Stephen Burke: The Reluctant Contact

The mute one wrote down a word. Yuri arched his neck but couldn’t make it out. The man caught him doing it, and Yuri rolled his head to the other side as if he was stretching a pained muscle.

‘And Anya, the former school teacher. You are lovers, isn’t that so?’ asked the questioner.

‘Were. Until recently. Yes. Did she tell you that?’

The man ignored his question, as though it had not been asked.

‘Why did it end between you two?’

‘Why does any relationship end?’ said Yuri. ‘If I knew the answer to that I wouldn’t go through so many.’

Yuri caught the hint of a smile from the silent one, and he began to relax a little. Anya had said nothing incriminating about him, he was sure. Otherwise this conversation would be taking an altogether different tack.

A day later, he was called to the mine director’s office. The director and Yuri rarely had to deal with each other, except when there were problems on a large scale. And he made sure there were few of those. He made his way to his office with a sinking feeling. The subject of this chat was unlikely to be about a pay rise. When he knocked and entered, the director had his back to him, staring out the window. They now had a couple of hours of daylight each day. The sun, although it was not yet high in the sky, had already begun to have an effect on the ice-bound fjord.

‘Sit down, Yuri,’ said the director. His brow was creased with troubles.

Yuri sat stiff and upright, wondering if this was finally the end of his time here. The director sat and cleared his throat.

‘A lot has happened lately,’ he said, throwing Yuri an occasional glance. The rest of the time he stared down at his own hands. ‘Most of it not good, I don’t need to tell you.’

Yuri nodded, biding his time rather than opening his mouth and saying the wrong thing.

‘Your contract is up with us when?’ the director asked.

Here we go, he thought, time to start packing.

‘Six months from now,’ he said. ‘End of September.’

‘I see. And how long have you been with us, altogether?’

Yuri counted on his fingers. ‘Six contracts. Minus six months. Eleven and a half years.’

The director raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Is it that long? You’ve been here almost as long as me.’

Yuri felt his pulse quickening. The director stood and looked out the window again.

‘A bad business this, with Grigory and Timur. And that Norwegian pilot too. It’s all very strange. They are saying now that Semyon’s death might not have been an accident after all. They want to dig up the body. Grigory apparently is the chief suspect. They are calling him a traitor. I’m finding it all hard to believe.’

‘They are wasting their time with Semyon,’ said Yuri. ‘I saw the autopsy report. Even if it did happen another way, there’s no evidence to prove it wasn’t an accident.’

The director nodded. ‘They are going to do it anyway. I will let them. They can send him back to Latvia when they are finished. I never would have pegged Grigory for a traitor, though, would you?’

‘You never can tell with people,’ said Yuri. ‘And do they have any idea where Timur is?’

‘No,’ said the director. ‘That’s even stranger. The man seems to have disappeared without a trace. No one has seen him since the day Grigory left.’

The director descended into a long, worried silence. The dark clouds forming above the glacier across the fjord seemed to match his mood.

‘Was there something in particular that you wanted to see me about?’ asked Yuri.

‘What?’ said the director, remembering that he was there. ‘Oh, yes, sorry.’

Yuri took a deep breath.

‘At unfortunate times like this,’ said the director, as he retook his seat, ‘what we need is stability. I need people I can rely on. Trust. Trust has been abused, by at least one among us, and we need to redress that. To be honest I am glad the bad apples are gone. We don’t need them. Wouldn’t you agree?’

Yuri nodded, only because this is what he guessed the man wanted from him.

‘This contract of yours,’ said the director, ‘how about we extend it now for a further two years?’

Yuri made to speak but the director held up his hand to silence him.

‘I know it’s a lot to ask. Life in the Arctic is harsh. And there are probably loved ones back home you want to get back to. You know I’m sure we could arrange to bring them out here if that would help?’

Yuri thought for a moment. ‘No. Thanks for the offer. But there’s no one.’

The director looked surprised. ‘I see.’

‘Well, there is one,’ said Yuri, as an idea formed in his head. ‘I have a son. Perhaps you could find him a job here. If he was interested.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said the director. ‘What are his skills?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Yuri, with no hint of embarrassment. ‘I will write to him and ask. But isn’t there a waiting list to come here?’

The director’s face brightened considerably. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. If he wants to come, then we’ll find a way to make it happen. You are a family after all.’

Yuri smiled. They were not a family, and had not been for twenty years. But it was worth a shot to ask.

‘So,’ said the director. ‘Are we in agreement? You will stay here until at least September 1980?’

Yuri paused, not wishing to seem too eager. ‘My wages?’

The director frowned again. ‘What about them?’

‘Perhaps a raise is in order, given the length of my service. Not to mention the harshness of life here, as you said. Another two years would be a big sacrifice to make. I am willing to serve of course, wherever I am asked to. It is my duty.’

The director sighed. ‘I am sure we can come to some arrangement,’ he said. ‘Another day?’

Yuri stood and offered his hand. The director did the same, and the deal was done.

Finally, spring and full sun returned. The first day when it rose high in the sky had a magical quality. There were droplets of water everywhere, sparkling in the light. Yuri sat outside the power station and let the rays fall on his face. There was little heat from it, but it felt good nonetheless.

For many reasons, it had been Yuri’s hardest winter ever. He was not the same man he had been. And his relationship with this town had changed too. Things he had been certain about were no longer so fixed in his mind. Right now, despite his agreement with the director, he was not sure he could face the sun disappearing again. The sun was life. Darkness was sleep, and death. He chose life. But he decided he would look forward to the days to come. Spring, and summer after that. Right now, the next winter was a long way off, and any decisions about his future here could be put off for a while.

It would be a busy time too, with no space to dwell on these matters. The spring thaw would bring water, and lots of it. It needed to be managed so that it did not do whatever it wanted. Left to its own devices water was a destructive force. The ice on the fjord was the first to break up, separating into large floating blocks. These became smaller and smaller until, after a few weeks, they disappeared. Boat traffic would resume soon, and with it a changeover of staff at the mine as contracts ended and new ones began. The boats would bring new female faces, but he promised himself not to look. Although, he knew this was a lie. Look then, but don’t touch, he thought. At least for a while.

He set about some spring cleaning in his apartment. The first chore was to empty the remains of any alcohol he had out the window. He set a target of two dry months. He knew it would not last longer than that, and perhaps he might not even reach this target. But his body would feel the benefit of even a fortnight of abstinence. His fiftieth birthday was looming in the not too distant future. If he wanted to see many years beyond that, he knew a change of lifestyle would be required.