Kolymsky Heights

by Lionel Davidson

  ‘He isn’t. He recovered and went away, to Murmansk, to rejoin his ship. But there were certain things about you – your accent, for instance. It didn’t sound to me Chukchee … In short, it’s why I brought you here. These people would know, of course, and I trust them.’

  He flashed his smile. ‘Well, I hope Viktoria Eremevina’s guarantee is good enough. I don’t remember my birth personally, but she was there!’

  ‘Yes, I know. But understand my grounds. Even now the people here say you have some other accent – maybe a little like Evenk. It’s what I thought myself, and it puzzled me.’

  ‘Well, my friends are Evenk, it’s true. And my own language – I mainly lost it in Novosibirsk. Without even speaking Russian properly. I’m a mess, I know.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, a little more warmly. ‘But I wanted this opportunity to apologise, and to tell you not to be alarmed if the police question you.’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘As the medical officer for the district I must report any stranger I cannot vouch for absolutely. But there’s nothing to worry about. They will simply check over your background –’ She frowned at his expression. ‘Is there something you have not told me?’

  He was silent, staring into the candle.

  ‘Nikolai Dmitrievich,’ she said, ‘speak in confidence. know there are people here who don’t want their affairs looked at too closely. Particularly drivers. Matters to do with women, things of that nature … It’s why they’re here. I don’t report such things. Is there something?’

  ‘Well, in confidence … There is. A woman, yes.’

  ‘Then have no fear. The police won’t tell her – they don’t bother with that.’

  He was silent some moments longer.

  ‘Can I trust you further?’ he said softly.

  ‘If it’s not of a criminal nature, of course.’

  ‘It’s not criminal,’ he said. ‘But I’m not Khodyan. All that I’ve said of my life – the broken background, Novosibirsk – all that is true. Yet I’m not Khodyan. In Novosibirsk I knew Khodyan. His father was the schoolteacher. We were friends, and we became drivers together. But he was unsettled and went back north, to Magadan. Then this year – this summer, just a few months ago – we met again, at Batumi on the Black Sea. He wanted to stay there, and lose his identity. An affair of the heart, a girl he wished to marry. And he already had a wife and children! So, we exchanged papers. It was crazy, I know – although at the time it seemed a joke! But that’s it, and I can’t have the police searching through papers.’

  She stared at him. ‘But this is a lunatic thing,’ she said. ‘If they had to investigate you for any reason – a driving accident, anything – they would soon discover the truth.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’m not a policeman. But fingerprints?’

  ‘What fingerprints? I have done nothing wrong, ever.’

  ‘And Khodyan?’

  ‘The same. I would swear to it.’

  ‘Then what have you to fear from an investigation, either as Khodyan or – whoever you are?’

  He lowered his eyes.

  ‘Well. There is still something else, something very upsetting. Khodyan drowned. He drowned there at Batumi, a tragic accident. And he is buried there. Under my name! It upset me deeply. The authorities informed my parents – that I was dead. And also – also this other woman I mentioned to you. What was I to do? I couldn’t go back to Novosibirsk. I was dead! Or to Magadan – where Khodyan was known? Also I couldn’t stay at Batumi. He was known there too, Khodyan. And I had his papers. So in the end … Ponomarenko, who knew all this – the three of us had teamed up together – Ponomarenko said I should come up here for a bit, take his apartment, his job, until I’d sorted myself out. And that is the whole truth, I swear to you!’

  She looked at him a long time in the candlelight.

  ‘Well, you made a good impression on your comrades, at any rate. As well as here. But this is an insane thing you did!’

  ‘Yes. I’m a fool. I think I have always been a fool,’ he said sadly. ‘But not bad! If I could convince you of that, Tatiana Petrovna!’

  She pursed her lips and moved down the aisle with the candle.

  ‘You will not submit me for police investigation?’

  She blew the candle out and set it on a bench and opened the door. ‘I must think about this.’

  ‘You know I am not a bad man!’

  ‘Look, Nikolai Dmit – What do I call you now, anyway?’

  ‘Kolya?’ he said, smiling anxiously.

