Beasts Head for Home

  Bear gradually pressed down on his body as if lying on him, making a strange sound in his ear. Perhaps he was laughing.

  Kyūzō lay petrified, unable to move. He should calmly do what he usually does, asking, “Bear, isn’t this a little embarrassing?” while poking him in the ribs. Bear gave another snort. (“Maybe he’s discovered my secret!”)

  Bear pulled out a card from the back of his collar.

  “This is my daughter in Kiev.”

  It was a card-sized photograph. Frayed and edgeless, it revealed the laughing figure of a young, white-haired girl. Bear continued muttering, spraying saliva on the back of Kyūzō’s neck. Son of a bitch!

  With a sudden realization, Kyūzō took the photograph, pretending to look at it while extricating himself. Bear then collapsed to his hands and knees, falling to his side fast asleep.

  (“This will be useful when I steal the map.”)

  It was 2:30. Everyone was already half-asleep, but not yet fully so. Every two or three minutes, someone closed their eyes, stared, snored, or hummed. It must be too cold. I’ll stoke the fire a bit and make them drowsy …

  The red flames had merged together, stifling the air. Removing the ashes, Kyūzō gently added some coal, and before long the fire was burning with a crackling sound. The soup boiled as the window glass sweated. Everyone quieted down.

  Before making his move, Kyūzō decided to wait and see for thirty minutes. The weather strip on the window screeched like a grass whistle. Wild dogs barked to one another from afar as red patches began forming on the surface of the stove. (“Damn, I want to sleep too!”) He hurried to the window, pressing his forehead against the pane. Between the double frame of glass, the wood grain appeared like the cleft of a seashell, its thin film of snow and smoke intricately overlaid. The sharp smell of winter filled his nostrils.

  Pretending to go to bed, he circled behind Shiver and confirmed that his knife handle stuck out some five centimeters from his pants pocket. “Water, water,” groaned Alexandrov, thrashing about on the table. Kyūzō hurried over and brought him a cup before then closing the ventilation hole of the stove. Once again he circled behind Shiver, making sure that he was fast asleep. There was a very long interval between his exhaling and inhaling, which Kyūzō had heard was proof that someone was sleeping deeply. At times he would suddenly stop breathing, making Kyūzō wonder if he were dead. Standing diagonally behind him on his left, Kyūzō planted his right knee, using it to support his weight as he turned Shiver around, repositioning him. With his right hand he lightly grasped the knife handle, feeling for the edge of the grip with his left index finger, and then slowly pushed up. Shiver was sitting in such a way that the opening of his pocket was now closed tightly, the knife digging into his buttocks. When half the knife was drawn out, he forcefully shifted his body. This altered his position, shifting his weight such that the pocket became slack. Kyūzō was now able to extricate the knife without difficulty by simply pulling the handle. Tucking it into his belt underneath the jacket, he suddenly felt his courage rise.

  He then walked around the table over to Bear, who with his left side raised clutched the table leg with his right hand. Bear’s bent left leg pressed against his chest as he extended his right leg around Alexandrov’s chair. Kyūzō leaned down behind his back, the knife handle slightly restricting his movement.

  The map should be in his right coat pocket. For precaution’s sake, Kyūzō first took out the photograph, holding it in his right hand. Grabbing Bear’s shoulder with his left hand, he boldly pushed his upper body over so as to force him faceup. Clawing the air, Bear lay back with his limbs sprawled out beside him. Kyūzō then slipped his right hand with the photograph into Bear’s pocket, removing the map. Folding the map tightly in four, he placed it in his inside pocket.

  Kyūzō suddenly noticed that Second Lieutenant Shiver was looking up from under his brows, staring right in his direction. He felt rooted to the spot. The pores all over his body immediately opened up. His tongue, dry in his mouth, began twitching, blocking his throat. It seemed to him that the second lieutenant was slowly raising his head … With a sinking feeling, Kyūzō waited for his first words. The time of danger seemed to leap past. It was brief, but felt much too long.

