couldn't we do it this way, Mitochka—get my things out today, hide them away somewhere, and I'll come down at crack of dawn, change into them and leave?”

“Oh no, that's impossible, really,” said Mita. “If Nizamutdin finds out…”

“He won't find out! I know it's against the rules, but you know, Mitochka, you're only alive when you're breaking rules!”

“But what if they decide not to discharge you tomorrow?”

“It's definite. Vera Kornilyevna said so.”

“But I must have it from her.”

“All right, I'll go and see her about it now.”

“Have you heard the news?”

“No, what news?”

“They say we're all going to be released by the end of the year! They're positive!”

Her unattractive face became prettier as she talked of the rumor she had heard.

“What do you mean, ‘we.'
*
You mean ‘you'?”

“No, it'll mean us
and
you! Don't you believe it?” She waited apprehensively to hear his opinion.

Oleg scratched his head and made a face. He closed one eye completely. “It's possible,” he said. “I mean, it isn't out of the question. Only I've lived through so many of these false alarms, my ears can't take any more.”

“But this time it's definite. They say it's absolutely definite!” She wanted so much to believe it, it was impossible to say no to her.

Oleg put his top lip over his lower and thought for a moment. Of course there was something in the wind. The Supreme Court had been sacked. But it was all happening too slowly, nothing more had happened for a month. He had become skeptical again. History moves too slowly for our lives or our hearts.

“Well, God willing,” he said, mostly for her benefit. “What will you do, then? Will you leave here?”

“I don't know,” Mita declared faintly, almost voicelessly, her big fingernails spread over the well-thumbed cards. She had had enough of them.

“You're from around Salsk, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, do you think things are any better there?”

“It means
freedom,
” she whispered.