Ice Trilogy

by Vladimir Sorokin

  The search continued.

  In the course of another year we found no more than fifty of ours. Many hundreds of blue-eyed and light-haired meat machines died under the blows of the Ice hammers. The brothers had to strike everyone kidnapped. This was extremely slow in comparison to earlier times when Fer and I found dozens of brothers in one day. When we parted the whirling crowd. When we passed through its drone. When we immediately saw 199 of ours in that ravine. When the brothers, having trouble keeping up with the newly acquired, gave them their own clothes. When Fer and I fell from exhaustion of the heart, and bile ran from our mouths and blood from our ears. But we moaned from happiness.

  Gathering in the mountains in a Large Circle, we asked our hearts, we asked the Light: Is there any hope at all of returning to the previous search? Is there any hope of quickly obtaining all 23,000? Is there any hope that in a few dozen Earth years all of us will stand in the Grand Circle? That we will pronounce the 23 heart words and once again become the Primordial Light?

  There was hope.

  Rather — there was half of a hope.

  The brothers carried her in to me one winter night.

  This happened at the end of the war, six months after Fer died. They had found her among the meat machines taken prisoner and driven from the Country of Ice into the Country of Order. They were intended to be used as workers. The brothers searched in such places. Her heart called her name: “Khram!”

  And I heard. Although I was in the mountains, far from her. Her name resounded in me. I sensed a seeing heart. Khram was half. The other half was Ub, who died along with Fer. If a piece of the iron egg’s shell had not passed through Ub’s head, he and Khram would have become a pair of seers. They would have become the Eye of the Brotherhood. The same kind of Eye that Fer and I had been. And the search would have continued rapidly. And we would have found EVERYONE.

  But the Earth took Fer and Ub away from us.

  And the Light brought us Khram as a gift.

  They carried her into our stone cave. Khram was still weak. Her heart had just awoken. Khram looked at us only with her eyes. But I could see her with my heart. I knew just who it was they were bringing into the cave. Many in the cave knew this. Khram was placed on a large stone in the middle of the cave. And all of us, brothers and sisters, gently welcomed her heart. Her seeing heart. So she would understand who she was in the Brotherhood.

  Then she went through the heart crying.

  Her heart was ready for everything. The Wisdom and the Power of the Light sang in it.

  And I was at rest. For the first time since the deaths of Fer and Ub.

  If the Light had sent us Khram, it meant that it would send us yet another seeing heart. It would come. We simply had to wait. To search and prepare Khram for the Last Search.

  She settled in with us in the mountains. I protected her young heart. I spoke with it carefully. I gently touched it. In a Lesser Circle we supported Khram. Her heart strengthened each day. And for ninety-four nights in the Lesser Circle we spoke the 23 words. She stood with us on the snow. With twenty-two who were wise of heart. We spoke the words. And the words of the Light shone in our hearts. And Khram’s heart shone along with ours. It was powerful. It could accomplish many things.

  We supported Khram.

  She was walking in Fer’s footsteps. I made her path simpler. Because I knew Fer, I helped Khram.

  The time came when we stood in a Great Circle. On a hill one moonlit night, 230 of us, brothers and sisters, stood holding hands. And Khram stood with us. The world of the Earth slept. But our hearts were not sleeping. Much was revealed to the Great Circle. We understood that which had been hidden. What could not be revealed to each of us separately.

  We understood which direction to take. Where the Brotherhood should focus its labors.

  An important day arrived for Khram.

  It was July 6, 1950, in the time of meat machines. In a little northern country where the Brotherhood had based itself. On that day Khram awoke, like the other brothers and sisters, with the rising of the sun. She spoke to all of us with her heart. And that was my last heart talk with her. The brothers carried me to her. With my weak hands I held her young, strong hands. The Brotherhood of the Light surrounded us.

  I began to speak.

  “Khram, today you will be leaving our Brotherhood. You have mastered the language of the heart. You have learned all 23 heart words. You are ready for great deeds in the name of the Light. You will travel east, to the country where the Ice lies. And you will search for brothers and sisters. You will awaken their hearts. And take them away from meat machines. In the Country of Ice only three of ours remain: sister Yus, and brothers Kha and Adr. They are awaiting our help. And yours.”