  ‘All right, Kolya. I have a responsible function here, a trusted one. People trust me.’

  ‘Then trust me. You know me now. You have examined me – every part of me,’ he said, smiling more widely. ‘Tell me … do I have a murmur?’

  ‘No.’ Her own faint smile came on. They crunched down the path together. ‘I had to restrict your movements, in order to – Well, never mind. But it’s true you are very tired and need a few days off. Hand that form in on Monday. And we’ll leave early tomorrow. No church!’

  ‘Thank you. I know I can do with a rest.’

  ‘And while having it – your eagerness for the collective. It was the Evenks you wanted there, wasn’t it?’

  ‘They have always been my friends.’

  ‘A secretive man.’ Her smile remained. ‘And I can understand why now. But I was right to have my suspicions.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t mention them to anyone else?’

  ‘Of course not. I rely on my own judgment.’

  ‘Yes. I see why it is so respected. May I mention how much I admire you, Tatiana Petrovna – your thoroughness, your observation … among other things?’

  She glanced at him swiftly. ‘You can mention that I observed five bunches of flowers – if asked. You will be asked. But thank you, anyway … Kolya.’

  They went into the house, and he was asked, and mentioned the flowers, and they took tea with the old lady and went to bed.

  And then all that was over, and only the events of tomorrow remained.

  It was a long time since he had done anything of the kind. But he had gentled her, he had disarmed her; she would give no trouble. And she had told nobody.

  He undressed and got into bed. There was still the question of Murmansk, whether inquiries had come from there. He would ask her. Also whether she had written into his record the ban on long-distance driving. She had been writing something, not only the sick-note. He would ask that, too.

  And the letter to the collective. Had she written it? Not that he any longer needed a letter. They knew him now in this place, Panarovka. He would come up for her funeral, perhaps … They would take him to the collective, he would meet the Evenks; go out with them to the herds, see this headman Innokenty.

  Yes, it was shaping up.

  He blew the light out and lay back. He had better do the driving himself tomorrow. He could stop where he wanted then, and do what he had to …

  He had a sudden image of the Little Ghost river winding in the moonlight. He would need a spot to overturn the car afterwards; a broken neck had to be explained. He thought it over for some minutes and then stopped and eased himself down in the featherbed. There were plenty of spots, and there would be no problems. Yet he slept badly.

  They were out at nine, still in the dark, despite ructions from the mother. ‘No, I am too busy this time,’ Komarova told her impatiently, and handed out perfunctory kisses. He received one himself from Viktoria, and shook hands with the old lady.

  ‘Let me drive,’ he said, at the car. ‘I am quite relaxed today.’

  ‘No, I don’t like to be driven. And get in quickly. She will send Viktoria out on some nonsense. Anything to delay me!’

  He got in, and the reliable little bastard started immediately. Well, some other way …

  She took off down to the river, and drove carefully on to it. ‘It’s even more slippery this morning – last night’s low temperature.’

  Th
is was true. In the headlights the river ice had a greasy sheen. He knew he had only about twenty minutes on it, twenty-five at the most, if she drove slowly.

  ‘Drive slowly,’ he said. ‘There were many sharp bends I noticed on the way in.’

  ‘I know them. And I trust myself more at the wheel than you. Your hands are shaking.’

  ‘Perhaps I am tireder than I thought.’

  ‘You are. You need your rest.’

  ‘Well, sometimes the patient isn’t the best judge.’

  ‘He never is. The drivers try and fool me – particularly after sick bay, when they want the long-distance jobs.’

  ‘Yes. Did you write it in my record – that I can’t drive long distances any more?’

  ‘I did. But I can change my mind,’ she said, the slight smile appearing.

  Yes, but you won’t, he said silently. They had gone a kilometre. He decided to give it another eight, perhaps nine; halfway between the village and the Kolyma. He kept his eye on the clock.

  ‘Are you watching my speed?’

  ‘No. I didn’t know I was doing it. A habit of the job.’

  ‘Of the “boats”?’ She smiled again.

