They left the cabin and walked down a dimly lit corridor. He was stumbling through a joyous daze, not paying attention to where they were going, because Nadiya was taking care of everything. They turned down another corridor. This one he did not recognize.
They pushed through a door.
Into Wonderland.
The steel walkway stretched before them. Beyond it stood the blue door.
Aleksei stopped.
'What is it?' asked Nadiya. 'I don't want to go in there.'
'But you have to.'
'There are people living there.'
'Aleksei, don't be difficult.' Nadiya gripped his hand more firmly.
'This is where you must go.'
'Why?'
Suddenly she seemed to understand that a different tactic was called for. She crouched down so that they were eye to eye, and took him firmly by the shoulders. 'Do you want to ruin everything? Do you want to make her angry? She expects an obedient little boy, and now you are being very disagreeable.'
His lips trembled. He tried so hard not to cry, because he knew how much adults hated children's tears. But the tears were starting to fall anyway, and now he'd probably ruined everything. Just as Nadiya had said he would. He was always ruining everything.
'Nothing is settled yet,' said Nadiya. 'She can still choose another boy. Is that what you want?'
Aleksei sobbed. 'No.'
'Then why aren't you behaving?'
'I'm afraid of the quail people.'
'What? You are ridiculous. I wouldn't be surprised if no one ever wanted you.' She straightened and snatched his hand again. 'Come.'
Aleksei looked at the blue door. He whispered: 'Carry me.'
'You're too big. You'll hurt my back.'
'Please carry me.'
'You have to walk, Aleksei. Now hurry, or we'll be late.' She put her arm around him.
He began to walk, only because she was there beside him, hugging him close. The way he was hugging Shu-Shu close. As long as they held each other, the three of them, nothing bad would happen.
Nadiya knocked at the blue door. It swung open.
Yakov heard them on the walkway above. Aleksei's whining. Nadiya's impatient coaxing. He crawled to the edge of the crate and cautiously peered up at them. They were crossing to the blue door now. A moment later, they vanished through it.
Why does Aleksei get to go in there, and not me?
Yakov slipped out of the crate and up the stairs to the blue door. He tried to open it, but as always, it was locked.
Defeated, he went back to his crate. It was quite a comfortable hiding place now. Over the last week, he had scavenged a blanket, a flashlight, and a number of magazines with naked ladies in them. He had also lifted a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from Koubichev. Sometimes Yakov would smoke one, but there were so few cigarettes, he was careful to save them. Once he'd accidentally set the shavings on fire. That had been exciting. Most of the time, though, he just liked having the cigarettes around, liked holding the pack, reading and re-reading the label under the beam of the flashlight.
That's what he'd been doing when he'd heard Aleksei and Nadiya on the walkway.
Now he waited for them to come back out of the blue door. It was taking a long time. What were they doing in there?
Yakov threw the cigarettes down. It wasn't fair.
He looked at a few pictures in the magazines. Practised flicking the lighter on and off. Then he decided he was sleepy. He curled up in the blanket and dozed off.
Sometime later, he was awakened by a rumbling sound. At first he thought something was wrong with the ship's engines, then he realized the sound was growing louder, and that it was not coming from hell, but from the deck above.
It was the helicopter.
Gregor tied the twist top and set the plastic bag in the cooler. He handed it to Nadiya. 'Well, take it.'
At first she didn't seem to hear. Then she looked at him, her face drained white, and he thought: The bitch can't handle it. 'It needs ice. Go on, do it.' He shoved the cooler towards her.
She seemed to recoil in horror. Then, breathing deeply, she took it, carried it across to the room, and set it on the countertop. She began scooping ice into the cooler. He noticed that her legs were not quite steady. The first time around was always a shock to the system. Even Gregor had had his queasy moments the first time. Nadiya would get over it.
He turned to the operating table. The anaesthetist had already zipped up the shroud, and was now gathering up the bloodied drapes. The surgeon had made no move to help. Instead, he was slumped back against the counter, as though trying to catch his breath. Gregor regarded him with distaste. There was something especially disgusting about a doctor who let himself get so grotesquely fat. The surgeon did not look well tonight. He had wheezed his way through the entire procedure, and his hands had seemed more tremulous than usual.
'My head hurts,' the surgeon groaned.
'You've been drinking too much. Probably got yourself a fucking hangover.' Gregor moved to the table and grasped one end of the shroud. Together, he and the anaesthetist lifted their burden and slid it onto the gurney. Next Gregor picked up the pile of dirty clothes and set those on the gurney as well. He almost overlooked the stuffed dog. It was lying on the floor, the fatty fur soaked with blood. He tossed it on top of the dirty clothes, then he and the anaesthetist wheeled the gurney to the disposal chute. They opened the hatch and deposited the shroud, the clothes, and the dog into the chute.
The surgeon moaned. 'This is the worst fucking headache…' Gregor ignored him. He stripped off his gloves and went to the sink to wash his hands. One never knew what one might pick up handling those filthy clothes. Lice, perhaps. He scrubbed as thoroughly as a doctor preparing to operate.
There was a loud crash, the clatter of falling metal instruments. Gregor turned.
The surgeon was lying on the floor, his face bright red, his limbs jerking like a puppet gone out of control.
Nadiya and the anaesthetist stood frozen in horror. 'What's wrong with him?' demanded Gregor. 'I don't know!' said the anaesthetist. 'Well do something about it!'
The anaesthetist knelt beside the convulsing man and made a few helpless attempts to revive him. He loosened the man's surgical gown, clapped an oxygen mask on his face. The convulsions were worse now, the arms flapping like goose wings.
'Hold the mask on for me!' said the anaesthetist. 'I'm going to give him an injection!'
Gregor knelt at the man's head and took hold of the mask. The surgeon's face felt repulsive, doughy and oily. Spittle had dribbled out of his mouth, turning the oxygen mask slippery. His skin was beginning to turn blue. Gregor knew then, looking at the darkening cyanosis, that their efforts were futile.
Moments later, the man was dead.
For a long time, the three of them stood around staring at the corpse. It seemed to have ballooned even larger and more grotesque. The stomach was distended and the fleshy folds of the face had spread out like a boneless jellyfish.
'What the fuck do we do now?' said the anaesthetist.
'We need another surgeon,' Gregor said.
'You can't exactly pull one out of the sea. We'll have to head into port sooner than planned.'
'Or transfer the live cargo…' Gregor suddenly glanced upwards. So did Nadiya and the anaesthetist. They all heard it now: the whup-whup of the helicopter. He looked at the cooler on the countertop. 'Is it ready?'
'I packed it with ice,' said Nadiya.
