‘She’s writing her university thesis on why the first human settlements in space will have to be communist.’
‘Seriously?’ asked Yuri.
‘I think she has some very interesting arguments,’ replied Grigory.
‘I’ll bet she does. But that still doesn’t explain why she’s here, in Pyramiden.’
‘We were the closest thing she could find to a space-like living environment,’ said Grigory.
‘Well, she’s got that right,’ agreed Yuri. ‘Ice cold and light years away from civilisation. Cosmonaut Katerina. Her application to come here must have been greeted with open arms. I suppose they are going to milk her for publicity.’
‘No one is using anyone. We are going to help her, that’s all. You know some day you are going to drown in that cynicism of yours.’ Grigory walked on.
‘I’m a good swimmer,’ said Yuri. ‘Chess soon?’
‘If I’m free. Just come find me.’
It was true what Grigory had said. Sometimes his affairs had not ended as cleanly as he liked to imagine. One in particular, involving the wife of a miner, had been spectacularly messy. Threats, spousal violence and a couple of kids caught in the crossfire. The experience had made him avoid the extra complications of married women ever since.
For several days afterwards, Yuri and Semyon worked together on the dam system that prevented the town from flooding in the spring thaw. No water was running down the mountain now, but it would as soon as winter was over, and they needed to prepare in advance. The two men rarely spoke for the whole of this time spent in close proximity to one another. When they did it was short and to the point. Yuri didn’t know, or care, what he did in his spare time, but having Semyon around kept him on edge.
After yet another day of sly looks and non-communication, Yuri decided he was spending too much time second-guessing his potential Latvian usurper, and that he needed to think more about himself. It had been four months since he had any female companionship and he resolved to take matters into his own hands the following morning.
Parents were still dropping their children off when Yuri arrived in the school lobby, carrying his metal toolbox. He explained to the headteacher that it was routine for him to check all the systems in every building at least once a year, and today was the school’s turn.
‘But the classes are starting,’ she protested. ‘Couldn’t you come back in the evening when everyone is gone?’
‘Oh no. It’ll take me the whole day at least,’ he argued. And when she was still reluctant, he added, ‘Wouldn’t you rather a little disturbance now, than allow a problem to build up and have to shut down the whole school for who knows how long?’
‘All right,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘I suppose, if you think it’s really necessary.’
‘Don’t worry. You won’t even know I’m here.’
Yuri took a moment to check the electrical fuse box inside the front door, while casting a curious glance down the hall towards the classrooms. He could already hear her voice, addressing her pupils. He had planned to make more of a pretence about his presence here by visiting all the other rooms first. But he decided to hell with that – he wanted to see her straight away. Perhaps she really did have no interest in him, but he was going to aim high until there was a reason not to.
On his way down the corridor, he passed a long line of children’s winter boots. Hanging above them on hooks were their thick winter coats, with gloves dangling from the pockets.
He knocked politely on her classroom door and entered, without waiting for permission.
‘Good morning, Miss Anya,’ he said.
She didn’t reply, just looked at him, waiting for an explanation for his intrusion. He ignored her stare and headed to the back of the classroom, watched by many little eyes. There, he knelt at the radiator under the window. His being in her classroom didn’t seem to disturb her too much; she continued without hardly missing a beat. She was teaching mathematics to a group of ten-year-olds. Her style was direct and no-nonsense. She wasn’t harsh with the kids, but she certainly wasn’t motherly either. Yuri liked that about her. He didn’t trust homemakers any more. He listened to her for as long as he thought he could reasonably stay in the room. When she wasn’t looking he watched her from the corner of his eye. His opinion had not changed. She was the best-looking woman he had ever seen in Pyramiden.
Suddenly there was silence, and Yuri looked up to see that the children had been tasked to work on a problem on their own. Seizing this opportunity, he quickly packed up his things and walked to the front of the classroom.
‘Are you finding everything all right in here?’ he asked her.