  ‘Yes. The boats … This seaman you mentioned, the Korean. You thought I looked like a Korean?’

  ‘Just a look. He had more hair than you.’ She glanced at him, still smiling. ‘A head of hair. With a pigtail, and a moustache. A very angry man.’

  ‘What was the matter with him?’

  ‘We thought yellow fever. But it wasn’t.’

  ‘Why was he angry?’

  ‘Frustration, mainly. He had almost no Russian. He kept shouting in Korean, bits of Japanese. We thought he wanted to go to Japan – he’d come from there. But it was Murmansk he wanted, and his ship.’

  ‘So he went there and sailed away?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose so. He went, anyway.’

  ‘And you heard nothing more?’

  ‘No.’ She steered carefully round a bend. ‘Not yet. They’ll acknowledge receipt in time. I discharge a patient from my district, they accept him in theirs. You can’t board a ship after a fever without a proper discharge; which they have first to accept. We get it with Russian sailors sometimes. They’re always slow with the paperwork, Murmansk.’

  So something would come. Well, somebody else would deal with it. Two kilometres to go, he saw.

  ‘Can I smoke?’ he said.

  ‘You know I don’t permit smoking while I drive.’

  ‘Then stop for a minute. We’ll both have one.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Kolya. You can wait.’

  ‘It’s true my hands are shaking. Look. A cigarette will pull me together. It confused me, that village. I was quite confused.’

  ‘So many Chukchees?’

  ‘Yes. And perhaps – your attitude.’ She had a scarf round her neck. It wouldn’t be in the way. An elbow crooked round the head, a hand at the base of the neck. ‘Stop a while and we’ll talk about it.’

  ‘I’ll drive, you talk,’ she said dryly.

  He took his cigarettes out and opened the packet.

  She glanced at him swiftly. ‘Put them away, Kolya. I told you!’

  ‘Stop the car,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t talk to me in that way!’ she said angrily.

  ‘Stop the car.’

  ‘What do you –’

  He got a foot up and kicked both hers off the pedals, at the same time wrenching the wheel. The car slewed and hit the bank and he pulled on the handbrake, still fighting her for the wheel, and managed to steer it round, and again, two complete circles, before it bounced again off the bank, and slowed to a long slithering halt, aslant the track.

  Her mouth was open, her face chalky in the reflected light of the headlamps.

  ‘What are you –’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘No, don’t! Don’t!’

  He had an arm round her neck, could feel her breath.

  ‘It’s me! Understand! Kolya – it’s me you want! You’ve come here for me. For Rogachev – don’t you understand? Rogachev!’

  Her head was crooked in his elbow, and he relaxed it slightly, staring at her. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I know who you are! I landed you from the ship. I waited for you! Idiot – fool! Let me go!’

  He let her go and they stared at each other. Her mouth, her whole jaw was shaking, eyes still glassy with fright. ‘Were you going to kill me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They still stared at each other.

  ‘Where are the cigarettes?’ she said.

  He found them under his feet, the packet crumpled. He found two whole ones, and lit them, one for him, and one for her.

  Five

  THE HOUSE OF DR KOMAROV

  33

  Her ankle was bruised and swollen where he had kicked it. They sat in the dark room and he watched as she bound a compress on the swelling. They had barely spoken since reaching the house.

  He poured himself another vodka. ‘For you?’ he said.

  ‘No. It’s too early. One is enough.’

  It still was early. It wasn’t yet eleven.

  The house was a wooden one, like her mother’s, on the outskirts of Tchersky. It was crazily lopsided, a veteran of many thaws; but it stood alone, was not overlooked, had a large shed alongside. The bobik was now in the shed. He had noted all this and was now turning it over in his mind, together with all the other matters revolving there.

  She finished binding the ankle and sat back with her own drink. The eyes were still somewhat glassy but now from the vodka, perhaps. She was palely controlled, watching him.

  ‘Why did you wait so long?’ he asked at last.

  ‘To see how you managed here. If you were capable.’

  ‘Did I manage?’

  ‘Yes. Well enough.’

  ‘Then why Panarovka, the inquisition?’