  Yet nothing happened. When Kyūzō looked again at Second Lieutenant Shiver, he was sleeping, eyes closed, the same as before. Kyūzō uttered a sigh of relief. The storm had passed, and yet blood rang in his ears like the raging sea. He returned to his bed, clutching his knees to his chest as he leaned against the wall.

  By his head stood the Russian-style oven, beyond which could be seen the bed on which Dania was sleeping at a right angle. The front of the oven was illuminated, and while he couldn’t glimpse the photograph of Stalin inside, he was able to see Shiver’s sleeping figure.

  It was now 3:40. Kyūzō unconsciously kept staring under Alexandrov’s bed. If possible, he didn’t want to think about what was there. This was where Alexandrov kept his possessions, although he didn’t particularly try to conceal this fact. On numerous occasions, he had fumbled with his collection right in front of Kyūzō. Of course these things were not worth much money. There were some imitation old coins, a woman’s comb set in a gaudy pattern, a cracked ceramic pipe, and some other unusual odds and ends. Alongside these things, however, Alexandrov had also casually tossed in several wads of red military currency.

  Kyūzō fully understood that he needed to be determined in order to make his escape. Both the knife and map were excellent weapons. Unless he were traveling in a savage land, however, the most effective weapon would be money.

  He glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed. Best to leave slightly before dawn. He might be seen and questioned if he left after it was light, whereas if he went too early, he might end up giving them that much more time to come and search for him.

  The sleepy rumbling of the earth slowly approached and then slowly receded.

  (“Right! I should take Alexandrov’s silver spoon!”)

  The spoon was large and rather heavy, with a naked woman engraved on the handle. Alexandrov used it often, calling it Dania. Whenever the real Dania visited, however, he would rush to hide the spoon in the box underneath the bed. Something like that would probably fetch a good price. Kyūzō suddenly felt heartened if he could avoid stealing money. Upon straining his ears to confirm that everyone was still breathing deeply, he quickly crawled out of bed. As he touched the floor, the board underneath his buttocks suddenly snapped, ringing out sharply. Second Lieutenant Shiver rolled over, his face turned in Kyūzō’s direction. Nevertheless, his eyes remained closed. That bastard!

  The box, which had originally been made to hold apples, was turned over on its side, its opening facing in his direction. Inside was stuffed various types of junk. The box was small, made of tin, and had been made rustproof by coal tar. The lid contained a hinge, which groaned unpleasantly when opened. He moistened it with saliva, slowly and carefully detaching the lid. Still, a piercing sound echoed from within. For a moment, Dania interrupted her breathing.

  The silver Dania was piled on the very top together with the military currency. Kyūzō quickly grabbed it, putting it in his pocket. Keeping the lid slightly ajar, he hurriedly returned the box to its original place. He then tiptoed back to the bed. All the preparations were now complete. In order to avoid making his pocket too bulky, he jammed the spoon into the bundle holding the waterproof blanket.

  V

  6:10—one more hour until dawn …

  Wrapping himself in a scarf as if buried to the chin, Kyūzō slipped on his coat, put on a pair of skating earmuffs, and donned a student’s cap whose emblem had been removed. Making sure that his gloves were in his pocket, he slowly left the bed. He made a loop with the rope holding his belongings together and placed it over his shoulder. Time to set off!

  (“But what will they say later when they discover I’m gone? No doubt they’ll call me an ingrate. But that’s not true. I really liked all of
them.”)

  Kyūzō passed between the stove and Alexandrov’s bed. The fire pan gave off a clanking sound. (“But if they had known of my plans, they would never have let me leave. At one time, Bear had told Alexandrov about an orphan home run by the Eighth Route Army in the city of T.”)

  A loud sound of scurrying mice could be heard above the ceiling. The bed creaked as Dania rolled over. Kyūzō found his way to the door that led to the kitchen. He could not help but feel that someone was watching him. Gently he turned around, but nothing seemed unusual. He felt that Shiver had stirred slightly, but that was surely his imagination.

