«Onward,» Orest nodded toward the rails.
«Ah…» Mikhras pulled up his pants and ran off.
«All the best!» Orest yelled after him, and turned to Alex. «So, where're those train cars of ours?»
«There's the switcher's booth over there. Let's ask.»
They approached the booth. Before the door, which was open a crack, a tiny man was crawling on all fours and looking through the slit with some field binoculars.
«Excuse me,» Alex cleared her throat.
«Hold on!» the man shook his finger at them. «Just a sec…»
They waited. Finally, tittering and rubbing his palms together, he got to his feet: a little old man in a bulky service cap, pulled down over his ears, with sideburns like clumps of soap foam. His pinkish face glimmered with sweat. Rapture shone in his celestial little orbs. He removed the blocky binoculars from around his neck and handed them to Orest.
«Here ya go. Go ahead, have yourself a look… She's under the table, on top of the coat, heh-heh.»
Orest shrugged and stuck the binoculars into the doors' slit. The old timer whispered to Alex, excitedly:
«Show us yer titties!»
Alex recoiled. The old timer laughed, soundlessly.
Orest turned back to them, dismayed.
«A cat… having kittens…»
«Again?» asked the oldster, snatching back the binoculars. He dropped down once more in front of the crack, but immediately pulled back, disappointed. «Naw, that's just her getting ready.» He focused the binoculars on Mollie. «And is this a bitch?»
«She's a girl,» answered Alex, stubbornly.
The old timer turned the binoculars on her chest. Orest stepped in front of the lenses.
«Do you really need binoculars to deliver some kittens?» he asked.
«It wouldn't make no sense without 'em,» said the geezer, plainly distressed. «Murka's shy, she hides, an' how much detail can you make out from far away? So I thought'a this… You can see everythin' plain, like the back'a my hand.» He scrunched up his face into a blissful squint. «It splits open… that thing'a hers… and this little piece 'a little'un falls out, plumps down,» he said, staring at Orest. «You ever seen a woman deliver?»
«B-but a cat isn't a woman,» Orest babbled.
«This is idiotic,» Alex hmphed.
«And who're you?» asked the geezer, slitting his eyes suspiciously. «Whadda you 'gentlemen' call yerselves, eh? Bums? And with a bitch, too! Just look at you!»
«Pardon us,» Orest shoved Alex aside. «We're not gentlemen, and we're not vagrants. We're circus people, left behind by our train. We've come all the way from Gnilukha. Where around here do you think our cars would be, would you be so kind as to tell us?»
«Kuzkin knows everything,» replied the geezer, placing one arm importantly akimbo, the other into his jacket, after Napoleon. «Your cars're gone, poof.»
«What do you mean, 'poof'?!»
«Just that, 'poof.' Simple. I switched the points over to the Zheltokrysino line myself.»
«Damn!» Orest pounded his sides.
«Over there's an empty car setting off that way. Go catch it,» the switcher said, sneeringly, pointing into the distance.
Five, six rail lines away, near a small grove, some train cars sprinkled with something white were slowly on the move, their side doors wide open on both sides. The chain of cars stretched out unevenly, to the left and right.
The circus folk quickly set off for it.
«Don't fall in the switches, you'll cripple yerselves!» the geezer said in parting.
«We know!»
«Does the bitch know?» he chortled.
As they came alongside the train, Orest yelled out:
«Let's grab Mollie!»
They caught up the dog and, when an opening floated by, threw her into the car.
Just at that moment Mollie kicked her hind legs, inadvertently making their task easier. A column of white dust sprang up from the patch of floor where the dog plopped down. The others jumped in — and all three immediately started sneezing.
«My throat's sore,» Orest got out, hoarsely.
«What were they carrying in here? Cement?» Alex rasped. «Wish I could drink something…»
A billowing white blizzard whirled about the train cars, streaming after them as the engine gained speed.
The train stopped at a small station. A trackman, wielding an iron hook and long-nosed funnel, walked along the cars, checking lubricant in the axle boxes. He would open a box's lid with the hook and, ifneeded, pour in some grease.
«Zheltokrysino?» asked Alex.
