Apricot Jam: And Other Stories (23 page)

The impressions of those months and years had caused Pavel Kandalintsev to become desensitized to the life around him, which now seemed somehow inauthentic. It was as if his nerve endings had grown numb, as if his vision, his sense of smell, and his sense of touch had become less acute and would never be fully restored. He felt he might never laugh again. That was how he lived—and with the constant apprehension that the regional committee would grow angry with him for something and fire this unreliable non-party man from his job. He
’
d be lucky if they didn
’
t arrest him. More than once they were dissatisfied with him, so with his same benumbed fingers he submitted his application for party membership, and with his same benumbed ears he sat through party meetings. And what a ridiculous chaos of ideas they shoved into people
’
s heads and people
’
s souls, beginning with the abolition of
the week.
The old Monday-Wednesday-Friday-Sunday was done away with, so that no one could count weeks any longer. Now there was the
“
uninterrupted
”
five-day week with no common days off. Everyone worked or studied on different days, and there was never a single day when he could get together with his wife and children. Life rumbled over everyone like the continuously moving track of a caterpillar tractor, its oblique treads cutting deep into the earth.

It was with these same forever deadened feelings and sense of detachment that Pavel went off to war in August
‘
41 as a junior lieutenant from the reserves. He had been at war for more than three years now, still unable to feel anything with his whole being, as if alien even to himself and his own body. He had lain this way in a field near Leningrad, seriously wounded, until the medics came to look after him and send him to the hospital. And just as in the pre-war days, when any boorish fool from the regional committee could give Kandalintsev instructions about plant breeding, so in the army he was never astonished when given idiotic tasks to perform.

So now the war was drawing to a close. Had he actually survived it all? But even now Pavel was unable to feel anything fully: they might kill
him yet; there was still time enough for that. Someone had to die in the final months of the war, after all.

Only one feeling survived that was still keen: for his young wife,
Alina
. He missed her terribly.

Well, it will be as God decides.

~ * ~

9

The sled moved noiselessly over the soft snow, with only the horses snorting from time to time.

The night was becoming brighter: the moon could be seen behind the clouds, and the layer of clouds was growing thinner. You could identify the patches of trees and tell where the land was open.

Boyev kept checking his map, using his sleeve to cover the beam of his flashlight. By the bends in this road across the fields he could tell where he should drop off his battery commanders, each at his own OP in this field covered with fresh snow.

This seemed to be a good spot, right here.

Kasyanov and Proshchenkov jumped from their sleds and came up.

“
Just don
’
t get too far away from me, no more than a kilometer. It
’
s not likely we
’
ll have any work to do, and I expect we
’
ll be moved out in the morning. Still, you
’
d better dig in, just in case.
”

The three of them went their separate ways. The horses moved off confidently. There weren
’
t many hills in this area, and it took some time to make out where the high ground was. If they don
’
t pull us out by morning, we
’
ll have to look for something better.

And still there wasn
’
t a sound to be heard. There were no black shapes moving across the field.

When there
’
s a tricky job to be done, you get your best man to do it. He called up the clever Ostanin:
“
Vanya, take one of your gunners and go up about a kilometer, find out what the ground
’
s like. See if there
’
s anyone up there. And take some grenades with you.
”

Ostanin replied in his broad Vyatka accent:
“
You see someone moving around out there, best not ask,
‘
Who goes there?
’
You
’
ll get an answer from his machine gun. Or you try to fake it and say,
‘
Wer ist da
?’
and our own guys will let you have it.
”

They went off.

Now they brought up some picks and spades and began hacking at the earth. The top layer of soil was as
iron
hard as it had been on the graves this morning. They led the horses behind some bushes. The radio operator, using his radio on the sled, was calling out:
“
Balkhash, Balkhash, this is Omsk. Give me
Twelve
. Request from Ten.
”

“
Twelve
”
—who is Toplev—replies.

“
Have you located any of our
‘
sticks
’
?
”

“
No sticks, no one,
”
comes
his very concerned voice.

If there still are no infantry around
Adlig
, then they haven
’
t caught up with us. Where can they be?

