Vladimir Sorokin - The Blizzard

The doctor approached him cautiously and looked at him without bending over:

“What happened?”

“He was beaten,” answered Bedight.

“Who did it?”

“We did.”

The doctor looked at Bedight’s intelligent face.

“Why?”

“He lost some expensive things.”

The doctor sighed disapprovingly, squatted, and took the battered Vitaminder’s wrist. There was a pulse.

“But he’s alive,” said Lull Abai, stroking his thin beard.

“He’s alive,” said the doctor, as he touched the Vitaminder’s face, “but he has a fever.”

“A fever.” Slumber nodded.

“That’s the ding-a-ling,” said Bedight, licking his thin lips. “But we don’t have any medicines.”

“And this is a matter for the law, gentlemen.” The doctor’s lower lip pursed as he looked at the beaten man.

“It is a matter for the law,” Bedight concurred, and the other two Vitaminders nodded their shaven heads in agreement. “But we are counting on your understanding.”

“I’ll have to report it,” said Platon Ilich rather indecisively, realizing that in saying these words he might end up back out in the discomfort of the wailing blizzard.

“We will thank you,” said Lull Abai, pronouncing the Russian words carefully.

“I don’t take bribes.”

“We won’t thank you with money,” Bedight explained. “We’ll let you try a sample.”

The doctor looked at Bedight silently.

“A sample of our new product.”

Platon Ilich’s eyebrows climbed upward and he took off his pince-nez to wipe it. The doctor’s nose was pink from the warmth.

“Well…” He pushed his pince-nez up on the bridge of his nose, sighed, and slowly shook his head.

The Vitaminders sat motionless, waiting.

“Of course, it’s hard … to refuse.” The doctor exhaled, overcome by a rush of helplessness. He reached for his handkerchief with a sense of doom.

“We were beginning to fear that you would refuse.” Bedight grinned.

The Vitaminders laughed. The servant girls laughed quietly.

The doctor blew his nose with a honk. Then he laughed as well.

The Kazakh’s well-fed face appeared from behind the curtain:

“Masters, the driver is asking to warm his horses.”

“How many are there?” asked Slumber.

“Don’t know. They’re little ones.”

“Ah, little ones…” Slumber glanced at Bedight.

“Build them a shed,” ordered Bedight. “And give him something to eat.”

The Kazakh withdrew.

“In that case … I … need my traveling bags…,” the doctor muttered, leaning over Drowsy’s beaten body again. “And I need to wash my hands with soap.”

He was ashamed of his weakness, but couldn’t help himself: he’d sampled the Vitaminders’ products when means permitted. They made the life of a provincial doctor much easier. He allowed himself to indulge at least once every two months. But in the last year his finances had been worse, much worse: his already modest salary had been cut by eighteen percent. He’d had to refrain, and so it had been a year since Dr. Garin had shone .

He was ashamed of his weakness, and he was also ashamed of his shame, and then ashamed of this double shame. He became indignant and cursed himself abruptly and furiously:

“Idiot … Bastard … Damned hypocrite.”

His hands trembled. He had to occupy them with something, so he began to unfold the rug, fully exposing the figure lying there. The Vitaminder moaned.

Meanwhile, two girls had brought the travel bags, wiped the snow off them, and set them by the doctor. Two others brought him a pitcher of water, a basin, and a towel.

“And the soap?” asked Platon Ilich, taking off his jacket and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

“We don’t have soap,” replied Bedight.

“No? What about vodka?”

“We don’t keep any of that swill.”

“Ah, I have some alcohol…,” the doctor remembered.

Opening his travel bag, he took out a round bottle, splashed water on his hands, wiped them with the towel, and then washed them in alcohol.

“Let’s see now…” The doctor unbuttoned Drowsy’s shirt, put his stethoscope to the man’s chest, and began to listen, his eyebrows raised.

“We didn’t beat him on the heart,” said Lull Abai.

“His heart’s fine,” concluded the doctor.

He examined the Vitaminder’s limbs. The man moaned again.

“His arms and legs are in one piece.”

“We beat him on the stomach and the head,” said Slumber.

The doctor pulled up the shirt, revealing the Vitaminder’s stomach. He palpated it, concentrating, his red nose hanging over the man. The man kept on moaning.

“No swellings or internal injuries,” said the doctor, pulling the shirt down and leaning over the head. “But here it looks like we have a concussion. Has he been unconscious a long time?”

“Since yesterday.”

“Any vomiting?”

“No.”

The doctor put smelling salts under the man’s nose:

“Come on now, my good fellow.”

The Vitaminder frowned slightly.

“Can you hear me?”

A weak moan came in reply.

“Hold on just a minute now. Be patient,” the doctor comforted.

Garin took out a hypodermic and an ampoule; he rubbed the Vitaminder’s tattooed shoulder with alcohol and gave him a shot.

“It’ll get better.” He removed the hypodermic.

“Why did you roll him up in a rug?” the doctor asked.

The Vitaminders looked at one another.

“To calm him down,” Slumber answered.

“Like in a cradle.” Bedight yawned.

“We rubbed sheep fat on the soles of his feet, too,” said Lull Abai.

The doctor didn’t comment on that bit of information.

After the shot, Drowsy’s cheeks grew rosier.

“Can you move your arms and legs?” asked the doctor in a loud voice.

Drowsy moved his arms and one leg.

“Wonderful. Consequently—we know his spine is intact … What hurts?”

The blood-caked lips opened:

“Huh-huh…”

“What?”

“He-he-hed.”

“Your head hurts?”

“Uh-huh.”

“A lot?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Dizzy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nauseous?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Liar … Liar!” Slumber cried. “He hasn’t barfed once all this time.”

The doctor looked at Drowsy’s head:

“No fractures. Only bruises. The neck is all right.”

He retrieved some iodine and applied it to the abrasions on the man’s face. Then he applied calendula lotion.

“Metalgin-plus and rest,” said the doctor, straightening up. “And warm liquid nourishment.”

Bedight nodded in understanding.

“We were afraid he’d die,” said Lull Abai.

“No danger to his life.”

The Vitaminders smiled in relief.

“Well now, just like I said!” Bedight grinned. “Do you have any Metalgin?”

“I’ll leave you five tablets.”

“We thank you, doctor,” said Slumber, inclining his head.

The doctor took out a pack of Metalgin-plus, punched out one tablet, and gestured to the servant girl:

“A glass of water.”

The girl poured some water. The doctor placed the tablet in the patient’s mouth and held the cup for him to sip. The patient began to cough.

“Calm down. The worst is over…,” the doctor comforted him.

He held his hands over the basin. The girl poured water over them. The doctor dried his hands and rolled down his shirtsleeves:

“That’s it.”

The doctor’s heart pounded in anticipation. But he made an effort to look calm.

“Have a seat,” said Bedight, nodding toward the empty place at the square table.

The doctor sat down, tucking his legs under him.