'And I'll give you something warmer to wear,' he said. 'We have a half-hour walk both ways. Dressed like that you'll be dead before we get there.'
Karpo had not argued and when Galich returned with his arms filled with clothing, sweaters, an ugly wool hat that proved too large for Karpo's head, and a pair of snowshoes, the policeman accepted it all and Galich's directions on how to put them on.
When they were fully dressed, Galich said, 'All right. Follow behind me. Keep your face covered. There should be some morning haze to aid the moon in about fifteen minutes. And no talking until we find Kurmu… if we find Kurmu. And, one more thing: I speak enough Tunga to get basic ideas across, but if it gets too complicated we may have trouble.'
'I will keep the conversation simple,' said Karpo. 'Let us go.'
And they began the walk by moving behind Galich's house, across the open white space of about one hundred yards and into the forest. Karpo followed in the prints of Galich's snowshoes, surprised at the older man's steady stride and his ability to find relatively solid pathways through the snow-covered ground and the trees which seemed to be an endless repetition of cedars, larch, birch, pine and spruce.
Karpo's migraine had begun the moment they left Galich's house. He had expected it because he had smelled flowers, roses, quite clearly even before he left the People's Hall of Justice and Solidarity. The headaches were almost always announced by an aura, a feeling and a smell from his past. When they reached the first line of trees in the forest, the pain had begun on the left side of his head, just above the ear. It remained with him, spread like an old enemy, in some ways a welcome, challenging old enemy.
The cold heightened the pain, almost made him blink at the broad back of Galich in front of him. Pain, he reminded himself, was a test. To withstand pain, distraction, emotion and do one's job was the major satisfaction of life. Emil Karpo, plodding through the snow of a Siberian forest in the moonlight, reminded himself that he was not an individual, didn't want to be. To be effective for the State, he had to see through the demands of his own body, the pleas of others.
Meaning, in his life, was determined by his value to the State. There were criminals. Each crime drained the State, made it vulnerable. The task of Emil Karpo was to identify and locate criminals, take them, with the help of the system, out of society. It was his life, and the pain of a headache was simply a test of his determination. Thoughts, feelings wanted to enter. The vague, amused smile of Mathilde came to him. He concentrated on a shifting shadow in the coat of Dimitri Galich and the smile became the fluttering of fur. The voice of Major Zhenya whispered in the humming wind through the trees, reminding him that he would have to report on Porfiry Petrovich when he got back to Moscow. Emil Karpo let the chill pain of his headache take over and pierce the voice.
They walked. Once some animal rustled to their right. Once a wolf howled so far off that Karpo was not sure he really heard it. The only other sound was the wind, the swishing of their snowshoes and the shift of their bodies moving through the snow. The forest was dark but a faint change had come as they walked, not exactly dawn but a lighter grayness. A bright Moscow dawn would have torn at Emil Karpo's head. He would have accepted it but he knew that bright light would have made it difficult for him to function.
'Here,' said Galich through the scarf covering his mouth and face. He stopped and pointed.
It was his first word since they had left his house. Karpo looked at the man who was pointing at a slight ridge that looked no different to Karpo than dozens of others they had passed.
Galich led the way up the slight slope and motioned Karpo to move to his side. Karpo did so and found himself looking down at what appeared to be a road through the woods.
'Stream,' explained Galich. 'Frozen solid. Luckily for us. If this were summer, we'd never find Kurmu. Much of this is a bog and there are ticks, insects whose bite can kill, wild animals who don't have enough experience to fear men. The winter is safe, except for the cold.'
'And now?' Karpo said, the left side of his head throbbing.
'We wait. We sit on these rocks for a minute or two. We drink some of the tea I brought in my canteen. We walk around. He knows we're here, probably knew it when we entered the taiga. If he means to come to us, he'll show up soon.'
And so they drank, moved around and spoke very little. Karpo's headache allowed him to ignore, even welcome the cold that clawed at his face. His body was surprisingly warm, even perspiring under the six layers of wool and fur that Galich had dressed him in, but his exposed face tingled electrically. Galich looked at him and gestured for Karpo to cover more of his face with the scarf he had been given. Karpo did so.
He was just getting up from a minute or so of sitting on the rock when Karpo saw the man. He was standing no more than two dozen yards away next to a cedar tree. The man was a motionless, dark, faceless figure in a parka.
'Wait,' Galich said as Karpo took a step toward the shaman. 'He hasn't made up his mind yet.'
'If he tries to run, I will have to stop him,' Karpo said, his eyes fixed on the man near the tree. 'He's an old man.'
Galich laughed.
'He'd be gone before you got five steps. No, we wait.'
And so they stood waiting, watching each other for perhaps five minutes. Suddenly the man in the parka waved, turned and was gone. Karpo stepped forward, each step sending a shock of agony through his head, but Galich held out his hand.
'He'll be back. If he weren't coming back he wouldn't have waved. He would have simply disappeared.'
When Kurmu returned it was not to the base of the same cedar tree. This time Karpo turned to the frozen stream and saw the shaman standing still on the path of ice and snow looking up at the two Russians. The Evenk carried something slung over his shoulder. Karpo's eyes found those of the shaman and only then did the Evenk move forward and up the slope to the rock where the two men stood.
The shaman's bearded, craggy face turned first to Galich and then to Karpo. His eyes were narrow and dark. While looking directly at Karpo he spoke, his words a soft clattering, words running together.
Galich answered in what sounded to Karpo like a slow imitation of the old man.
'He says,' said Galich, 'that he has something for your pain.'
'How does he know I am in pain?' Karpo asked.
'You really want me to ask him that?'
'No,' said Karpo.
, The shaman reached into the sack over his shoulder and pulled something out, something that clacked and echoed in the gray forest. He looked at Karpo and then said something else.
'He wants to know,' said Galich, 'if you would rather keep your pain. I think he said it is yours and he doesn't know why you might want pain but he thinks you might.'
'What does he have?' Karpo said, the right side of his head welling in tempoed heat.
The shaman held out his mittened hand to Karpo showing what looked like a necklace of thick stones.
'It's amber beads,' said Galich. 'he wants you to put it around your neck.'
Karpo reached out, accepted the necklace and put it over the oversized hat and around his neck. The shaman nodded.
'Give him my thanks and tell him we would like him to come with us to Tumsk to talk to the inspector. Tell him Mirasnikov has been shot.'
'I'm not sure my Tunga is good enough for all that,' sighed Galich. 'Remember I said you have to keep it simple. I'll do what I can.'
But before Galich could speak, the old shaman chattered out what sounded to Karpo like one long word.
Galich answered even more briefly and turned to Karpo with a shake of his head and a smile.
'He said we should get started. He has to be very far from here by tonight. He knows about Mirasnikov.'
Karpo looked at the shaman who returned his unsmiling gaze. The eyes of the old man scanned Karpo's face and came back to rest on his eyes.
Kurmu said something else and Galich said, 'He says he sees the color of your pain. It's very… something. I don't understand. He says the color is surrounding your soul and you should let your soul breathe through.'
'He sees the color of my pain?'
'He's a shaman, remember,' said Galich.
'And he's a Soviet citizen,' Karpo reminded Galich.
'Is he?' Galich said with a deep laugh. 'These people have ignored our history. Most of them never knew the