  I did not speak with her about the most important thing. She knew it without me. She knew what had been revealed to everyone during the Great Circle: she would have to find her other half. The one who would help her to complete the search.

  The half for which all of us were waiting. Standing in the Great Circle, we knew that the Ice must draw out this half. But we didn’t know in what part of the huge Country of Ice to search for a second seeing heart.

  Khram understood this.

  With my weakening fingers I squeezed her hands.

  She gently squeezed mine.

  Our hearts flared, in saying goodbye. To meet again. Forever. In the Greatest and Last Circle. In order to become Light.

  Khram’s fingers let go. And left my trembling hands. Khram began to move away from me. She was overcoming space. She was prevailing over time. She was speeding toward the east. To the land where the Ice lay. Where brothers were waiting for her. Where the second seeing heart was waiting to be found.

  I saw Khram off.

  My heart sank.

  My heart grew weak.

  My heart stopped.

  My heart has done its work.

  And the Light leaves it.

  ICE

  Part I

  Brother Ural

  23:42, Moscow Suburbs, Mytishchi, 4 Silikatnaya Street, building 2

  The new warehouse of Mosregionteletrust.

  A dark blue Lincoln Navigator drove into the building. Stopped. The headlights illuminated: a concrete floor, brick walls, boxes of transformers, reels of underground cable, a diesel compressor, sacks of cement, a barrel of tar, broken wheelbarrows, three milk cartons, a scrap heap, cigarette butts, a dead rat, and two piles of dried excrement.

  Gorbovets leaned on the gates. Pulled. The steel sections aligned. Clanged. He slid the bolt shut. Spat. Walked to the car.

  Uranov and Rutman climbed out of the car. Opened the trunk. Two men in handcuffs lay on the floor of the SUV, mouths taped.

  Gorbovets came over.

  “The light turns on somewhere here.” Uranov caught the string.

  “Can’t you see?” Rutman pulled on a pair of gloves.

  “Not too well.” Uranov squinted.

  “The main thing is we hear it!” Gorbovets smiled.

  “The acoustics are good here.” Tired, Uranov wiped his face. “Come on.”

  They dragged the captives out of the car. Moved them over to two steel columns. Tied them tight with rope. Took up positions around them. Silently stared at the bound men.

  Five people were visible in the headlights. All of them were blond and had blue eyes.

  Uranov: 30 years old, tall, narrow shoulders, a thin intelligent face, a beige raincoat.

  Rutman: 21, medium height, skinny, flat-chested, lithe, a pale unremarkable face, a dark blue jacket, black leather pants.

  Gorbovets: 54, bearded, not very tall, stocky, sinewy peasant hands, barrel-chested, crude features, a dark yellow sheepskin coat.

  The bound captives:

  1st: around 50, stout, ruddy, well-groomed, wearing an expensive suit;

  2nd: young, puny, hook-nosed and pimply, black jeans and a leather jacket.

  Their mouths were taped with semitransparent packing tape.

&nbs
p; “Let’s start with this one.” Uranov nodded toward the heavy guy.

  Rutman took an oblong metal case out of the car. She placed it on the cement floor in front of Uranov and opened the metal locks. The case turned out to be a mini refrigerator.

  Ice hammers, two of them, placed head to tail, lay inside: long, rough wooden shafts, attached to cylindrical ice heads with strips of rawhide. Frost covered the shafts.

  Uranov put on gloves. He picked up a hammer. He stepped toward one of the bound men. Gorbovets unbuttoned the fat man’s jacket. He removed his tie and yanked his shirt. The buttons popped and scattered, exposing a plump white chest with small nipples and a gold cross on a chain. Gorbovets’s coarse fingers grabbed the cross and jerked. The fat man gave a low moan. He began to make signs with his eyes. Rolled his head back and forth.

  “Respond!” Uranov cried aloud.

