Ice Trilogy (55 page)

He said it, and I immediately felt what he was saying. And I understood what ICE was.

“Three of our brothers are in Russia,” Bro continued. “They will help you. And together you will accomplish great feats. Commence, Khram.”

Thus began the return to my homeland.

The next morning near Lake Inari I crossed the border into the USSR. A passenger car was waiting for me in the forest. Two men in KGB officer uniforms sat in it. One of them silently opened the door of the car, and I got in. We drove off, first along a forest road, then a highway. We traveled in silence. We were stopped by military patrols three times. My companions presented documents to them and they immediately let us pass.

Four hours later we entered Leningrad.

We stopped near a building on Morskoi. One of the officers invited me to follow him. He and I entered the building and climbed to the fourth floor. The officer rang apartment 15, turned, and went back downstairs.

The door opened. On the threshold stood a blond man of medium height in the uniform of a lieutenant colonel of the state security. He was extremely anxious, but restrained himself with all his might. Keeping his eyes fixed on me, he stepped back into the depths of the apartment. I trembled as well: my heart felt a brother. I closed the door and went to him. The apartment was almost dark because of the closed drapes. Nonetheless, I could make out the blue of his straining eyes.

We embraced and fell to our knees. Our hearts began to speak. This continued until evening. His heart had longed wearily for the sacred, and it trembled violently. But it was fairly inexperienced and knew only six heart words.

Finally we broke our embrace.

Coming to, he said, “My earthly name is Aleksei Ilich Korobov.”

His heart name was Adr.

He was silent again, and simply looked at me for a long time. But I was used to it. In our Home the brothers and sisters spoke in earthly language only when absolutely necessary. Then he picked up the telephone receiver and said, “The car.”

We went out onto the street. It was already dark.

A chauffeured automobile and guard were waiting next to the entrance. We were taken to Moscow Station. There we boarded the Leningrad–Moscow train and locked ourselves in a sleeping car. Adr placed fruits on the table. But he couldn’t eat; he just continued looking at me as before.

I was already hungry and ate a few fruits with pleasure. Then he told me his story. He was a regular officer of the MGB, and in 1947 the Ministry of State Security sent him to Germany on business for GUSIMZ, the Main Directorate of Soviet Property Abroad.

In Dresden, at a holiday banquet honoring the second anniversary of the victory over Germany, he became closely acquainted with his direct superior, General Lieutenant Vlodzimirsky, who headed the GUSIMZ office. Previously, they had met only in the line of duty. Vlodzimirsky, who was considered a tough, unsociable man at Lubianka, suddenly displayed a great deal of sympathy for Korobov, introducing him to his wife, inviting him to the private house where he usually stayed.

In the town house, he and his wife tied Korobov to a column and hit him with the Ice hammer. He lost consciousness. Then they placed him in a hospital where he came to in a separate, guarded ward. On the third day, Vlodzimirsky came to him, lay down in bed, embraced him, and spoke to him with the heart.

Thus did Korobov become Adr.

He asked me about the brotherhood, and I told him everything I knew. From time to time he cried from a feeling of tenderness, embraced me, and pressed my palms to his chest. But I restrained my heart so as not to shake Adr too strongly.

I understood my strength.

In the morning we arrived in Moscow at Leningrad Station. An automobile was waiting for us there.

We drove out of town and a while later arrived at Vlodzimirsky’s dacha.

It was a warm, sunny day.

Adr took me by the hand and led me into a large wooden house. Curtains covered the windows. Vlodzimirsky stood in the middle of the living room. He, too, was of medium height and had a compact body; a pair of gold silk pajamas clung to his stocky figure; his thinning dark-blond hair was combed back, and tears of rapture filled his greenish-blue eyes. Even at a distance I could feel his large, warm heart. I quivered in anticipation.

Vlodzimirsky’s wife stood a ways off — a thin, lovely woman. But she wasn’t one of us, and for this reason I didn’t notice her at first.

Vlodzimirsky approached me. His head jerked, his strong hands shook. Making a guttural sound, he lowered himself to his knees and pressed against me.

Adr came up behind me and also pressed against me.

They both began to sob.

Vlodzimirsky’s wife also began to cry.