  Turning the knob, Kyūzō pushed open the door. Frigid air pushed back at him from the other side. With trembling hands, he held the door ajar and turned his body so as to exit by his side, allowing his belongings to pass through first. The door closed naturally from the force of the wind, emitting a low but distinct sound of metal. Kyūzō held his breath, petrified, his entire body at attention. There was the sound of a light tap, as if someone had placed the heel of a shoe on the floor. Then there was silence. Only the northern wind that hovered around the house could be heard groaning in fits and starts.

  Quickly reaching under the sink, he drew out the large vodka bottle that he had spied during the day. Planning to fill it with water, Kyūzō peered inside the barrel to discover that a thick layer of ice had formed there. He pressed firmly down against it with his palms for a while, but this served only to increase the trembling of his own body, as the ice showed no sign of melting. He remembered that there was a hammer on the shelf above the sink. Using the sink as a foothold, he began searching. Together with the hammer he found something hard and shaggy, like a scrub brush. It appeared to be the remains of a mouse. He quickly pulled his hand away, and the hammer fell. Fortunately it landed on his shoe, making some noise but not as much as he had feared. Still, the sound was quite loud. A sharp pain coursed through his toe, infuriating him.

  Bit by bit, Kyūzō began striking the corner of the ice with the hammer’s edge. After several strikes, however, the dull, heavy echoing caused his courage to falter. Listening intently, he again continued when suddenly he noticed that his fourth and fifth strikes were already producing an effect. The ice broke in two, a part of which separated from the barrel. Kyūzō dipped the bottle inside, filling it with water, and then crumpled up some scrap paper lying about, stuffing it inside the bottle in place of a cork. He applied another layer of scrap paper on top of that before placing the bottle in his coat pocket. His hands, now soaked, began to throb as if they had gone numb. He rubbed each hand one after the other under his armpits, and then put on his gloves.

  Stepping down onto the earthen floor, Kyūzō silently turned the spring lock of the back door. He went outside, pushing his way through the wind that swooped down upon him as if locating prey. The snow had already stopped, but flakes whirled up from the ground, covering him. At this rate, his footprints would soon disappear. His blinking was sticky. It had to be twenty-five degrees below freezing.

  Kyūzō felt nervous, fearing that at any moment the door would open and he’d be called back by Alexandrov and the others. He climbed up the coal bunker and scaled the wall. A remarkable alley wedged between two walls twisted and turned for some fifty meters all the way to the embankment at the edge of town. It was so dark that the ground and sky were indistinguishable. Kyūzō had lived in this town for nineteen years, however, and knew the alley so well that he could immediately recall each scribbling on the wall.

  This place was once a marvelous playground for children. It was a fantasy land that could be transformed into anything—a jungle, waterway, or tunnel. Now that it had become a barracks for Russian engineer officers, however, only hordes of field mice would occasionally run through. During the three years that had passed since the war’s end, nobody had come to clear away the dirt, and so it came to be used indiscriminately as a garbage dump. The garbage had frozen over, becoming as hard as a rock, and gave the appearance of fresh lava.

  Kyūzō continued on, slipping several times as he carried his belongings in his left hand while feeling his way along the wall with his right. At one point he almost sprained his ankle.

  The wall ended. There were no longer any houses here. He climbed up the embankment and began walking toward the station. The wind blew directly against him, roiling the ground at his feet. His face stiffened and felt numb.

  After fifteen minutes, the river turned toward the center of town. Kyūzō spent some time cutting across the sorghum field that ran alongside the river. The plant stubble became entangled in his legs, making the ground reverberate with bone-crunching sounds.

  Up ahead there appeared a lone night-light. This was the bridge he was looking for, the bridge that connected the old part of town with the new part as built by the Japanese on account of the pulp factory. Kyūzō could cross the river, which was frozen so thickly that even trucks were able to pass on it, but the low water surface and steep bank made it difficult to climb back up. Stone steps could be found only all the way upstream, where rafts that came down from the Stanovoy Range would dock. He needed to cross the bridge in order to arrive at the station. Martial law remained in effect until 7:00, which meant that all would be lost if he were discovered by the soldiers on patrol.