  He swung the hammer back and hit him in the middle of the chest.

  The fat man moaned louder.

  The three stood still and listened.

  “Respond!” Uranov commanded again after a pause. And again he hit him hard.

  The fat man’s insides growled. The three froze and listened.

  “Respond!” Uranov hit him again, harder.

  The man moaned and wailed inside. His body shook. Three round bruises appeared on his chest.

  “Lemme whack the fucker.” Gorbovets took the hammer. He spit on his hands. Swung it back.

  “Respond!” The hammer crashed into the chest with a juicy thud. Splinters of ice scattered.

  And again the three stood stock-still. They listened. The fat man moaned and shuddered. His face grew pale. His chest began to sweat and turned purple.

  “Orsa? Orus?” Rutman touched her lips uncertainly.

  “That’s his guts grumbling.” Gorbovets shook his head.

  “Lower, lower down.” Uranov nodded in agreement. “He’s empty.”

  “Speak!” Gorbovets roared and hit him. The man’s body jerked. It hung feebly from the ropes.

  The three moved very close. Turned their ears to the purple chest. Listened carefully.

  “Guts growlin’...” Gorbovets exhaled sadly. He swung back.

  “Reee-spooond! Reee-spond! Reee-spoond!”

  Bang. Bang. Chips of ice flew out from the hammer. Bones cracked. Blood began dripping from the fat man’s nose.

  “He’s empty.” Uranov straightened up.

  “Empty...” Rutman bit her lip.

  “Empty, the motherfucker...” Gorbovets leaned on the hammer. He was out of breath. “Oof...goddamn...how many of you empty ding-dongs they gone and multiplied?”

  “It’s just a bad streak,” Rutman sighed.

  Gorbovets slammed the hammer on the floor with all his strength. The ice head shattered, shards of ice flying everywhere. The torn straps of rawhide fluttered. Gorbovets threw the handle into the refrigerator. He picked up the other hammer and passed it to Uranov.

  Uranov wiped the frost from the handle, staring gloomily at the fat man’s breathless body. He turned a heavy gaze to the young man. The two pairs of blue eyes met. The captive thrashed and began to wail.

  “Don’t be scared, kid.” Gorbovets wiped drops of blood off his cheeks. He held one nostril, leaned over, and blew his nose on the floor. He wiped his hand on his sheepskin coat. “Sheesh, Iray, it’s the thicksteenth thumper we’ve bashed, and it’s another beanbag! What kinda friggin’ luck is this? It’s a regular evacupation, I tell you. The thicksteenth! Another empty dingaling.”

  “Could be the hundred and sixteenth.” Uranov unbuttoned the jacket of the second captive.

  The young man whined. His rickety knees knocked together.

  Rutman began to help Uranov. They tore open the black T-shirt with the red inscription WWW.FUCK.RU. Shivering under the shirt was a white bony chest covered with spotty freckles.

  Uranov thought a moment. He handed the hammer to Gorbovets.

  “Rom, you do it. I haven’t had any luck for a while.”

  “Okeydoke...” Gorbovets spat on his palms. Pulled himself up. Swung back.

  “Re-SPOND!”

  The icy cylinder hit the frail chest with a whistle. The captive’s body jerked from the blow. The three listened closely. The young man’s thin nostrils flared. Sobs broke from them.

  Gorbovets sadly shook his shaggy head. He drew the hammer back slowly.

  “Respond!”

  The whistle of air splitting. A sonorous blow. A spray of ice splinters. Weakening moans.

  “Something...something...” Rutman listened closely to the black-and-blue chest.

  “Just the upper part, the upper...” Uranov shook his head.

  “It’s thumbsing...I don’t know...maybe it’s in the throat?” Gorbovets scratched his reddish beard.

  “Rom, again, but more precise,” Uranov ordered.

  “How mush more precise can ya get...” Gorbovets swung back. “Ree-spond!”

  The chest cracked. Ice scattered on the ground. A bit of blood spattered from the broken skin. The young man hung limp from the ropes. His blue eyes rolled back. The black eyelashes fluttered.

