Ice Trilogy

by Vladimir Sorokin

  In the morning we dragged the raft, which had been hidden in the bushes, back into the water, and dug up the eighth piece of Ice. We wrapped it in moss, placed it on the raft, and started off. Our hearts told us we had to sail west. That was where the waters of the Katanga carried our boat. None of us knew just where we would meet our brothers and sisters, but our hearts helped us to search. Having sailed along the river for two days, we saw a large settlement.

  “It’s Lakura,” Fer told us. “Baptized Tungus live there.”

  Mooring the boat, we quickly buried the Ice in the sand near the shore and headed to the village. Our hearts were calm. We were met by Evenki, and Fer spoke with them. They told us the latest news: the Russians had gone to the “accursed” place to look for the gold that fell from the sky, but the god of fire, Agdy, burned their dwelling, and they turned back. All of the Evenki in the area already knew this. Despite their Russian Orthodox faith and the old wooden church in the middle of the village, the Evenki remained pagans. They also informed us that the runners who had visited their village not long ago had lost one fellow along the way — he had been kidnapped by the Maiden of the Water. At first it was far from simple for us to socialize with people: I could barely restrain laughter, Ep looked at ordinary people with bewilderment, and Fer struggled to utter forgotten words. But here, too, our hearts helped us; they didn’t let us down for a second. We had become wise of heart. And we knew how to behave with people. Our hearts and the Ice taught us to foresee much.

  The local priest, Father Bartholomew, was happy to meet with us. Every Russian who passed through Lakura became a family member for him. First off he had the bathhouse fired up. We washed and steamed our bodies with great pleasure. Then the priest’s Evenka wife laid the table for us. Here something unexpected awaited us: the food people normally ate had become for us, brothers of the Light, inedible. We looked at the fish pies, pelmeni with venison, eggs cooked in lard, freshly baked bread, and marinated mushrooms with disgust. In all of this we felt the monstrosity of human life, its lack of freedom. Humans had to do something to food before they ate it: fry, boil, chop, marinate, grind, or cure it. For that matter, they always overate tremendously, disfiguring their bodies and willpower. But the most horrendous thing was — that humans devoured living creatures with great pleasure, taking their lives from them only in order to stuff their stomachs with their meat. Meat was digested in their stomachs and fell out of humans in disgusting-smelling excrement. Man’s will transformed a living bird into a pile of excrement — and this was completely normal for Homo sapiens. Sharing this planet with other living creatures, people gobbled them up. And this great monstrosity was called the law of life.

  We could eat only fresh fruits and berries. This was the only food that did not repulse us. In general, after our hearts awoke, we ate much less. A handful of fresh berries sufficed for several days. Moreover, we didn’t tire, didn’t lose our strength like ordinary fasters. Our hearts gave us tremendous energy. With such energy we were not afraid of any hunger. Sitting down at the table, I apologized to the hosts and told them that yesterday we had been taken very ill from some fish we ate, and consequently, today we could only keep down raw vegetables and berries. With sighs and groans, the priest’s wife brought us turnips and lingonberries. We refused vodka as well. The priest and his wife didn’t deny themselves the “pleasure” of drinking to the health of the travelers. Seeing how they poured pure spirits diluted with water into their mouths in order to lose control over their bodies and feelings for a time, we were filled with disgust. The amazing popularity of vodka among humans, and their dependence on it, proved once again that man was incapable of being happy. People drank vodka and wine to “forget,” “have a good time,” “relax” — that is, to forget themselves and their lives for at least a moment. Drinking until they were drunk, they felt they were happy.

  “Where are you going, young folks? Winter is just around the corner!” asked the increasingly drunk Father Bartholomew.

  We answered that we were looking for a large construction site where we could make some money.

  “Stay with me to build a new church. Weasels have taken over the old one! I’ll pay you more than the Soviets,” he cajoled.

  But we didn’t want to stay in the village: our heart saw none of our own there. We had to travel farther. We spent the night with Father Bartholomew, bought some carrots and turnips from him, dug up the Ice, loaded it, and sailed off. The Stony Tungus River coursed west toward the Yenisei. We floated past three villages, stopping in each one. And found none of our own. Fortunately, it grew colder, the nights were frosty, and our Ice melted very little. We tried not to touch it, which was hard, traveling with it in one boat. Touching the Ice reminded us acutely of the Primordial Light. Our hearts felt very good at those times.