  6:10—patrolling soldiers would appear every hour from each side of the bridge, identify one another with their flashlights, and then return to their respective areas. At 7:00, when martial law ended, they would go back to their stations, which meant that their final stop at the bridge would be roughly between 6:30 and 6:40. Now was the safest time.

  Kyūzō made a dash across the bridge. His arid footsteps echoed all around. He sensed that a whistle rang out from somewhere in the distance. In the wind, however, such sounds could always be heard. Once across, he quickly turned left. There was a lumberyard here. He could relax having made it this far. The streets in the old part of town were a maze. In the back of his throat he tasted blood.

  Crossing the lumberyard, he turned right, passing behind a small foundry, and then cut across a garbage facility before entering a side street that contained a cheap lodging house, which stood in front of a row of coffin makers. On his left there was a drainage ditch, and beyond that several willow stumps and a mound of low-grade coke, on top of which soared an even larger gas tank. It seemed that long ago this road functioned as a main artery linking north and south. This was the oldest part of town, and yet at the same time it was now the most desolate part. A stray dog stared at him.

  After walking a bit down the street by the cheap lodging house, Kyūzō crossed the ditch and emerged on the far side. He found himself in a run-down vacant lot. Beyond were the railroad tracks, situated on top of the high embankment. The station was three hundred meters on the right.

  From the opposite side, footsteps approached from the soldiers on patrol. The Eighth Route Army soldiers mainly wore boots with rubber soles. They were nearly upon Kyūzō by the time he heard them. He crouched down, completely burying himself in the snowdrift. The flashlights lightly caressed the edge of the embankment before slowly vanishing.

  His path was soon obstructed by a barbed wire fence. Slipping through it, Kyūzō emerged in a courtyard in front of a warehouse. Before him stood a building illuminated in red, and in the window, thickly covered with ice, several figures could be seen moving about.

  There was a sudden clearing in the western sky near the horizon, and the moon broke through, distorted in blue light. Kyūzō gave a start. Inside the station there was only white, with several rails stretching empty and black. No trains could be seen anywhere. Could it be that the trains departed not here but rather further north, merely passing through this station? He could not hide somewhere until 9:00. Why hadn’t he thought of this possibility beforehand!

  The moon passed swiftly through the torn clouds before plunging back into darkness. This darkness descended upon Kyūzō, battering him as he staggered to the hollow gaps in the wareh
ouse. Soon it would be dawn, and he could no longer turn back. What had he done?

  Gradually the pale light of dawn appeared. The wind began to die down, but the cold became even more intense. After relieving himself, he started to shiver uncontrollably. An idea suddenly struck him in desperation: perhaps the train is not leaving from the station but from somewhere else, such as near the siding of the pulp factory.

  As the wind died, the fog began to rise. On the railroad tracks, the blurred shadows of the patrolling soldiers turned back in the opposite direction. As soon as they disappeared, Kyūzō crawled out from the hollow space of the warehouse, cut across the tracks, and slid down the far side of the embankment. Here there were fields as far as the eye could see. On his right one kilometer away there appeared an iron bridge, directly in front of which the railway siding split off from the main line.

  He rushed down the slope of the bank, jumping in short steps so as to avoid slipping. The milky white mass of fog gradually came into view.

  Kyūzō soon detected the heavy echo of iron striking together. He then heard the jumbled sounds of footsteps and people speaking.

  In the fog, it was best to stay low. He ventured to get as close as possible. A train! Just as he had thought.

  One of the men standing there was a soldier, while the other seemed to be some type of maintenance worker. Suddenly a red light appeared in the cab of the train. It’s about to depart, Kyūzō thought, and he hurriedly slid down the embankment and ran toward the back of the vehicle. The train was surprisingly compact. There were two open freight cars, three large boxcars, two small boxcars, an additional three open freight cars, and finally two linked passenger cars in the rear. The passenger cars were of course out of the question, and the open freight cars would also prove difficult. He would thus need to choose from among the five boxcars in the middle. The small ones, with their many gaps and open glassless windows, seemed to be used for livestock transport. Yet they contained burlap sacks rather than livestock. The windowed cars would be more convenient in various ways, but the larger boxcars appeared best on account of the blowing wind.