“
What about Ural?
”

“
Ural says you
’
re not looking in the right place. Keep searching.
”

“
Just who were you talking to?
”

“
Zero Five.
”

That
’
s the head of brigade reconnaissance. He should be searching for them himself, up here, and not sitting in brigade headquarters thirty kilometers back. And why haven
’
t they moved out yet? When are they going to get here?

The digging was going slowly. Three small trenches should be enough, not even full depth. There
’
s no cover here anyway.

The agile Ostanin returned even earlier than expected.

“
Comrade Major. About half a kilometer ahead the ground drops into a hollow, and it looks as if it reaches around to our right. I went off to our left, slantwise, and saw some people crawling around.
Couldn
’
t tell who they were till one of them let out a full burst of good Russian curses when his spool of cable got snarled, so they
’
re our guys.
”

“
Who are they?
”

“
It
’
s the right-hand listening post. One spool of cable will be enough to link up with them, and we
’
ll have a direct line to their central station. So that
’
s fine.
”

“
Right, then let
’
s string out some cable. Your partner can do it.
”

Still, how are we going to sight in our guns? Nothing
’
s been surveyed in, we
’
ll have to do it all by eye.

“
Nobody else out there?
No infantry?
”

“
Not even any tracks in the snow.
”

“
Right.
Twelve, twelve, search for the sticks.
Send out your people in every direction!
”

~ * ~

10

The visibility was now a little better: you could make out the patch of forest that lay beyond
Adlig
on the left. The dark, spreading trees on the right could also be seen, but they were probably on the other side of the large hollow there.

Brigade headquarters had stopped responding to calls on the radio. That
’
s fine, they
’
ve probably moved out.
Didn
’
t let us know, though.

Toplev was very nervous. He was often nervous. He was always concerned for everything to be correct so that no one would criticize him. He wanted to avoid the smallest error, the tiniest flaw in his work, before his superiors spotted it and blasted him for it. But how can you always know the right thing to do?

And now he didn
’
t know where he should be. He had to check the screen of outposts; he had to go to the guns of
Four
and Five Batteries.
There were just two men from each crew on duty. The others had gone off to houses in the village. Were they getting something to eat? There was food in the houses. Or were they loading up with booty? There was enough of that as well, and it could be packed away in the battery trailer. (There were still a few old men and women in the village, but they didn
’
t dare make a fuss.)

It was a bad move, this letting them send parcels back from Germany. Now every soldier
’
s pack was bulging. And they never knew just what to take: they
’
d pick up one thing,
then
toss it aside when they found something better to make up their five kilos. Toplev could understand it all, but he didn
’
t like it because it got in the way of the job.

Then he set off back to the battalion headquarters truck on the edge of Klein Schwenkitten. Next to it was a little house that had a nice eiderdown. Time to stretch out and get some sleep, it was already past midnight. Not likely to get much sleep here, though.

~ * ~

The sky grew lighter behind the clouds. It was peaceful and quiet, as if there were no war going on.

Yet what would happen if some of them crept up from the east? Our shells weigh forty kilos apiece, and what with carrying them and reloading, it was never less than a minute between shots. And we
’
d never manage to pull out of here with these eight-ton gun-howitzers. It would be great if some other guns showed up, some antitank weapons from division. But there
’
s nobody.

Back at the truck he went to the radio again. He reported to the major: No contact with Ural. And no
“
sticks
”
either, though we
’
ve sent people out to look for them.

One of the sergeants sent here sprang into action. The hum of a motor could be heard from the road they
’
d taken to get here. It was a jeep. He couldn
’
t tell who was in it until the last minute.

A man jumped easily out of the jeep. Major Baluev.

Toplev reported: these were the firing positions of a heavy artillery battalion.

The major had a youthful voice, though it was very firm. This news cheered him up:
“
Do you mean it? Heavy artillery! That
’
s something I never expected!
”

They went into the house, to the light. The major was lean, cleanshaven. And he looked quite worn-out.

“
That
’
s quite amazing! It makes our job a lot easier.
”

It turned out that he was the commander of an infantry
regiment,
the very one they
’
d been looking for. Now it was Toplev who was cheered:
“
That
’
s great! Now we
’
ll get everything back in shape.
”

Not quite, though. It would be half the night before the first battalion of infantry could march here.