  The taiga grew yellow and red, preparing itself for the long winter. The first snow fell and covered everything. Then came the first cold snap. The river began to freeze at the edges; we traveled down the middle where the water had not yet frozen. Steam hovered above the Tunguska. Two more days passed and the river merged into another — wide and powerful. This was the Yenisei. It carried its lead-colored waters to the north, toward the Arctic Ocean. Its current was so turbulent that ice didn’t have time to cover the river — it was carried away. It became harder to navigate — the boat was buffeted, whirlpools spun it around. Our hands never let go of the oars. But our hearts guided us. They told us that there were 23,000 of us — a small drop in the ocean of people, but that the Ice, lying here in Siberia these twenty years, was drawing many of ours to it. They were intuitively moving toward it, they saw tormenting, sweet dreams about it, they were looking for it. Their sleeping hearts yearned for the blow of the Ice hammer. And so we sailed patiently, fighting the strong Yenisei, warming one another’s hands, grown cold in the wind.

  We hadn’t sailed for more than half a day when the first small landing dock appeared. Near it huddled the huts of a fishing village. A little steam-powered tugboat was moored to the dock, its funnel smoking. We decided to pull up onshore and have a look at the village. A little way before reaching the dock, we sailed into the rushes, pulled the boat ashore, rested, and ate some carrots and berries. Then, among the willow clusters, we began to bury the Ice in the sand. We hadn’t yet finished our task when three armed, rough-looking fellows emerged from the bushes.

  “Now, don’t breathe!” a bandit with a black mustache ordered in a hoarse voice, pointing a Mauser at us. “Hands up!”

  We raised our hands. The two others approached and searched us. They took away our gold dust and money, as well as the firearms and bullets from the raft.

  “What did you bury?” the man with the black mustache asked.

  We said nothing. It was an important moment. We had to answer these people somehow. As usual, my brain began to give me ideas about how to deceive them, ensnare them with intricate lies in order to save the Ice and ourselves. But my heart cut through the cobwebs of my brain with an order: Speak the truth! And this was the best step to take.

  “We buried the Ice,” I answered calmly.

  Fer and Ep understood me.

  “What kinda ice?” the man with the black mustache asked hoarsely. “Come on, then, dig it up!”

  Ep and I dug up the piece of Ice wrapped in moss and buried in a shallow hole. Black Mustache walked over and pushed the moss off with the barrel of his Mauser. He looked at it and touched it.

  “Go on, dig deeper.”

  He thought that we had buried the treasure deeper. With an ax and a knife we dug deeper. Black Mustache waited, then spit in the pit.

  “What the hell you want ice for?”

  I answered, “In order to awaken the hearts of our brothers and sisters.”

  The bandits looked at each other. Black Mustache grinned. “And just how you plan on doing that?”

  “We will make hammers of the Ice, and strike the breasts of our brothers. Their hearts will awaken and begin to speak in
the language of the Light.”

  The bandits looked at one another again.

  “They’re cuckoo,” said one of them to Black Mustache. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” The steamboat whistle sounded. The bandits perked up. “Get rid of them, Semyon, and let’s go.”

  “Wait, Kochura. They ain’t locals. Take ’em to the admiral first. You there, pick up that ice. And get your feet moving.”

  With silent joy I lifted the Ice: it was with us! The bandit led us to the dock. It was empty, and two murdered sailors lay on it. A woman’s weeping could be heard from the village. The steamboat sounded again. The bandits pushed us quickly across the gangway and onto the deck. I noticed the name of the tugboat: Komsomol. They pulled in the gangway. And the little steamboat set off immediately.

  As soon as Fer and I were on the deck of this miserable tugboat that had bent, rusted sides and a soot-covered smokestack, our hearts gave a jolt. There was one of us on the ship! I broke into a hot sweat of joy. By myself I didn’t know that there was one of us nearby. Neither did Fer, when she was alone. But together, Fer and I comprised a unique heart magnet, which unerringly detected a brother. With Ep this kind of magnet didn’t work.