Even though she was not actually doing anything at that moment, Anya looked displeased at being addressed directly, in a way she would have to respond to.
‘Everything is fine,’ she said.
‘No problems?’ he asked.
‘If there is a problem, I’m sure someone will call you. I already said, everything is fine.’
He smiled. Her expression didn’t change.
‘Yes, yes you did.’
He nodded once and walked out with the feeling that his knuckles had just been rapped, like a schoolboy. A long bleak season of solitude appeared to be stretching out in front of him. There would be no more boats until March. Pyramiden had reached its full winter complement of women. He could of course, set his sights lower, but he was not in the mood for that right now. He wondered if there were any good books in the library that he had not already read.
Since Yuri had returned at the beginning of October, the hours of sunlight had been getting gradually shorter until one day, towards the end of the month, the sun did not rise at all. It would stay that way for another 111 days exactly. For a few more weeks there would be several hours of twilight each day, when there would still be a perceptible light just below the horizon at sunrise and sunset. Then that too would be gone and all would be given over to darkness. It was a surreal time for everyone. Yuri had experienced it eleven times before, but the fresh arrival of endless night still had a tendency to push him closer to the edge of sanity. Each day ran into the next, and the next, with no visible difference. Time seemed to have frozen at the moment when night was at its darkest and light should have begun its return. Wearing a watch became both pointless and essential. He expected that for the miners, the tunnel rats, it must be business as usual, since they rarely saw the sun anyway.
The weather changed too. Without the sun, the cold became something sinister. A foe to be battled.
Two days after the sun went into hiding, Yuri ran into Catherine outside the swimming pool. She had another gleeful expression on her face.
‘You see?’ she said.
‘See what?’ he asked.
She waved at the darkness surrounding them, and the starry sky above. ‘Space. Now my study can really begin.’
‘Ah,’ he agreed. ‘So it can.’
‘You’re on my list to interview,’ she said. ‘I’ll be tracking you down one of these days.’
As she walked away, he was pleased that his first impression of her had been incorrect. She was not such a ditzy cosmonaut after all. As the wind began to whip up around him, he gazed up at the Milky Way, which was as clear as though he were looking through a telescope. He felt a sudden chill. Not from the cold. It was the thought that Catherine’s theory might come true and that busts of Lenin might one day find their way up to those stars too.
After doing thirty lengths of the pool, Yuri made his way to the canteen in the Cultural Palace. He was late and there were no other diners left, but the kitchen staff managed to rustle up a hot meal for him from the leftovers. A clear fish soup to start, followed by minced pork dumplings with sour cream. The chandeliers had been switched off, and the only illumination came from the fluorescent kitchen lights. It was peaceful having the place to himself. A tsar alone in his grand dining hall. But it didn’t last.
Timur walked up the staircase and stopped bef
ore reaching the top. He nodded for Yuri to come down to him. Yuri hesitated. A private word with a KGB agent was never desirable; but this one seemed unavoidable. He put down his knife and fork and walked down to the first stairwell, to where Timur had retreated.
‘How long have you been in here?’ Timur asked.
‘I just got here,’ Yuri said. ‘Now my dinner is getting cold. Why do you ask?’
‘Do you know what Semyon was doing this evening?’
‘Yes, I do actually,’ replied Yuri. ‘The mine reported a problem with the air ventilation. I sent him down to fix it.’
‘Why didn’t you do it yourself?’
Yuri decided not to admit that he didn’t like it down there. It offered too much of a ripe excuse for demoting a mine’s chief maintenance engineer.
‘I was busy,’ he said. ‘And it seemed like a minor problem. Semyon’s well able to handle stuff like that on his own. What’s he gone and done?’
Timur paused before answering. ‘The job wasn’t so simple, as it happens. He’s dead.’
