Исай Лукодьянов - The Black Pillar

"Sasha, what's happening? The papers are full of you, I am very very worried…"

"Everything's all right here, don't worry, darling! Damn, some music's interfering. Marina, how are you, how's Vovka, how's Mam? Marina, can you hear me?"

"Yes, the music's interfering. Everything's all right at home. Sasha, are you well? Tell me the truth."

"Absolutely. How's Vovka getting on?"

"Vovka can walk now-even run. Oh, he's so like you, it's a laugh."

"Can he run already?" Kravtsov gave a happy laugh. "Good old Vovka. Kiss him for me, won't your

"All right. Your Esperanto magazines have come-shall I send them on to you?"

"Not just yet. There's such a lot of work-don't send them yet."

"Sasha, what really happened? Why are the pipes coming up?"

"The devil knows!"

"What? Who knows?"

"No one knows yet. How are things at school?"

"Oh, you know, the top classes are very difficult. Still, it's fine. Sasha, they're cutting me off."

A monotonous voice broke in in English:

"IGY rig! IGY rig! London calling."

"Marina! Marina!" shouted Kravtsov. "Marina!"

The radio operator touched him on the shoulder. Kravtsov put the receiver down on the table and went out.

The floodlights blazed and the flames of the cutters roared in showers of sparks. The deck was blocked with sections of pipe, and all around the black ocean waters and sky. It was an oppressive humid night.

Jumping from pipe to pipe, Kravtsov went to the derrick. Jim Parkinson's crew was at work.

"How's it going, Jim?"

"Not so good." Jim jumped to one side as a severed pipe fell with a clash. He rolled it away and looked up at Kravtsov. "I'm afraid the derrick'll be smashed. Just listen, sir."

Kravtsov had already been listening to the confused din and felt the vibration underfoot.

"The water's got hot," continued Parkinson. "The boys went for a swim and had to jump right out. It's 104°F at the surface-at least."

Marina's soprano was still ringing in Kravtsov's ears. "The papers are talking about you." I wonder what they've been saying? "I'm very worried." I'm worried too. Something inconceivable and terrible is going to happen.

There was a light in Will's cabin. Kravtsov knocked on the half-open door and heard a grunpy "Come in".

Will was sitting at the table in an open shirt and shorts studying his graphs. He pointed to an armchair and pushed over a packet of cigarettes.

"What about the camera?" he asked.

"It won't be long now. Will, I had a call from Moscow."

"Your wife?"

"Yes. She says the papers are talking about us."

The Scotsman snorted contemptuously.

"Have you got a family, Will? You've never mentioned one."

"I've a son," answered Will, after a long pause.

Kravtsov took up a green plasticine figure that was lying on the table. It was a deer with great branchy antlers.

"I was rather rude to you," said Kravtsov, turning the deer about in his fingers. "Remember how I shouted at you?"

Will made an abrupt gesture with his hand.

"Shall I tell you a short story?" He turned his tired face to Kravtsov and passed his hand over his grizzled crewcut. "In the highlands, in Scotland, there's a gorge called Paddy Black. There's the most polite echo in the world in that gorge. If you shout 'How are you, Paddy Black?' it immediately replies 'Very well, thank you, sir.' "

"Why've you told me that?"

"No special reason. I just thought of it." Will turned his head to the open door. "What's the matter? Why's it so quiet at the derrick?"

Parkinson's crew was clustered on the edge of the well gangway.

"Why aren't you cutting, Jim?" asked Will. "See for yourself." The casing was motionless. "That's funny!" exclaimed Kravtsov in surprise. "Has it finished rising?"

Just then the casing gave a jerk, and leapt suddenly upward; then it fell straight to its previous position, or even lower. The rig was shaken to its base; the automatic drive of the screws had no time to react.

Again the casing jerked up and down, and again, and yet again, but with no definite rhythm. The deck was rocking underfoot and lengths of cut pipe went rolling and crashing around it.

"Mind your feet!" shouted Kravtsov. "Make fast everything you can!"

The riggers who were off duty came rushing out of their cabins. Will and Kravtsov dashed to the television cabin, where Bramulla was sitting glued to the screen. Stamm and Ali-Ovsad were standing near.

"The casing's jerking up and down," burst out Kravtsov, breathlessly.

"I warned you," answered Stamm. "Look what's happening to the seabed."

A grey mass was rising and falling on the screen. The picture vanished, then a dark picture of the barren uneven bed of the ocean appeared- and once again everything was in motion. The camera was evidently revolving slowly down there in the depths.

Kravtsov was now able to make out what was happening: a great heap of debris was rising above the seabed, moving, growing, and sinking, with rocks rolling down its sides-not rapidly, as on land, but slowly and smoothly, as though unwillingly.

Stamm turned a knob slightly. The screen darkened, then a pipe suddenly came into view in the top left corner.

"Tubo de entubacion!" exclaimed Bramulla.

On the screen the casing-pipe looked like a straw. It swung there while the pile of debris swelled under it. Again everything became dark, and at that moment the rig gave such a jerk that Bramulla fell of his chair.

Kravtsov helped him to get up.

"Madonna… Santiago," murmured the Chilean, panting.

"I warned you," Stamm's voice rattled. "The artificial casing is being ejected from the borehole together with the rock, and the lower, end of the casing is dancing on the debris. We don't know what's going to happen next. The rig must be abandoned at once."

"No," said Will. "We must raise the casing with the tackle and as quickly as possible."

"That's right," agreed Kravtsov. "Then it will stop dancing."

"It's dangerous," protested Stamm. "I can't consent to this."

"It's dangerous if people are careless," said Ali-Ovsad. "I'll keep watch myself." Everybody looked at Bramulla. "Raise the casing," said the Chilean. "Raise it and cut it. But in the name of all that's holy, be quick about it."

The rig was shaking as though in a fever. Ali-Ovsad took his stand by the control panel of the main engine and the hook began to rise, pulling up the casing. The cables shrieked and the blue flame roared.

"Come on! Come on!" shouted Ali-Ovsad from time to time, his eye fixed on the casing as it came up. "There isn't much left!"

The cut pipes crashed down on the gangway. But soon, as the casing was raised sufficiently above the seabed, the vibration on the rig stopped. Then as the blue dawn was shining over the ocean, the drill pipes, ejected by that mysterious force, began to rise from the well. The plasma cutter, as before, would not function, and the gas one worked slowly. But now it was possible to fix the nozzles to the automatic circular cutter which rose at the same speed as the pipe, while the cutting head circled round it. When it had completed the operation, the automatic cutter slid down and once more rose along with the pipe.

But the speed of ascent grew and grew and the automatic cutter could no longer keep pace, so that the cuts were oblique and moved in a spiral. The men were forced to stop the automatic cutter and work by hand sitting in the cradle suspended from the auxiliary hoist.

They worked in snort shifts but were exhausted by the terrific pace of the work; and in addition, it has become very hot. The transport, crammed with pipes, had sailed, and the deck around the borehole was once more blocked up with lengths of pipe.

All their lives the men remembered those days of scorching sun and frenzied toil, the humid air of the sea, and the nights lit by floodlights and blue jets of gas.