Eugene Vodolazkin - The Aviator

SATURDAY [INNOKENTY]

Yesterday they telephoned me from some political party and proposed that I join. I played at wavering. They explained to me that this was the governing party and that if I wanted to achieve anything… But I have Nastya, what else can I achieve? I thanked them and hung up. Then Geiger called with an invitation from the governor. And I agreed right away to go with him and for some reason didn’t even think about mentioning the party’s call. Because maybe it coincided with the invitation? What do they want from me? Advertising? Did they like my ads with the vegetables?

When the governor hosted us today, I had the opportunity to scrutinize him up close, imagine to myself what political authority looks like. And it looks, put bluntly, ordinary, nothing outrageous: large bald spots, a groomed and somehow simultaneously wrinkled face, spots on the skin. I looked at the governor and thought about how being near him caused me no agitation, the same as if his presence were televised. Yes, that’s the exact comparison: the object of observation is nearby and fully visible but there’s no contact with him: he’s on the other side of a screen.

And my life is on this side.

SUNDAY [INNOKENTY]

No, I will write about my cousin Seva after all. About Seva at the Kem transit point. About Seva in a leather jacket, wearing a service cap with a red star.

We zeks had already been standing in formation for more than two hours, waiting for the chief who would decide our fate. Rather, our fates, because even here, each person had his own. The chief appeared and he was Seva. He walked in the company of several Chekists. I cannot say I was very surprised when I saw him, at least after the first second. In essence, one might have expected something of the sort from him. He had found that big strength he was seeking and was now acting in its name.

He did not notice me right away. First he sat down at a table and poured himself some water from a pitcher. Drank it. And then raised his eyes and noticed. He appeared to be smiling but it only appeared that way. It was a spasm, not a smile. He immediately lowered his eyes to the paper on the table. After scratching his nose, he began reading it: surname and place for assignment. His voice shook, despite the forced severity. It began breaking as the letter ‘P’ approached.

‘Platonov!’

There was fear and entreaty in Seva’s gaze. He was undoubtedly thinking that his kinship to me would compromise him. That the Chekists would inform on him to the proper place right away.

‘Here!’ I answered.

Seva and I, two aviators. At the sea, an even more northern one now than before. Only this time he was the leader, all the strings were in his hands. Where were we flying?

‘Remain on Popovsky Island until my special instruction.’ His voice has become a wheeze.

‘Yes, sir, remain!’

I looked at the floor. The paint on the boards was peeling. A camel had formed there; it was just lying there on the floor. They do well, those camels, in warm regions. They can spit on everything. I sensed Seva’s relief even without seeing him: I did not let on that I knew him. I had enough sense to understand that a transit point was not the best place to recognize someone.

From that moment on, the hope arose in me that he would pull me out of the camp. Or, say, leave me here with light work. I expected that today or tomorrow he would somehow find me or simply summon me. To cheer me, for starters, and then – who knows? – to ease my lot.

None of that happened. Seva was not interested in either meeting with me or – even less so – in my staying constantly alongside him. With his mistrustfulness, I think he considered that too dangerous for himself.

Seva’s special instruction appeared twelve hours later. They sent me to the 13th Brigade of the Solovetsky Special Purpose Camp. That was one of the harshest places on Solovki. Had Seva set my destruction as his goal? I don’t know. I am certain only that he suffered in signing his instruction. Maybe he was remembering our argument over the locomotives of history.

TUESDAY [GEIGER]

They didn’t invite Nastya to see the governor. Innokenty stated this complaint to me after the fact.

Originally, he said nothing of the sort. From this it follows that the complaint originated with the uninvited herself. Innokenty requested that in cases like this I mention Nastya separately.

She’s been walking around looking pale. It’s obvious that the pregnancy is not progressing very easily. The nerves are from that.

About the outing to the governor, by the way. While we were waiting, Innokenty told me that the other day he finished reading a book about heroes of outer space. Oddly enough, of the multitude of heroes, it was the dogs, Belka and Strelka, that made the greatest impression on him. He spoke anxiously about them.

TUESDAY [NASTYA]

Platosha and Geiger went to see the governor but nobody invited me. It’s not that I especially wanted to see that governor guy – in theory I couldn’t care less about him – it’s just that, according to etiquette, the invited’s wife should be with him. The thought likely didn’t occur to Geiger but Innokenty Petrovich could have considered it. At first, I didn’t tell him what I thought on that score but then I said it when we were making love. He: oh, that is pretty embarrassing, I didn’t figure things out right away, it didn’t even cross my mind.

It’s too bad it didn’t. That’s all, I don’t feel like writing more today.

THURSDAY [INNOKENTY]

I studied the GPU rapist’s routes. I didn’t so much study them – because how could I follow someone who moved about the camp freely? – I simply worked at the repair workshop, not far from where those routes ran. The GPU man’s surname (I found this out fairly quickly) was uncomplicated: Panov. As for his routes, they weren’t elaborate, either: they led to the command-staff bathhouse that stood behind the workshop.

Panov usually appeared on Saturdays with his entire GPU shift; sometimes he came in the middle of the week. At first I thought this character was meeting with ladies there, but it became clear that he preferred arranging those meetings for home. Panov went to the bathhouse so often solely because he loved steaming a while. He valued bodily enjoyment in the broader sense, but steaming was the most important thing to him. It seemed to me that the way our paths crossed in that huge place (it happened on its own!) was not accidental. It definitely convinced me that I would finish off Panov after all, as I had schemed.

There wasn’t even any need for me to run after him: he himself walked past me and I saw him through the workshop’s dulled window. One time I took a bucket with a rag and washed the window. They all laughed, wondering why. I cannot (I said) stand dirt on window glass. This is still a habit of mine from home. Well, if it’s from home (they were laughing anyway) that’s another matter. For all that, I could now see Panov well: walking back and forth. He sometimes went back alone, from which I could conclude that on those occasions he was the last one in the steam room.

One time, he moved wearily (head lowered, finger in his nose) past the window, and I slipped out of the workshop through the back door and made my way to the bathhouse without going out to the road. There was no light in the changing-room window. The door to the bathhouse was locked. I soon discovered the key under a wooden grate by the door but left it in place. I had found out the most important thing: Panov stayed in the bathhouse after it was supposed to be closed and staff were to leave, under camp regulations. They left him the key and he closed the bathhouse on his own.

I could have already left but I lifted the wooden grating again. It was knocked together roughly, with large gaps between the slats. I pulled a hacksaw blade out of my trouser leg. One end was sharpened and the other was wrapped in coarse fabric. I placed the blade in the gap between the boards and it settled well. I pressed two fingers on its edge. It sank all the way between the gaps, not counting the small end it could be pulled out with. But it was impossible to notice if you didn’t know about it. Only I knew about it. And that secret made my life easier.