We hadn’t sailed for more than half a day when the first small landing dock appeared. Near it huddled the huts of a fishing village. A little steam-powered tugboat was moored to the dock, its funnel smoking. We decided to pull up onshore and
have a look
at the village. A little way before reaching the dock, we sailed into the rushes, pulled the boat ashore, rested, and ate some carrots and berries. Then, among the willow clusters, we began to bury the Ice in the sand. We hadn’t yet finished our task when three armed, rough-looking fellows emerged from the bushes.
“Now, don’t breathe!” a bandit with a black mustache ordered in a hoarse voice, pointing a Mauser at us. “Hands up!”
We raised our hands. The two others approached and searched us. They took away our gold dust and money, as well as the firearms and bullets from the raft.
“What did you bury?” the man with the black mustache asked.
We said nothing. It was an
important
moment. We had to answer these people somehow. As usual, my brain began to give me ideas about how to deceive them, ensnare them with intricate lies in order to save the Ice and ourselves. But my heart cut through the cobwebs of my brain with an order:
Speak the truth!
And this was the best step to take.
“We buried the Ice,” I answered calmly.
Fer and Ep
understood
me.
“What kinda ice?” the man with the black mustache asked hoarsely. “Come on, then, dig it up!”
Ep and I dug up the piece of Ice wrapped in moss and buried in a shallow hole. Black Mustache walked over and pushed the moss off with the barrel of his Mauser. He looked at it and touched it.
“Go on, dig deeper.”
He thought that we had buried the treasure deeper. With an ax and a knife we dug deeper. Black Mustache waited, then spit in the pit.
“What the hell you want ice for?”
I answered, “In order to awaken the hearts of our brothers and sisters.”
The bandits looked at each other. Black Mustache grinned. “And just how you plan on doing that?”
“We will make hammers of the Ice, and strike the breasts of our brothers. Their hearts will awaken and begin to speak in the language of the Light.”
The bandits looked at one another again.
“They’re cuckoo,” said one of them to Black Mustache. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” The steamboat whistle sounded. The bandits perked up. “Get rid of them, Semyon, and let’s go.”
“Wait, Kochura. They ain’t locals. Take ’em to the admiral first. You there, pick up that ice. And get your feet moving.”
With silent joy I lifted the Ice: it was with us! The bandit led us to the dock. It was empty, and two murdered sailors lay on it. A woman’s weeping could be heard from the village. The steamboat sounded again. The bandits pushed us quickly across the gangway and onto the deck. I noticed the name of the tugboat:
Komsomol
. They pulled in the gangway. And the little steamboat set off immediately.
As soon as Fer and I were on the deck of this miserable tugboat that had bent, rusted sides and a soot-covered smokestack, our hearts gave a
jolt
.
There was one of us
on the ship! I broke into a hot sweat of joy. By myself I didn’t
know
that there was one of us nearby. Neither did Fer, when she was alone. But together, Fer and I comprised a unique
heart magnet
, which unerringly detected a brother. With Ep this kind of magnet didn’t work.
They took us into the crew’s quarters; eight people were crowded in there. They were all armed. Hunting rifles lay on the floor, along with animal pelts, clothes, and simple household tools. The bandits had just finished robbing the village and were sorting out the loot. The boss was a short man in a leather jacket, leather pants, and tall, laced boots. A large pair of binoculars hung around his neck, a holster with a Mauser was at his hip. From underneath a leather cap with a red star blond hair stuck out; his dark-blue eyes, framed by whitish eyelashes, sparkled coldly from underneath white eyebrows. The leader’s wide face was remarkable for its intensely severe expression.
Fer and I
saw
him.
“Kozlov, you asshole! I’ll shoot you!” he shouted at the fellow with the mustache. “Where were you loafing about, you shit? You want us dead, you provocateur?”
The leader was an obvious psychopath. Cunning and mean.
“Admiral, we caught these three here,” Black Mustache said hoarsely. “We went into the bushes to do our business, and they were burying something in the ground.”
The leader directed his angry gaze at us. Fer was standing closest to him. I stood behind her with the Ice in my hands.
“What was it?” the leader replied curtly.
“Some kind of ice,” Black Mustache replied.
“What — what’s that?” the admiral asked again, squinting angrily.
“Ice,” I said clearly and emerged from behind Fer with the piece of Ice in my hands.
The admiral froze. His thin, purplish lips blanched. His tiny eyes settled on the Ice. Then he glanced at us.
“Wh
o...
who are you?” he said, speaking with difficulty.