  She took a sip of vodka. ‘To see what story you’d produce if it came to a police investigation. Also how you’d be with genuine Chukchees … You were very lucky.’

  ‘You also.’

  She nodded, looking into her glass.

  ‘You planned to kill me before we left here, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your story in the church, about Khodyan, Ponomarenko – were you given all that or did you make it up?’

  ‘I made it up.’

  ‘Glib. As well as lucky. All right, put a drop more in here … So where is Khodyan?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He poured into her glass, and into his own. ‘I don’t know where his papers came from, either. But the background came from Ponomarenko.’

  ‘Ponomarenko is in Batumi?’

  ‘Maybe. He’s somewhere. They have evidence against him of drug-dealing – a capital offence, a long term at the least. He’s under control.’

  ‘Why Ponomarenko?’

  ‘It happened to be Ponomarenko. Many drivers go to the Black Sea for the summer. Ponomarenko was not lucky.’

  ‘What did he have to do – provide his apartment, all the details of his life here?’

  ‘That, yes.’

  ‘Including his relations with Lydia Yakovlevna?’

  ‘No. Those I found out for myself.’

  ‘Did you also find out she had gonorrhoea?’

  He drank, poker-faced.

  ‘Eighteen months ago,’ she said, ‘I had to send that girl to Tchersky hospital. She had concealed her condition, and it had become serious. I couldn’t have you going into hospital again. Every mark on your body is detailed there. Which is why I examined you. Stay away from the girl. She’s promiscuous.’

  The vodka had brought faint colour to her cheeks, and the eyes gleamed more brightly now.

  Again he made no comment.

  ‘So what plans have you for getting to Tcherny Vodi?’

  ‘Obviously the Evenks – first a visit to the collective, and then the herds. They have a headman there, Innokenty. He chooses the people to
go to Tcherny Vodi. A stinking head comes down and makes out the passes for them.’

  She stared at him. ‘Passes, stinking heads, Innokenty … Did you know all this before you came?’

  ‘No. I discovered it here.’

  ‘And this is why you wanted a letter to the collective?’

  He smiled faintly. ‘I also discovered,’ he said, ‘that I didn’t need it. They take their pelts there from Panarovka. I would have gone with them.’

  ‘You were going again to Panarovka?’

  ‘For your funeral.’

  Her mouth dropped open, and something flickered momentarily behind her eyes.

  She drank some vodka.

  ‘Well,’ she said presently. ‘You don’t need that plan. I go out to the herds, every six or eight weeks. In a helicopter. You’ll come with me.’

  ‘Is this Rogachev’s idea?’

  ‘No. Mine. It’s true you’ll need the cooperation of the Evenks. Which I see from your performance you have a good chance of getting.’ She finished her drink quickly. ‘He hasn’t told me any detailed plan yet.’

  ‘Does he know I’m here now?’

  ‘Yes. He knows.’

  ‘When did you see him?’

  Her thin smile showed for a moment.

  ‘The last time? I should think – thirty years ago.’

  Thirty years ago, she said, Rogachev had stayed in this house. He had been a fellow prisoner with her father years before in the camp at Panarovka. When it had closed down he had gone back to Moscow, while her father had remained here. Panarovka couldn’t be lived in at that time – the Chukchees were still dismantling the camp and turning it into houses – and her father had made this place his surgery. Her mother had come up from Leningrad, and here she herself had been born.

  At the time Nizhniye Kresty (Tchersky’s old name) had been very rough, very primitive; detested, abominated, by her mother. Many released prisoners were still roaming, a proper medical service not yet established, nowhere for visitors to stay. And Rogachev had travelled up on a visit, in connection with some scientific mission, and had stayed with his old friend Dr Komarov.

  ‘And soon became my adored friend! There I was, a little girl of six, without any friends, and this delightful man – I remember he insisted they take me along when they paid a visit once to Panarovka, to have a look at it again, see how it was getting on. It was very old, much older than the bigger camps along the Kolyma. Old from Tsarist days – old, old, with its church. Is this too complicated for you?’ she said, at his thoughtful expression.