The Russian Affair

FORTY



Captain Nechayev had been instructed to detach teams from each company and deploy them to assist in earthmoving. There was a shortage of heavy equipment, and the men complained about the back-breaking labor. After the hard winter, maintenance work on the regional railway line could no longer be postponed. When Leonid inspected the tracks, it looked to him as though drunken giants had been at play with the railroad. Along a five-mile stretch, the formerly straight and level track embankment was warped into a line that undulated up and down like a wave; the steel rails, as thick as a man’s arm, had bent as though they were made of wax. Damage from freezing had been followed by the thawing of the ground, which then turned into mud. There was nothing here that could be repaired; everything had to be ripped out and built anew.

The first lieutenant in the corps of engineers told him, “We’ve used this method before in regions where the ground thaws ten feet deep in summer and the whole countryside is transformed into a morass.”

It was decided to move the line over several miles and with the help of mining machinery build a new embankment six feet high, using for ballast a mixture of rubble and crushed macadam. If you let the material subside for a year, the engineer said, it will form a layer practically as hard as concrete, and then new cross-ties can be laid on that. The dismantling of the ruined track and the construction of a provisional road had already been coordinated between the railroad administration and the army. The new track bed had to be completed in no more than three months, before winter brought everything to a standstill again.

“A year of track replacement traffic,” Leonid said. He feared a high cost in material as well as elevated administrative expenses. The engineer announced that he would place cranes on both sides of the worksite to assist in loading and unloading freight. The provisional road was to be built of wood, because a wooden road could be built more cheaply and also in the shortest time, and the used-up planks could ultimately provide fuel for winter heating. Leonid admired how confidently the engineers went about their job—making calculations in terms of tons and cubic feet and battalion-strength work crews—and how little they cared about obtaining proper authorization for what they did.

From earliest youth, Leonid had felt a romanticized interest in woodworking. He liked it when the screaming saw cut the first wedge out of a tree trunk and the tree shivered from root to crown. He’d been amazed to discover that the lumberjacks always knew what direction the tree would fall in, and he would look on in excitement as a toppling giant ripped through the undergrowth and crashed to the ground, where saws immediately sprang upon the fallen victim. The result of these memories from Leonid’s time as a Young Pioneer was that he’d made arrangements to participate in the construction of the wooden road himself. The people performing the work were carpenters and joiners; Leonid and his soldiers were there to assist them.

On that morning, the force at the worksite was visibly reduced. Leonid checked the list and saw that many soldiers had reported sick, and there was a general shortage of helping hands. When a carpenter operating a circular saw needed an assistant, Leonid took off his uniform jacket, set his cap aside, and pitched in. The machine was an elderly table saw, on which rough blocks were being cut at a 45-degree angle, a task that required a steady hand. The carpenter worked at a leisurely pace. After an hour, Leonid’s hair, shirt, and pants were sprinkled with chips. He felt free and happy, and from time to time he squinted into the sun, which shone in a cloudless sky. He lifted the next block onto the metal table; the carpenter held the wood in position and pushed it steadily onto the spinning blade. Suddenly, the block jerked to one side, Leonid reached for it, the carpenter screamed something—they both saw, too late, the branch hidden in the face wood. Leonid couldn’t get free in time and was literally sucked in by the saw blade; he watched his hand disappear into the machine. He felt an itching sensation that made him think it couldn’t be so bad, but then a gush of blood poured out. The carpenter pressed the emergency button, and the rotor came to a stop. Leonid staggered backward; when he looked at his hand, it seemed to be part of someone else’s body. He turned his head away and collapsed. The carpenter tore his shirt into strips and pressed them on the wound to stop the bleeding. Someone else informed the medical service.

When the doctor arrived, he determined that the injury should not be treated in the small military clinic and contacted the local hospital. The surgical department was told to prepare for an emergency case, and the morning shift got one of the three operating rooms ready. The worst thing for Leonid during the twelve-mile drive to the hospital was the howling of the siren. The military physician had given him a shot, and the infusion bag was swaying over the captain’s head. At brief intervals, the doctor measured his blood pressure, which was falling dangerously. “Hang on there, buddy,” the doctor said, chewing the ends of his mustache.

Leonid knew the door his stretcher was carried through; he’d often picked up Galina there. The corridor, the pastel green tiles—everything was familiar to him. The next time he raised his head, he was looking into Galina’s gray eyes. Behind her, the military doctor was leaving the operating room.

“It’s your thumb,” she said.

“Like before, remember?” Leonid saw her furrowing brow and explained that right before their first real date, Galina had performed a thumb amputation.

“Well, you’ve taken care of the amputation yourself.” She gave a sign to her assistant, who pulled off Leonid’s boots. “A clean slice,” Galina said. “Unfortunately, nobody thought to bring your thumb along.”

“It’s lying out there in the sun.” Inexplicably cheerful, he tried to sit up. “What are you doing with my foot?”

“I have to tell you, your chances are fifty-fifty.” Galina bent over him so that he couldn’t see what was happening at his other end.

“What chances?” Her blue, bonnetlike scrub cap made her face look slightly absurd.

“I did an operation like this once before.” She laid her hand on his forehead. “For the amputation, you’ll receive a local anesthetic. Later, for the operation, you’ll be out cold.”

“I thought I’d already done the amputation myself.” He would have loved to touch her neck, but he felt too weak.

“I’m going to take the second toe from your left foot.” She checked to see how far away her colleagues were. “And then I’ll give it back to you as a thumb.”

It took a while for what she’d said to get through to him. “Is that possible?”

“I’ve told you and told you, this is a particularly good hospital. When will you finally believe me?” She raised the surgical mask to her face. Immediately afterward, he felt an unpleasant sting that hurt worse than everything that had come before. Galina stuck him twice more, gave the needle to the nurse, and straightened up. “One minute, and then you won’t feel anything.” She came back to the head of the operating table. “We’re equipped for microsurgery.” She put a finger on his carotid artery. “The operating needles are so thin you can’t see them with the naked eye.”

He was enjoying her touch. “But … how will you do it, then?”

“I’ll operate under a microscope. First I’ll connect the bones with a steel pin, and then I’ll sew everything together: nerves, tendons, arteries, skin. The thinnest capillaries must remain open so that blood can flow through them. Precision work, my dear.”

He looked at her with astonished eyes.

“And the worst part of it is …” She turned around. The assisting nurse indicated that the local anesthetic had taken effect. “The worst part is that the operation can’t be interrupted. That means I won’t be able to go to the toilet for six to ten hours.” Her voice took on a tender tone. “What a girl won’t do for such a stupid captain.”

He wanted very much to kiss her, imagined how it would be, and watched as Galina stationed herself next to his foot and pulled the instrument table closer. “So,” she said. “We’ll talk again in a few hours.” She put on a pair of spectacles that resembled binoculars, nodded to her colleagues, and began.

As he laid his head back down, Leonid tried to pick up a signal from his left foot, but he could feel nothing. Then a peculiar thought filled his mind. He was probably the only person in the world whose lover—his life’s partner, his woman—was cutting the second toe off his left foot and then sewing it onto his right hand as a thumb. And for that reason, even though he wasn’t yet conscious of doing so, he decided, in the minutes before he was put to sleep, to stay where he was. He decided on Galina, on life in the coldest inhabited place on earth, and decided to sign, with or without a new thumb, the five-year clause for Yakutsk. He was relieved at having finally taken that step, even if only in his mind, and he concentrated on the soft, focused sounds coming from the surgeon at the foot end of his table.