“I am Bro, he’s Ep, and this is Fer,” I answered. “We’ve come for you.”
His body stiffened.
The din of the bandits stopped. Everyone stood quietly and looked at us. We were
looking
at the admiral. Our
heart
magnet
was working. I remembered the runner Nikola sitting in the boat between Fer and me. The situation was repeating itself. But the admiral was a different sort of person. Shaking off the stiffness, he withdrew the Mauser from its holster and pointed the steel-blue barrel at us.
“Come on now, troops, tie them up.”
They tied us up. The Ice fell on the floor.
“Now sit them down in the corner. And all of you — back on deck,” ordered the admiral. “I’ll have a quick parlay with them.”
The bandits unwillingly climbed up on deck: it was warmer in the hold.
The admiral stood with his Mauser and look at us. His heart
shuddered
. But he fought it off with all his might.
“Tell me again: who have you come for?”
“For you,” I said.
Fer didn’t have time
to help
me. The admiral laughed maliciously.
“Admiral, where are we going?” A head with bangs hung down through the hatch.
“To Kolmotorovo.”
“Didn’t we want to have a look at Yartsevo?”
“The GPU is there, you idiot. I said Kolmotorovo!” he shouted. “Full speed ahead! Three-whistle greetings to oncoming ships! Take the machine gun off the deck! Hide the rifles!”
“Yes, sir!” The head retreated.
The steamboat began to turn around. A flea-bitten fellow brought down the machine gun and set it at the admiral’s feet.
“Admiral, the thing is, I wante
d..
.” Fleabite mumbled. “I’ve got two pals in Yartsevo and also — ”
“Batten down the hatch!” shouted the admiral, turning white.
Fleabite climbed up the ladder with a sigh and closed the hatch. The admiral walked up to me and squatted. His belt and holster squeaked. He put the muzzle of the Mauser to my forehead. And I
felt
that he wanted to shoot. My heart
froze
.
“Now then, who did you come for?” he asked for the second time.
Now Fer helped me.
“We came for you,” we
spoke
simultaneously.
His heart throbbed. The Mauser shook in his hand. He exhaled, lowered the Mauser, and leaned on it as the floor of the hold rocked.
“Who are you?” he asked uncertainly.
“Your brothers,” I answered.
“I am your sister,” said Fer.
The magnet
began to work
. And Ep also
helped
. “I am your brother, too,” he said.
The admiral’s broad-cheeked, muscular face became distorted: his brain was resisting furiously. I realized that, recently, the admiral had been
suffering
. Just as Nikola had. Just as I had during the expedition. Now he was
very
afraid. His thin lips blanched. Sweat broke out on his pale forehead. The admiral began to shake.
“Go
d...
dam
n..
.” he whispered and began to raise the Mauser.
The barrel danced in his trembling, bloodless hands, white with fear. He farted loudly and pointed the Mauser at Fer.
“G-g-go
d...
dam
n...
shit
s..
.”
Our hearts
froze
. And I
realized
that we were ALWAYS prepared for death. His shaky finger was already pulling on the trigger. Our hearts
jolted
. And the Ice
answered
them.
The admiral glanced at the Ice in terror. And shot at it. Pieces of Ice flew about the hold. We cried out. The admiral stood up abruptly. His eyes rolled back in his head. He took one step and collapsed on the floor.
We began to free ourselves from the ropes. The warrior Ep tore his ropes off and untied us. Fer rushed to the Ice. Ep — to the unconscious admiral. I made an
immediate
decision: the machine gun! Equipped with a new cartridge, it shone all oily and new near the fallen admiral. The very same kind lay in the trunk of the porter, Samson, who had sheltered me as an adolescent at the Krasnoye station in the winter of 1920. I grabbed it, released the safety lock, and pulled back the bolt, just as Samson had done that morning, in order to scare away the bullies who wouldn’t stop bothering us.
Ep opened the leather jacket covering the admiral’s chest, tore the army-issue shirt and striped sailor’s skivvies underneath. On his chest was a tattoo of an eagle carrying a dragon in its talons. Fer grabbed a large piece of Ice.
“No!” I whispered. “Tie him up.”
They didn’t understand. I motioned upward with my eyes. “They’ll try to stop us.”
They
understood
everything. And immediately tied the admiral’s hands and feet with our own ropes.
Ep took the admiral’s Mauser. Fer took the rifle. We climbed up the iron ladder and I knocked on the hatch. They had hardly managed to open it when I aimed the fat barrel of the machine gun at the bandit. He was chewing something and took a step backward. We climbed up onto the deck. The bandits saw us.