«No,» the trackman looked warily at the bald-headed creature. «Skumbak's.»
«What was that for?» said Alex, offended, not having heard quite right.
«Formerly this place was called Lenin's Ten Commandments, and now it's just Skumbak's.»
«Oh, well, in that case…» Alex calmed down. «That's a pretty name.»
«They named it after the first Russian new rich to come live here. Vovan.»
«Uh-huh… Do you happen to know if the circus went by here?»
«It took off a while back.»
«And when are we gonna get going again?»
«See Ivanov over there?» the trackman was nodding at a fellow worker checking boxes at the other end of the train, moving in towards them. «Once he and I meet up, somewhere in the middle.»
«Where can I get a drink of water?»
«Why don't you ask the Turkmen over there.» He indicated a rail line nearby. Some train cars stood there, broadcasting bleating and shuffling noises non-stop.
«Come on, Alex, give it a shot!» ordered Orest.
«But I'm a girl…»
«We're not in the sack,» he caustically noted, getting upset. «We're on duty…»
Alex harrumphed, but jumped onto the embankment. She looked into the Turkmen's car. To both sides, fenced in by boards, sheep were crowded together; in the center, half-lying on some strewn hay, were two elderly Turkmen, a man and woman, brown-skinned, wrinkly, heads propped on their hands, elbows braced on soft sacks stuffed full of something. Their thoroughly baked faces looked stiffened in deep thought. They were both smoking cigarettes rolled from newspapers. A backgammon board and pieces were laid out between them.
«Would you nice people let me have a drink?» said Alex, holding her hand out like a beggar.
The geezers made no response.
«Gimme some water!» she bellowed.
The old man moved one of the pieces on the board, got up and, without looking at his petitioner, scooped a glass jar in a barrel of water and handed it to her. Alex drank it all up and asked for more. The Turkmen just as apathetically scooped up more water, and only now cast a glance at the girl.
«Refugees?» asked Alex, trying to be polite.
«We live here,» the old man drawled.
«What do you mean?»
«A long time ago… At first we were taking some sheep, in three train cars, to an exhibition in the Soviet Union, it was still around back then… On the way there, the Soviet Union disappeared, and they didn't let us into Russia… We headed back to our collective farm, but it had disappeared, too… We've been on the move so many years, we've gotten used to it… The sheep multiply, we sell meat, wool, we pay rent on the car, we live on as best we can.»
Alex's train gave a shudder.
«Oh!» she roused herself. «Can I take a little water for my friend?»
The Turkmen thought it over. Alex jumped into the sheep's car, grabbed the jar from the Turkmen, scooped out some water and jumped out, running after her train. She hopped onto the footboard and was about to step into the car, when the train started up with a jerk and she broke loose. She didn't drop down, though, but hung there, her shorts caught on a hook in the car paneling. She didn't spill the water, even when her belt carved into her stomach and squeezed it so tight it cut off her breathing. She couldn't get a word out from the pain, and managed only to thrash her l
egs about in the air. The Turkmen stolidly watched from his car. Alex floated by him.
«When do we get our jar back,» he uttered, without emotion.
Orest looked out his car and bowed to the Turkmen. Then he noticed Alex:
«Hey, you're back. Why don't you come in?»
Alex wordlessly goggled at him. He took the jar from her and drank with relish. Alex moaned. Orest looked at her more closely, out of curiosity. Tortured agony streamed out of her eyes. He saw the problem, started fussing about:
«How on earth did you get into this? Jump up, you'll come loose… Hurry, before we pick up too much speed!»
Alex, in a half-swoon, screwed up her eyes in pain and went limp.
«Just a sec, I'll help you,» said a panicked Orest, shoving her with his foot. There was a crackle of fabric tearing loose, and Alex fell like a sack onto the embankment, went head over heels and came up again. She rushed after the moving train, wailing:
«What're you, outta your mind?! You want to see me dead?!»
She caught on to Orest's outstretched hand; he drew her in.
And forthwith he went on the attack:
«Why didn't you say something?»
He took greedy gulps from the jar. Alex took it away.
«You bastard, leave Mollie some!»