Chapter 3
THE WHEELS ON the cable car squeaked in regular rhythm as it pulled Yuri and Timur up the mountainside. The steel tracks were enclosed in a wooden tunnel, which was the only thing preventing their faces being lashed by the icy wind. This was the second death in the space of a month of someone Yuri had known. News of the Latvian’s death had come as a shock, but he knew he was not going to shed any tears for Semyon. Still, he had been Yuri’s assistant, and therefore his responsibility, at least to some degree.
Yuri glanced over at his travelling companion, who was staring at him. He wasn’t crying either. Although Yuri couldn’t remember Timur ever showing any kind of emotion. When he had relayed the news about Semyon, he had done so as though it were an inconvenience.
‘Looks like your job is safe then,’ said Timur. ‘Competition out of the way.’
Yuri didn’t answer.
‘I know you sabotaged the heating system, just like he said,’ continued Timur. ‘That was smart.’
Yuri looked away and remained silent. The KGB man tapped his fingers on the side of the metal cable car, to the rhythm of some unknown tune. Yuri had come across many officials like Timur in his time. From experience, he knew it was best not to deflate their illusion that they were the smartest guys in the room. When men like him were feeling confident, they were less dangerous.
The broad, hulking figure of Igor, the mine foreman, gradually came into view at the top of the tunnel. Even from here, Yuri could see that the big man was shaken. Igor was six foot four and as wide as a house. A rampant beard covered half his face, and he was wrapped in the great black overcoat he always wore. The man had not done any actual digging in years. Yet, he was in charge of everything that happened up here. Igor nodded as they climbed out of the cable car, and stroked his beard.
‘This way,’ he said, and led them into the tunnel.
Yuri took a last deep breath at the mouth of the shaft, but regretted it immediately as the cold mountain air stabbed his lungs. Then he joined the others.
They followed the mine’s strip lighting through a bewildering maze of tunnels. To Yuri, every black shaft looked the same as the last. At least Igor seemed to know where he was going. They passed a few miners, who gave them that peculiar, silent nod of condolence usually reserved for family members at a funeral service. Yuri had gotten those looks from his brother’s neighbours the previous month, and receiving them again so soon was disconcerting. On this occasion, Yuri was not a relative, or a friend, and so deserved no sympathy.
After turning another corner, Igor stopped without warning and Yuri banged into his back. Igor stood and waited for his two visitors to start the conversation. The light in this tunnel was dimmer than in the main channel. Yuri looked around but could not see Semyon.
‘Where is he?’ he asked.
Igor pointed to a tarpaulin on the ground that may have been white once, but had now taken on the same coal-stained hue as the rest of this underground world. Resting beside the tarpaulin was a bashed ventilation unit and a small pile of rubble. Yuri looked at the roof above them. It appeared intact.
‘Is it safe in here?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Igor. ‘It’s safe.’
Yuri looked from the body-shaped tarpaulin to Timur, waiting for him to make an inspection of the remains. He was the agent in charge, after all; what passed for the force of law in this Soviet outpost. Igor, he saw, was expecting the same thing, but Timur appeared to have no intention of going anywhere near the corpse. He wasn’t even looking at it. Instead, he started to order the contents of his engraved silver cigarette case.
‘What happened?’ asked Yuri, getting impatient.
‘The ventilation unit. He was working on it and it seems to have come loose and fallen on him,’ said Igor. ‘Part of the wall collapsed too.’
‘So it was an accident?’ said Yuri.
The foreman paused and caught Timur’s eye, before nodding without conviction.
Timur sighed. ‘Get him out of here. I’ll tell the Norwegians.’ And he started to head back the way they’d come.
‘Aren’t you going to check him?’ demanded Yuri. ‘He could be alive for all you know.’
Timur shot him an angry glance. ‘I already did. I want to see you in my office now.’
‘That’s it?’ asked Yuri. ‘I want to see for myself.’
Timur continued on his way. ‘You can play doctor, and policeman, if you want. My office, ten minutes. Then get him up top, Igor. And I’ll need a written report from you, by tomorrow.’
Igor remained silent and expressionless throughout this exchange, which was probably how he had gotten to the senior position of mine foreman.