Then Vlodzimirsky swept me up in his arms and carried me to the second floor. There, in the bedroom, he laid me down on a wide couch and began to undress me. Adr and his wife helped him. Then he undressed himself. Vlodzimirsky was truly built like an athlete. He pressed his wide white chest to mine. And our hearts merged. He wasn’t a newcomer to the language of the heart and he knew fourteen words.

My small, young, girl’s heart immersed itself in his powerful heart. It breathed and throbbed, burned and shuddered.

I had never felt so much with anyone, not even with Bro, the old man.

Our hearts had long been searching for each other. They raged. Time stopped for us...

We released our embrace two days later. Our arms were numb and would not obey us, we were so weak we could barely move. But our faces shone with happiness. My new brother was named Kha.

Adr and Vlodzimirsky’s wife led us to a bathroom and put us in a hot bath. Massaging my numb hands, his wife introduced herself.

“My name is Nastya.”

I responded with a warm look.

When we were finally feeling like ourselves, Kha began to speak.

“Khram, there are only four of us in Russia: you, me, Adr, and Yus. Adr and I are high-placed officers of the MGB, the most powerful organization in Russia. Yus is a typist in the Ministry of Machine Construction. I was pounded in 1931 in Baku by brothers who then left with Bro. We found Yus. You know that the Ice is the only thing that helps us to find our brothers. All of our efforts are currently directed at procuring a regular supply of the Ice, and secretly transporting it abroad where the most active search for our brothers and sisters is being carried out. The Scandinavian countries are the most active of all. In Sweden, one hundred and nineteen of our brothers live in three houses. In Norway there are about fifty. In Finland — almost seventy. Before the war, we had forty-four in Germany. Some of them occupied important positions in the NSDAP and the SS. Unfortunately, everything was more difficult in Russia. Four brothers, employees of the NKVD, perished at the end of the thirties during the ‘great purges.’ One sister from the Moscow City Committee of the Party was arrested and executed because of a denunciation. Two others died in the siege of Leningrad. I wasn’t able to help them. Another one, my closest brother, Umeh, whom we found in 1934, was a colonel general of the tank troops. He died on the front. Thank the Light that this had no effect on the supply of Ice. But it is very difficult for us to look for new brothers. You must help us.”

“How do they get the Ice?” I asked.

“Before 1936 we organized different expeditions. They were carried out in secret. Each time we hired Siberians, local hunters who crossed the swamps to the place where the meteor fell, and sawed off pieces of the Ice under terribly difficult conditions, bringing it to a secret place. There they were met by officers of the NKVD. The Ice was taken to the train station; it was sent to Moscow in a refrigerator, like valuable cargo. Getting it abroad was much easier. But this method was extremely risky and unreliable. Two expeditions simply disappeared, and another time plain ice was palmed off on us. I decided to radically change the way we acquired the Ice. At my initiative and with the help of influential brothers in the Siberian NKVD, a directorate was created with special authority for the raising of the Tungus meteorite. Two brothers, the ones who died in Leningrad, were prominent people in the Academy of Sciences. They established the scientific importance of the project, proving that Ice from the meteorite contained unknown chemical compounds capable of revolutionizing chemical weapons. Seven kilometers from the place where it landed we organized a corrective labor camp. The inmates of this small camp retrieve our Ice. This is only done in winter, when it is easy to cross the swamps.”

“But how do they distinguish our Ice from ordinary ice in the winter?”

“We distinguish it, not they.” Kha smiled. “Here, in Moscow. They break it up with crowbars where it fell, cut out metric cubes of ice, and drag them back to the camp. There the pieces of ice are loaded onto sleds, and horses carry them across the tundra to Ust-Ilimsk, where they are loaded onto railway cars and taken to Moscow. Here Adr and I enter the cars and put our hands on the ice. Only about forty percent of it turns out to be our Ice.”

“And how much ice is there in the meteorite?”

“According to external estimates — about seventy thousand tons.”

“Glory to the Light!” I smiled. “And it doesn’t melt?”

“When it fell, the block lodged in the permafrost. The tip is hidden by the swamp. Of course, the upper part of the block melts a bit in summer. But the Siberian summer is short: snap — and it’s gone!” Kha smiled in response.