«She'll get by without it, it's bad for her,» Orest sulked.
The St. Bernard's snout wouldn't fit in the jar, so Orest formed a cup with his palms. Alex poured some water in it. Mollie lapped it up at one go, down to the last drop.
«We're just gonna have to lump it,» Orest patted Mollie's ear and offered his human companion an ingratiating smile. «Right, Alex?»
She was silently scrawling something on the cement-sprinkled floor. Through the floorboard cracks, she could see flashes of the madly spinning wheels and the crossties, rushing by.
«Hey, don't get mad. Everything worked out okay.»
«Yeah, right. So far…»
Suddenly, a rucksack sailed into the car, and after it a young man deftly sprang in. Catching sight of the exotic pair, he spread his arms and smiled radiantly:
«Well, well, well!!! Stupendous! Colossal! Magnifique!»
His cheeks burned beet-red, his eyes shone with boundless joy. He was dressed in the most incongruous and disparate garb: an absolutely new — the label still attached — cowboy hat; an elegant silvery raincoat; a sailor's worn striped vest; camouflage army pants and rubber bedroom slippers.
«Quo, so to speak, vadis?» the stranger ardently declared, and caring not a fig about the raincoat, plopped down onto the whitened floor. He raised his hat, revealing a shaved head, and winked at Alex: «Colleagues!»
He whistled to Mollie and dug into his rucksack. He produced a hefty stick of smoked sausage, viciously bit off a piece and tossed the rest to the dog, who eagerly got down to business devouring the meat. Meanwhile the stranger extracted a newspaper from his pocket, spread it out on the floor and poured out the contents of his bag onto it: a half-loaf of bread, a piece of cheese, some unripe apples and a jar of squid, which he wasted no time in unsealing with what looked like a pirate's knife.
«Take a load off!» he said, remembering himself, and invited the others to a bite. «Won't you join me?»
Orest and Alex charily sat down.
«So, where you headed?» the stranger asked merrily, pulling a bottle of vodka out of his breast pocket.
«Straight ahead,» said Orest.
«Fellow travelers!» he replied, overjoyed, and handed Alex an apple. She distrustfully wiped it on her shirt, bit into it, and made a wry face:
«Poison…»
«It's only good with vodka! Have some, quick!»
«No, I don't like it.»
«Can it be? Well, fancy that… I'm captivated!» To prove it, the young man took a long swig from the bottle and extended it to Orest. «My compliments, you lucked out! I've never had girlfriends that didn't drink…»
Orest wavered, but all the same had a sip. He winced and quickly pinched off a piece of bread, sniffed it and chewed it up.
«Why so little?» their host said in disappointment. «The vodka's fresh!»
«We're circus people,» explained Orest. «We work closely with animals, and they really don't like the smell of liquor. So don't take it the wrong way.»
The young man wasn't offended. He stuck the bottle in his mouth and guzzled the entire contents. Alex even gasped.
«Oh, that's nothing!» said the young man with pride. «I can drink a champagne bubble down in one gulp without coughing!»
«I doubt that,» replied Alex. «It's pressurized. Your stomach would rip apart.»
«We should believe what people tell us… By the way, I'm Berg. At your service!»
«Orest. Animal trainer, and this is my assistant, Alex.»
«Alyona,» she sullenly corrected him. «Berg — is that a first or last name?»
«It's a title,» he quickly responded, and pricked up his ears, looking out the car. The train ground to a halt. But there was no station nearby. To one side lay fields, to the other a chicken yard with a banner on the roof declaring, «Zhirinovsky's Cock Poultry Farm.»
«They must be lettin' a passenger train go by,» Orest suggested.
«Most likely so,» answered Berg, and burst out laughing. «Chickens! Sandgrouse! But not a hen maiden in sight… Come on!»
«Where to? What for?» said Alex, perplexed.
«Such clerical questions!» answered Berg, exasperated, adding, «On the other hand, the ladies are welcome to stay. Communists, onward!»
And he leaped down to the embankment. Mollie rushed after him.
«Stop!» Orest chased after the dog, but she was already galloping after Berg on the other side of a wire netting.