  They took us into the crew’s quarters; eight people were crowded in there. They were all armed. Hunting rifles lay on the floor, along with animal pelts, clothes, and simple household tools. The bandits had just finished robbing the village and were sorting out the loot. The boss was a short man in a leather jacket, leather pants, and tall, laced boots. A large pair of binoculars hung around his neck, a holster with a Mauser was at his hip. From underneath a leather cap with a red star blond hair stuck out; his dark-blue eyes, framed by whitish eyelashes, sparkled coldly from underneath white eyebrows. The leader’s wide face was remarkable for its intensely severe expression.

  Fer and I saw him.

  “Kozlov, you asshole! I’ll shoot you!” he shouted at the fellow with the mustache. “Where were you loafing about, you shit? You want us dead, you provocateur?”

  The leader was an obvious psychopath. Cunning and mean.

  “Admiral, we caught these three here,” Black Mustache said hoarsely. “We went into the bushes to do our business, and they were burying something in the ground.”

  The leader directed his angry gaze at us. Fer was standing closest to him. I stood behind her with the Ice in my hands.

  “What was it?” the leader replied curtly.

  “Some kind of ice,” Black Mustache replied.

  “What — what’s that?” the admiral asked again, squinting angrily.

  “Ice,” I said clearly and emerged from behind Fer with the piece of Ice in my hands.

  The admiral froze. His thin, purplish lips blanched. His tiny eyes settled on the Ice. Then he glanced at us.

  “Who...who are you?” he said, speaking with difficulty.

  “I am Bro, he’s Ep, and this is Fer,” I answered. “We’ve come for you.”

  His body stiffened.

  The din of the bandits stopped. Everyone stood quietly and looked at us. We were looking at the admiral. Our heart magnet was working. I remembered the runner Nikola sitting in the boat between Fer and me. The situation was repeating itself. But the admiral was a different sort of person. Shaking off the stiffness, he withdrew the Mauser from its holster and pointed the steel-blue barrel at us.

  “Come on now, troops, tie them up.”

  They tied us up. The Ice fell on the floor.

  “Now sit them down in the corner. And all of you — back on deck,” ordered the admiral. “I’ll have a quick parlay with them.”

  The bandits unwillingly climbed up on deck: it was warmer in the hold.

  The admiral stood with his Mauser and look at us. His heart shuddered. But he fought it off with all his might.

  “Tell me again: who have you come for?”

  “For you,” I said.

  Fer didn’t have time to help me. The admiral laughed maliciously.

  “Admiral, where are we going?” A head with bangs hung down through the hatch.

  “To Kolmotorovo.”

  “Didn’t we want to have a look at Yartsevo?”

  “The GPU is there, you idiot. I said Kolmotorovo!” he shouted. “Full speed ahead! Three-whistle greetings to oncoming ships! Take the machine gun off the deck! Hide the rifles!”

  “Yes, sir!” The head retreated.

  The steamboat began to turn around. A flea-bitten fellow brought down the machine gun and set it at the admiral’s feet.

  “Admiral, the thing is, I wanted...” Fleabite mumbled. “I’ve got two pals in Yartsevo and also — ”

  “Batten down the hatch!” shouted the admiral, turning white.

  Fleabite climbed up the ladder with a sigh and closed the hatch. The admiral walked up to me and squatted. His belt and holster squeaked. He put the muzzle of the Mauser to my forehead. And I felt that he wanted to shoot. My heart froze.

  “Now then, who did you come for?” he asked for the second time.

  Now Fer helped me.

  “We came for you,” we spoke simultaneously.

  His heart throbbed. The Mauser shook in his hand. He exhaled, lowered the Mauser, and leaned on it as the floor of the hold rocked.

  “Who are you?” he asked uncertainly.

  “Your brothers,” I answered.

  “I am your sister,” said Fer.

  The magnet began to work. And Ep also helped. “I am your brother, too,” he said.

  The admiral’s broad-cheeked, muscular face became distorted: his brain was resisting furiously. I realized that, recently, the admiral had been suffering. Just as Nikola had. Just as I had during the expedition. Now he was very afraid. His thin lips blanched. Sweat broke out on his pale forehead. The admiral began to shake.