“Thank the Light, there’s enough Ice to achieve our great goal,” added Adr, as he massaged us.

“And who makes the Ice hammers?” I asked.

“At first we did it ourselves, but then I realized that each person should do his own job.” Kha stuck his strong, handsome head under a stream of water with obvious pleasure. “In one of the
sharashkas
— the closed scientific laboratories where imprisoned scientists work — we established a small department for making the Ice hammers. Only three people. They produce five or six hammers a day. We don’t need more.”

“Don’t they ask what the hammers are for?”

“My dear Khram, these are engineers who are serving twenty-five-year sentences for ‘wrecking.’ They are enemies of the people; they don’t have anyone to ask, or any reason to ask. They just have instructions for making the hammers. They have to follow these instructions rigorously if they want to receive their camp rations. The boss of the
sharashka
told them that the Ice hammers are needed to strengthen the defensive power of the Soviet state. That’s enough for them.”

The old scars from the Ice hammer could be seen on Kha’s wide white chest. I touched them cautiously.

“It’s time to go, Khram,” he sighed resolutely. “You’ll come with me.”

We got out of the bath. Adr and Nastya rubbed us down and helped us dress. Kha arrayed himself in his general’s uniform, and they put me in the uniform of a State Security lieutenant. Adr handed me my documents.

“According to your passport you are Varvara Korobova. You are my wife, you live in Leningrad, you and I came here on a work trip. You are employed by the foreign department of the Leningrad GB.”

A black automobile waited at the dacha gates. The three of us got in and drove to Moscow. Nastya remained at home.

“Is it hard to live — with one of the empties?” I asked Kha.

“Yes.” He nodded, seriously. “But that’s the way it has to be.”

“Does she know everything?”

“Not everything. But she senses the greatness of our enterprise.”

In Moscow we arrived at the massive headquarters of the MGB on Lubianskaya Square. We entered, showed our documents, and proceeded to the third floor. In the hallway, several officers saluted Kha as we passed. He responded listlessly. Soon we entered his huge office where three secretaries stood waiting to greet us. Kha walked past them and threw open the double doors of the office. We followed him, and Adr closed the doors.

Kha tossed a leather dossier on his large desk, turned, and embraced me.

“There are no eavesdropping devices here. How happy I am, Sister! You and I will accomplish great things. You are the only one of us who knows all 23 heart words. Your heart is wise, strong, and young. We will tell you what needs to be done.”

“I’ll do everything, Kha,” I said, stroking his athletic shoulders.

Adr approached me from behind, embraced me, and pressed against me.

“My heart wants yours so dreadfully,” he whispered at the nape of my neck, his voice trembling.

“And mine as well, and mine...” Kha muttered warmly.

One of the four black phones rang.

Growling with displeasure, Kha loosed his embrace, walked over to the table, and picked up the receiver.

“Vlodzimirsky here. What? No, Bor, I’m busy. Yes. Well? What do you mean you can’t? Bor, why are you fucking around with mummies? He’s ready to drop, damnit. As soon as I leave the department, everything falls apart. Inform Serov. Well? So? He actually said that? Jeezus...” He sighed with displeasure, scratched his heavy chin, and chuckled. “You’re a bunch of no-goodniks. Viktor Semyonich is right to write about you. All right, bring him over here. You have twenty minutes.”

He replaced the receiver and looked at me with his blue-green eyes.

“It’s my work, Khram. Forgive me.”

I nodded with a smile.

The oak door of the office opened timidly and a balding head poked through.

“Excuse me, Lev Emelianovich?”

“Come on now. Carry on!” said Kha settling at his desk.

A small, thin colonel with an ugly face and a thin black mustache entered the office. Behind him, two hefty lieutenants were dragging a plump man in a tattered, bloody uniform with the epaulettes torn off. The man’s face was swelling from the beatings and turning blue. He collapsed helplessly on the rug.

“The best of health to you, Lev Emelianovich.” The bald man approached the desk in a half-bow.

“Greetings, Borya.” Kha stretched out his hand in a lazy gesture. “What are you doing violating the rules of subordination? You’re shaming us in front of the Leningraders!”

“Lev Emelianovich!” The colonel smiled guiltily, as he noticed Adr and me. “Ah! Hello there, Comrade Korobov!”