Page 13 of The Half Life of Valery K

‘Biochemistry,’ he said.

‘A biochemist at a nuclear plant, whatever for?’ She had red lipstick on. A fleck of it had brushed pink between her front teeth.

‘Oh, just … you know, the effects of the radiation on the plants and things.’

‘What radiation?’

He looked up slowly. A chemical engineer would have known bloody well what kind of radiation. ‘What’s your field exactly?’

She studied him for a long time, a small smile hovering on her face like a cochineal beetle. ‘That’s better,’ she said, in a different voice; one that did not chat to strangers in cafes. ‘Remember, Comrade Kolkhanov, loose lips sink ships. No more shouting at children like a madman, now. Enjoy your coffee.’ She left, looking ordinary in her flat shoes and her brown coat. Once she was out the door, she put a scarf over her hair, and vanished among all the other old ladies shopping at the grocer’s opposite.

The coffee cup juddered in its saucer, because his hand was shaking. For a full five minutes, he tried to calm down, but he only felt more and more trapped, and he had to leave everything and go.

He was only just outside the cafe when a pair of soldiers caught his arms and pushed him into the back of a black van.

His voice shut down. He sat silent in the cold van opposite one of them, who watched him expressionlessly. A camp. They were just going to take him away, exactly like the first time, and no one would know where he’d gone.

He half-closed his eyes, glad he hadn’t let himself be taken with the cigarettes, the chocolate, the grapes. None of this was really for him and it was all going to be gone by this time tomorrow. Back to Kolyma for the last four years of his sentence. Well, it had been a nice holiday, for sure. Carefully, and with some difficulty because it was already heavy, he worked at shutting down the front part of his mind, the part that had been waking up since arriving here – noticing things, noticing people, feeling interested in Ilenko, and Resovskaya’s shoes, and Shenkov’s exquisite courtesy, basking in the hot water. It was good to know that it could wake. His mind wasn’t atrophying; just dormant. All was well. He could survive another four years. It would be tough to begin with, but he would get into the swing of it again soon, and he would have a marvellous story to tell the camp administrator, and Dima the Vory godfather who still invited him over for tea every Friday. Everyone would laugh at the idea of a bank account and readily available bananas.

The van ground over gravel, and stopped. There was a clunk as the driver slammed his door. The back doors opened. He jerked his head to tell Valery to get out.

They were back at the Lighthouse. They’d only driven half a mile.

He stepped out, expecting a prison transport. But instead one of the men caught his shoulder and marched him inside to Shenkov’s office, knocked, left him there, and vanished.

Shenkov didn’t look surprised. He nodded Valery into the chair opposite his own at the meticulous desk and asked what had happened, with no ire. He still seemed tired; perhaps he hadn’t the energy to be angry.

So clearly there was going to be an obligatory roughing-up session before the prison transport. Spectacular. Expecting a punch in the eye, he was discombobulated when Shenkov gave him a chocolate bar, then put on the kettle. Valery turned round in the chair, strung so tight his whole chest hurt. He was going to be flicked with boiling water, or something.

‘Eat all of it,’ Shenkov said. ‘You’ll feel better.’

Very slowly, Valery opened the chocolate packet and snapped off a small piece. His mouth was so dry he had to just hold the chocolate on his tongue, unable to swallow. It was some kind of trick, but the kind he hated, because he couldn’t see where it was going. The kettle pinged. Shenkov made some coffee. The hiss and glug of the water, the dank smell of the steam, made Valery’s teeth ache. He forced himself to face forward. It was silly to over-dread being beaten up. It would be nasty and then it would stop.

Your bones are sawdust, the old voice said softly.

Shenkov brought back the coffee pot and two matching cups, poured out both and gave Valery one. He didn’t sling it at him, only held the rim so that Valery could take the handle. When Valery didn’t take it, he put it on the desk.

Nothing happened. Shenkov only sat down again. Valery wanted to tell him to just get it over with. He hated men who made you wait before they hurt you.

‘You were told yesterday not to speak to anyone from outside the facility.’

Valery waited. However much he despised it, he was good at waiting.

Nothing else was forthcoming.

‘Did you hear me?’ Shenkov asked. It was mild.

Valery nodded once. He had a feeling that Shenkov was waiting to see if he would break, and he was tempted to tell him not to waste his time. The old men in the camp had cried a lot, the ones who were so broken they couldn’t bear it any more if they stepped in a puddle. You had to learn to despise that, not because it wasn’t a perfectly human reaction, but because that was how you died, and if you didn’t despise it, you would be that before long.

Shenkov pushed the coffee nearer to him by another inch or so. He looked unsettled for some unfathomable reason of his own. ‘It’s standard procedure. The soldiers have a sweepstake in the first week of a new lab intake. Whoever arrests the most scientists wins. Nothing’s going to happen to you this time.’

Valery stared at the coffee. If he could just give it another minute, it wouldn’t hurt so much if it was dashed out of his hands. He did want it. Never turn down coffee, that was a good rule to live by. Shenkov was lying, of course; it was a standard lie to make you explain yourself.

‘Unless I’m so radioactive I’m actually glowing, you’re going to offend me soon,’ Shenkov said in his petrifying warm way. He was such a powerfully built man that he could have spent his life speaking at nothing above a murmur, and he would still have been plenty frightening. Clearly he knew that.

Valery lifted the cup. He had a scar on his face anyway, and it wasn’t as though it mattered how zek biochemists looked.

Shenkov didn’t move.