«Oooh, you!» Alex went after them.
Berg stopped in front of a wicket gate and had a look around:
«What about chickens — you ever tried to train them?»
Mollie ran into him. Orest into the dog. Alex into Orest. Berg punched the gate and flew inside, Mollie at his heels. At top speed, she rushed into a roiling chicken sea, joyfully pouring forth a stream of barks. The birds scurried about, clucking. Mollie, out of her mind, flung herself from side to side, chomping her jaws nonstop.
«Mollie! Mollie!» Orest and Alex chased after the dog. «Stop! No! Bad girl!»
The bitch flew into a rage and paid them no heed. Uproar, feathers flying. Those caught up in this jumble could hardly move about. Berg roared with laughter.
«What're you laughing at, you bald idiot?» Alex yelled.
But Berg yukked it up harder than ever.
Mollie ran into the building, giving chase to some chickens that had fled there. All three sped after her.
They found the dog standing over a half-crushed hen. Mollie was breathing heavily, licking her bloodied snout with feathers stuck to it.
A nearby door swung open, a kind-looking woman in a snow-white smock and kerchief looked out from it. Beyond her they spied a room filled with identical snow-white women, seated in orderly rows and gazing attentively at a stage, where someone was delivering a lecture from the rostrum.
«Vote for candidate Kuroschupov, the director of our poultry complex, the most liberal, democratically-minded and patriotic official in the district!»
In the course of his talk, the speaker indicated a little old coot, modestly seated on the edge of a stool, round as an egg and completely embarrassed.
Berg roared with a new round of laughter. All the snow-white kerchiefs turned to look at him, and the one standing at the doorway asked in confusion:
«Who are you, citizen?»
She saw two chickens in each of Berg's hands, and rejoiced:
«You're here to trade?»
«No,» he bawled, «ra-a-i-d!» and ran off down a long corridor, Mollie in hot pursuit. Alex and Orest scuttled, too.
Dashing out of the building, they found themselves on the side opposite the railroad. They could see the freight trai
n beyond a hen house.
«No problem,» said Berg. «We'll make it.»
And they double-timed it around the intervening structures.
Along the way they passed a calf tied to a peg.
«How about we raise some cattle?» declared Berg, handing the chickens to Orest and untying the calf.
«Reapers!» screamed Alex.
Some distance off, bearded peasants were waving their scythes. Noticing something amiss around the calf, they whooped and flung up their scythes, making tracks for the thieves.
«Now this is serious,» Berg picked up the flaps of his silvery raincoat and did his best impression of a sprinter, bound for the railroad. Mollie, on the other hand, made a run for the peasants, who froze in their tracks. Thereupon she looked around, saw her friends bolting headlong in the opposite direction; she visibly drooped, tucked in her tail and trotted after the others.
One by one, the luckless thieves jumped into the first train car they happened on. Mollie adroitly leaped in without any help. Berg hastily got to sealing shut the heavy doors, plunging the car's interior into twilight.
Blows resounded on the outer paneling, embankment stones rained in through the open hatch.
«Open up, you crooks,» their many-voiced pursuers called out to them. «We're a'gonna get in anyway! Open up or we'll smoke ya out! Climb through the window, Semyon!»
Orest elbowed Alex.
«Get up on my shoulders, batten down that hatch!»
Alex clambered on top of him. In quick order the train car was submerged in pitch darkness. But closing the hatch only increased the peasants' rage.
«Well, burn 'em down, then!» They heard the striking of matches.
«Going by statistics, a train car will burn down in four minutes,» sighed Berg in the dark.
From somewhere far off they could hear women's voices approaching.
«The brood-hens are in on it, too,» Berg chuckled. «This is definitely curtains.»
The train gave a sudden quiver and slowly started to move.
«Hu-u-r-ra-ah!» the trio howled, but then the train stopped.
«We jinxed it,» Berg groaned.
Outside they started thrashing the car with greater fury; a dislodged board crashed down to the floor. In the breach appeared the irate faces of peasants and snow-white kerchiefs. And just then, the train once more trembled and set off.
NINE Page 13