  The three listened. A weak staccato grumble sounded in the boy’s chest.

  “It’s there!” Uranov twitched.

  “Lord almighty, bless the Light!” Gorbovets tossed the hammer aside.

  “I was sure of it!” Rutman laughed joyfully. She blew on her fingers.

  The three pressed against the young man’s chest.

  “Speak with your heart! Speak with your heart! Speak with your heart!” Uranov spoke in a loud voice.

  “Speak, speak, speak, come on little man!” Gorbovets mumbled.

  “Speak with your heart, with your heart; speak, with the heart...” Rutman whispered joyfully.

  A strange, faint sound came and went from the bloody, bruised chest.

  “Speak your name! Speak your name! Speak your name!” Uranov repeated.

  “Your name, little fella, tell us your name, your name!” Gorbovets stroked the young man’s fair hair.

  “Your name, say your name, speak your name, name, name...” Rutman whispered to the pale pink nipple.

  They froze, transfixed. They listened closely.

  “Ural,” said Uranov.

  “Ur...Hurrah, Ural!” Gorbovets pulled on his beard.

  “Urrraaaal...Uraaaaal...” Rutman’s eyelids closed in joy.

  They began fussing about happily.

  “Quick, quick!” Uranov pulled out a coarse knife with a wooden handle.

  They cut the ropes. Tore the bandage from his mouth. Placed the young man on the cement floor. Rutman dragged a first aid kit over. He found the smelling salts and brought them over. Uranov placed a wet towel on the battered chest. Gorbovets supported the young man’s back. He shook him carefully.

  “Come on now, little guy, come on now, little one...”

  The boy’s whole puny body jerked. His thick-soled boots thudded against the floor. He opened his eyes. Inhaled with difficulty. He passed gas and whimpered.

  “Now — there, there. Go ahead and fart, little one, go ahead and fart...” In a single swoop, Gorbovets lifted him off the floor. He carried him to the car on his sturdy, crooked legs.

  Uranov picked up the hammer and knocked the ice onto the floor. He tossed the shaft in the mini refrigerator, closed the top, and picked it up.

  They settled the young man on the backseat. Gorbovets and Rutman sat on either side, propping him up. Uranov opened the gates. He drove out into the dank darkness. He climbed out and closed the gates, got back in behind the wheel, and steered the car along the narrow, uneven road.

  The headlights illuminated the roadside and remaining patches of dirty snow. The glowing clock face showed 00.20.

  “Your name — is Yury?” Uranov glanced at the young man in the rearview mirror.

  “Yu...ry...Lapin,” he said with difficulty.

  “Remember, your true name — is Ural. Your heart spoke that name. Up until
today you were not living, just existing. Now you are going to live. You will have everything you want. And you will have a great purpose in life. How old are you?”

  “Twenty...”

  “You’ve been sleeping for twenty years. Now you’ve awoken. We, your brothers, awakened your heart. I’m Iray.”

  “I’m Rom.” Gorbovets stroked the boy’s cheek.

  “And I’m Okam.” Rutman winked at him. She pushed back a lock of hair from Lapin’s sweaty brow.

  “We’ll take you to a clinic where they’ll help you and where you can rest.”

  The young man cast an exhausted glance at Rutman. Then at Gorbovets and his beard.

  “But...I...but when will I...when...I have to — ”

  “Don’t ask any questions,” Uranov interrupted. “You’re in shock. And you have to get used to it.”

  “You’re still just a weakling.” Gorbovets patted his head. “Get yourself some shut-eye, and then we’ll have a talk.”

  “Then you’ll find out everything. Does it hurt?” Rutman carefully placed the wet towel on the round bruises.

  “It...hurts...” The young man sniffled. He closed his eyes.

  “Finally that towel came in handy. I keep wetting it and wetting it before every hit. Then — it turns out that it’s just one more empty. So you have to go and wring the water out!” Rutman laughed. She embraced Lapin carefully. “Listen...it’s so cool that you’re one of us. I’m so glad...”

  The SUV banged over the potholes. The young man shrieked.