“Back!” I ordered.
They began shuffling toward the stern. Most of them were still chewing on something. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed some meat wrapped in paper, bread, and a bottle of moonshine on the bench of the stern. After their work, they had decided to have a bite.
“Stop!” I ordered.
They looked at one another cautiously. Their brains had begun
working
.
“Take it easy, brother, we can work this out,” Black Mustache said hoarsely. “What is it you want?”
“To awaken the heart of our brother.”
I
truly
would have preferred to make a deal with them. To say, “Don’t get in our way. If you do this we’ll give you everything we have.” But my heart told me: they would not keep their word.
“Everyone overboard!” I ordered.
“Whatcher in such a stew about, man?” Black Mustache smiled with yellow teeth and moved toward me. “We’ll shower you with gold, as much as yo
u..
.”
His hand slipped into his pocket.
I aimed the barrel at him and pulled the trigger. The machine gun rumbled and shook in my hands. Bullets pierced Black Mustache’s body and flew out the other side with bits of clothes and meat.
I had killed a man for the first time in my life. And I realized: we would NEVER be able to REACH AN AGREEMENT with people. The bandits jumped overboard. But some shot at us from the deck cabin. Ep began to shoot awkwardly with the Mauser; Fer shot skillfully with the rifle. I aimed the smoking barrel of the machine gun at the deck cabin and pulled the trigger. The machine gun once again rumbled and shook in my hands. The bullets ripped through the sheet metal of the cabin, old white paint flaked off and flew in every direction; so did a strange red inscription:
LOM O SMOKINGI GNI, KOMSOMOL
!, with a red star. Having destroyed the deck cabin, I let go of the trigger, but it was stuck: the machine gun continued to shoot. It pulled to the left, I lowered the barrel; the bullets pierced the deck, splinters flew everywhere, and the machine gun thundered on, it just kept pulling and pulling to the left. Choking from the gunpowder smoke, I lifted the barrel. The machine gun kept firing and tried to pull itself out of my hands. In this fraction of a second I
understood
with my heart what a machine is and
why
it was created by humans: man cannot get along without machines because he is WEAK, he is born an eternal CRIPPLE and needs crutches, supports that help him to live. A machine of
destruction
, created by the human mind, was trying to escape my hands. It was
alive
. Bullets flew toward the sky, shells rained down on the deck.
I didn’t have the strength to handle it, so I stepped to the edge and with a desperate movement threw the machine gun overboard. It kept on firing as it fell. But the Yenisei soon swallowed up the machine of destruction.
Gunpowder smoke drifted over the deck. The
Komsomol
was sailing. We broke into the wheelhouse. There the wounded helmsman in a sailor’s uniform writhed on the floor, and Fleabite lay dead with his mouth open. Ep stood at the helm.
“Who else is on the ship?” I asked the helmsman.
“Stoker
s...
tw
o...
They locked the
m...
Don’t shoot,” he moaned.
“How do I get there?”
“Behind the galle
y...
the hatc
h..
.”
We found the hatch. It was closed with a bayonet. The stokers were working in the furnace room like
a piece
of the steam engine. We returned to the deckhouse.
“Hold the wheel,” I told Ep.
“I’ve never steered a ship,” he said, squinting at the Yenisei.
“And I’ve never shot a machine gun,” I answered.
Fer and I descended into the captain’s quarters. The bound admiral had come to and was rolling around furiously on the floor, trying to free himself. We seized him and held him to the floor. He moaned and bit. He smelled of excrement: he had soiled himself when he
felt
the Ice with his unawakened heart. We tied him to the handrail of the ladder. Fer grabbed a piece of the Ice. My eyes scanned the place; there were no sticks or hammers to be seen. Next to a heap of animal skins lay some weapons. I grabbed a sawed-off rifle from the pile and tore a shoulder strap from the admiral’s jacket. With the thin belt we attached the Ice to the rifle. Fer held the head of the moaning, howling admiral against the handrail. I ripped off his skivvies, swung the Ice hammer back, and struck his tattooed chest with all my might. His breastbone cracked. The Ice shattered in all directions. The admiral jerked and then hung helplessly from the ropes. We froze: we heard nothing at all. His heart was silent. This
couldn’t
be happening. Just beyond the bulkhead, the iron heart of the steamboat beat faintly. “Hit him again! It can’t awaken!” Fer cried out.