‘He was already down here?’ asked Yuri.
‘Yes,’ said Igor. ‘One hour ago.’
Yuri realised that this sideshow had been put on just for him, to see how he would react at the scene. Which meant Timur had put two and two together and had come up with a crime, with his name as prime suspect. So perhaps this wasn’t the accident it appeared to be. At least, if Timur was really convinced he had anything to do with this he would already have locked him up. The KGB man was just fishing. Yuri hoped he hadn’t unwittingly given him any encouragement in his suspicions.
He knelt down and pulled the tarpaulin up with one hand. The sight that greeted him was not pretty. He was glad he had not had the chance to eat much of his second course. Semyon had a deep, open gash on one side of his forehead, and smaller abrasions across both sides of his face. Judging by his pallor, there seemed to be no point in checking for a pulse. Unlike Yuri’s brother, laid out at the funeral home in Moscow, Semyon did not have the expression of someone who was at peace. The man appeared to have suffered in his final moments.
‘Maybe his skull cracked,’ said Igor. ‘Or his neck. That’s usually what happens.’
‘Usually?’ said Yuri.
‘When something heavy lands on a man’s head.’
‘How many mine collapses have you had here?’
Igor looked Yuri in the eye. ‘Since I’ve been here, none. I put the safety of my men first. They know that and they trust me. You can ask any of them.’
‘No one is blaming you,’ said Yuri. ‘So what happened? Did this wall give way?’
‘No,’ said Igor, taking the suggestion as a personal affront. ‘The wall is strong. I don’t let anyone work unless the walls are strong.’ He slapped the side of the tunnel with his large palm to prove the point. The man did inspire confidence. Yuri could see the other miners putting their lives in his hands.
‘How did this happen then?’ asked Yuri. ‘Any of the other men see, or hear, anything?’
The foreman shook his head and pointed at the bulging tarpaulin. ‘He was down here alone. I met him when he arrived, up at the entrance. I offered but he said he didn’t want any help.’
Yuri could well believe Semyon refusing assistance. He was the kind of person who though
t he knew everything, and could handle things better on his own. Yuri walked around the body to the ventilation unit, which was lying on the ground where it had fallen. With two hands, he lifted one side of it in the air. He didn’t get very far. It was certainly heavy enough to kill someone if it hit them in the right spot. One bottom corner had a large dent in it, and long scratches in the same place, as if from metal against metal. Igor saw what had attracted his attention, and he nodded.
‘I saw that too,’ he said. ‘To me, it looks like he deliberately pulled the whole thing down off the wall on top of himself.’
Yuri stood up and brushed the coal dust from his hands.
‘You putting that in your report?’ he asked.
Igor stared at him for a moment. It was the familiar Soviet pause. The who-am-I-talking-to hesitation. Gauging how well do I know this person in front of me? Could he or she be a paid informer? It was impossible to tell for sure, even if it was your grandmother.
Igor shook his head. ‘I will write “accident”.’
Yuri was about to leave when a thought made him kneel down again beside the body. First, he went through Semyon’s pockets. Igor stared at him but did not interrupt. He found some keys and money in Semyon’s trousers. At the bottom of the inside pocket of his jacket, he found a miniature notebook, the kind with only twenty or thirty pages in it. He opened it and saw some odd words written at the top of each page, with a list of dates underneath, all within the last year. He had no idea what the lists referred to, but he put it in his own pocket for later. Then, with two hands, he pushed the body on to its side. The dead man let out an eerie breath. Underneath was the usual black mine debris. And stuck to the back of his jacket were Semyon’s glasses, bent and shattered.
Yuri had heard and witnessed many strange things in his lifetime, but suicide by ventilation unit seemed unlikely. It was true that he had never gone to the bother of getting to know the man, but he had not pegged Semyon as the self-harming, defeatist type. He was ambitious, with solid goals in life. And he was still young enough to harbour realistic expectations of achieving them.
The Reluctant Contact Page 3