Part 11 (1/2)
Relieved at having evaded disagreeable consequences, Leonid examined his surroundings. The streetlamps were just coming on. This part of town was quite lively, with people going in and out of the little bars around the train station. Leonid decided to take the late bus back to Korsakov, stuffed the cloth bag containing his recent purchase into an inside pocket, and strolled off into the evening. The soldiers he saw were wearing linen uniform jackets, which were a rarity on Sakhalin even in summer. A couple was having trouble with their motor scooter; to save face, the young man had his girlfriend sit on the scooter and started pus.h.i.+ng both machine and girl up a hill.
Leonid felt like having a drink. He made sure the pistol was securely stowed away and stepped into a corner bar. It was furnished in the style of a yurt: Larch poles ribbed the ceiling, giving the impression of a tent; pelts and art objects adorned the walls; only the bare concrete floor broke the illusion. The waitress, who was wearing a yellow silk jacket, offered the guest a seat at a table already occupied by a family. Leonid wanted to sit by himself and said that he'd be glad to wait until one of the smaller tables was free. There was no bar, so he leaned against the wall and ordered vodka; then, sipping his drink, he looked around him.
Although it was a workday, people had dressed up for their restaurant visit. There seemed to be about as many Nivkhs as nonnatives of the island; at one table, for example, there was a Russian family, and some Koreans were sitting at the one behind it. An older man turned his daughter's wheelchair around and pushed it toward the exit. Leonid signaled to the waitress that he'd take over their table, but just as he reached it, he collided with someone who'd had the same idea. It was a woman, and she was rubbing her shoulder.
”Forgive me, I didn't see you.”
”I've been waiting longer than you.”
”Certainly.” He turned away.
”Is anybody with you?” Leonid shook his head. The woman pointed to the only other chair. ”Well, then ...”
She looked older than he and was wearing black trousers and a red jacket with darts that combined with her pinned-up hair to produce a somewhat insolent effect. He noticed the man's wrist.w.a.tch on her arm. They took their seats, and Leonid looked around for a menu. ”There are only three dishes,” she said. She opened her jacket, revealing a collarless lab coat underneath. ”Smoked fish, smoked meat, and smoked whale. Everything's too highly seasoned, but it's edible.”
”You come here often?” The pistol was pressing against his chest, but he didn't trust himself to transfer the weapon inconspicuously to another pocket.
”When I have to eat fast. The hospital's only a block away.”
”That's where you work?” The lab coat wasn't right for a nurse.
”Alas, it is.” She looked over at the waitress, who came smiling to their table. ”The Number One,” the woman said.
”For me, too,” said Leonid, falling in with the company. ”And tea.”
”How do you know what the Number One is?”
”Well, you surely didn't order whale, did you? What do you do in the hospital?”
”I'm a butcher,” she answered, adding, when he stared at her in surprise, ”under the circ.u.mstances, what I do can't be called surgery.”
”You're a surgeon?”
”A visiting surgeon. In a few months, I can go back home.”
”Where's that?”
”Yakutia.”
”In eastern Siberia? And you're looking forward to that?”
”It's cold,” she said, ”but our hospitals aren't as prehistoric as the ones here.” She exchanged her knife and fork. ”In Yakutsk, I work as a doctor should. Here I'm glad for a day when chickens don't stray into the operating room.”
Their food arrived. When the woman tucked in hungrily, Leonid saw that she was left-handed. ”You're not from here,” she said.
”How can you tell?”
”You have the big-city look.”
He cast his eyes down. ”What does the big-city look like?”
”It looks like you know better. About everything.” She chewed. ”Moscow, Leningrad?”
”Moscow. You're eating too fast.”
”I know, it's not becoming.” She drank some tea. ”I'm Galina Korff.”
He took his first bite. ”An unusual name.”
”Believe it or not, my grandfather was the last governor-general of Sakhalin.”
”So how did you wind up in Siberia?”
”How, indeed. We had a revolution. After that, governors weren't very popular.” She looked at her watch. ”My whole family was exiled.”
”You were allowed to study at a university even though your grandfather was a counterrevolutionary?”
”Only a smug, arrogant Muscovite would ask such a question.” She wiped her mouth. ”Incidentally, what you're eating there is whale meat.” She stood up. ”I have to get back.”
He put down his fork. ”You perform operations at this hour?”
”The electricity's more reliable at night.” She b.u.t.toned up her jacket. ”During the day, the lights flicker constantly. Sometimes we have to run the heart-lung machine by hand.”
”You're exaggerating, right?”
”Of course. What's your name?”
”Leonid Nechayev.” He pushed his plate away. ”Are you here every evening?”
”Why do you ask that? You want to flirt with me?”
He wiped his greasy mouth on the back of his hand. ”What makes you think that?”
”You're the type,” Galina said. ”What do you do?”
Leonid noticed that the people at the next table were p.r.i.c.king up their ears. He reached the waitress before Galina did and paid the check. ”If you permit me, I'll walk along with you,” he said. They left the eating place together. It was a friendly night, and contrary to his usual custom, the captain felt lighthearted. ”Which direction?” he asked.
Galina stood still and said, ”First you have to tell me what you are.”
”I'm an army officer. Stationed in the south, in Korsakov.” He scrutinized her to see whether this admission put her off.
”You're wearing a wedding ring, Leonid,” Galina said, and started walking up the hill. He remained at her side. With every step, the pistol beat against his chest.
Metallic noises indicated that the men outside were busy with the salvage equipment; a steel hawser was being secured to the cutter's hull. Captain Nechayev's hand was still on his weapon. He wanted to hold Galina Korff's face in his memory, but try though he might, it faded. In his imagination, Galina's features were replaced by Anna's-her cheekbones, her nose. Galina's lips were more scornful, her eyes more mysterious.
They went down the s.h.i.+p's rope ladders. Leonid had Likhan Chevken go first; behind them, the third man in their team provided security for the inspection. They reached a bulkhead with a sign that read CARGO HOLD. NO SMOKING. Leonid wondered what could be flammable in there. Peering through the hatch, he saw that the storage s.p.a.ce contained sc.r.a.pped motors; diesel oil and gasoline formed s.h.i.+ny puddles. The last bulkhead was locked with steel wire and the room sealed with a leaden plate.