  “God...damn...” he whispered and began to raise the Mauser.

  The barrel danced in his trembling, bloodless hands, white with fear. He farted loudly and pointed the Mauser at Fer.

  “G-g-god...damn...shits...”

  Our hearts froze. And I realized that we were ALWAYS prepared for death. His shaky finger was already pulling on the trigger. Our hearts jolted. And the Ice answered them.

  The admiral glanced at the Ice in terror. And shot at it. Pieces of Ice flew about the hold. We cried out. The admiral stood up abruptly. His eyes rolled back in his head. He took one step and collapsed on the floor.

  We began to free ourselves from the ropes. The warrior Ep tore his ropes off and untied us. Fer rushed to the Ice. Ep — to the unconscious admiral. I made an immediate decision: the machine gun! Equipped with a new cartridge, it shone all oily and new near the fallen admiral. The very same kind lay in the trunk of the porter, Samson, who had sheltered me as an adolescent at the Krasnoye station in the winter of 1920. I grabbed it, released the safety lock, and pulled back the bolt, just as Samson had done that morning, in order to scare away the bullies who wouldn’t stop bothering us.

  Ep opened the leather jacket covering the admiral’s chest, tore the army-issue shirt and striped sailor’s skivvies underneath. On his chest was a tattoo of an eagle carrying a dragon in its talons. Fer grabbed a large piece of Ice.

  “No!” I whispered. “Tie him up.”

  They didn’t understand. I motioned upward with my eyes. “They’ll try to stop us.”

  They understood everything. And immediately tied the admiral’s hands and feet with our own ropes.

  Ep took the admiral’s Mauser. Fer took the rifle. We climbed up the iron ladder and I knocked on the hatch. They had hardly managed to open it when I aimed the fat barrel of the machine gun at the bandit. He was chewing something and took a step backward. We climbed up onto the deck. The bandits saw us.

  “Back!” I ordered.

  They began shuffling toward the stern. Most of them were still chewing on something. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed some meat wrapped in paper, bread, and a bottle of moonshine on the bench of the stern. After their work, they had dec
ided to have a bite.

  “Stop!” I ordered.

  They looked at one another cautiously. Their brains had begun working.

  “Take it easy, brother, we can work this out,” Black Mustache said hoarsely. “What is it you want?”

  “To awaken the heart of our brother.”

  I truly would have preferred to make a deal with them. To say, “Don’t get in our way. If you do this we’ll give you everything we have.” But my heart told me: they would not keep their word.

  “Everyone overboard!” I ordered.

  “Whatcher in such a stew about, man?” Black Mustache smiled with yellow teeth and moved toward me. “We’ll shower you with gold, as much as you...”

  His hand slipped into his pocket.

  I aimed the barrel at him and pulled the trigger. The machine gun rumbled and shook in my hands. Bullets pierced Black Mustache’s body and flew out the other side with bits of clothes and meat.

  I had killed a man for the first time in my life. And I realized: we would NEVER be able to REACH AN AGREEMENT with people. The bandits jumped overboard. But some shot at us from the deck cabin. Ep began to shoot awkwardly with the Mauser; Fer shot skillfully with the rifle. I aimed the smoking barrel of the machine gun at the deck cabin and pulled the trigger. The machine gun once again rumbled and shook in my hands. The bullets ripped through the sheet metal of the cabin, old white paint flaked off and flew in every direction; so did a strange red inscription: LOM O SMOKINGI GNI, KOMSOMOL!, with a red star. Having destroyed the deck cabin, I let go of the trigger, but it was stuck: the machine gun continued to shoot. It pulled to the left, I lowered the barrel; the bullets pierced the deck, splinters flew everywhere, and the machine gun thundered on, it just kept pulling and pulling to the left. Choking from the gunpowder smoke, I lifted the barrel. The machine gun kept firing and tried to pull itself out of my hands. In this fraction of a second I understood with my heart what a machine is and why it was created by humans: man cannot get along without machines because he is WEAK, he is born an eternal CRIPPLE and needs crutches, supports that help him to live. A machine of destruction, created by the human mind, was trying to escape my hands. It was alive. Bullets flew toward the sky, shells rained down on the deck.