“It’s on me today!” I called to Ernest.
Dick gave me a sidelong look.
“It’s perfectly legal,” I said. “We’re drinking my bonus check.”
“You went into the Zone?” Dick asked. “Bring anything out?”
“A full empty,” I said. “For the altar of science. Are you going to pour that or not?”
“An empty!” Gutalin echoed in sorrow. “You risked your life for some empty! You survived, but you brought another devil’s artifact into the world. How do you know, Red, how much of sorrow and sin… .”
“Can it, Gutalin,” I said severely. “Drink and rejoice that I came back alive. To success, my friends.”
It went over well, the toast to success. Gutalin fell apart completely. He was weeping, the tears streaming like water from a spout. I know him well. It’s just a phase. Weeping and preaching that the Zone is the devil’s temptation. That we should take nothing out of it and return everything that we’ve taken. And go on living as though the Zone were not there. Leave the devil’s things to the devil. I like him. Gutalin, I mean. I usually like weirdos. When he has money, he buys up the swag without haggling, for whatever price the stalkers ask, and totes it back at night into the Zone and buries it. He was waiting. But he would be stopping soon.
“What’s a full empty?” Dick asked. “I know what a plain empty is, but this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a full one.”
I explained it to him. He nodded and smacked his lips.
“Yes, that’s very interesting. Something new. Who did you go with? The Russian?”
“Yes, with Kirill and Tender. You know, our lab assistant.”
“They must have driven you crazy.”
“Nothing of the kind. They behaved quite well. Especially Kirill. He’s a born stalker. He just needs a little more experience, to break him of his hurrying, and I’d go into the Zone every day with him.”
“And every night?” he asked with a drunken smirk.
“Drop it. A joke’s a joke.”
“I know. A joke’s a joke, but it can get me into a lot of trouble. I owe you one.”
“Who gets one?” Gutalin got excited. “Which one is it?”
We grabbed him by the arms and got him back in his chair. Dick stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. We calmed him down. Meanwhile more and more people were coming in. The bar was crowded and many of the tables were taken. Ernest had gotten his girls and they were bringing drinks to the customers—beer, cocktails, vodka. I noticed that there were a lot of new faces in town lately, mostly young punks with long bright scarves hanging to the Boor. I mentioned it to Dick. Dick nodded.
“What do you expect? They’re starting a lot of construction. The institute is putting up three new buildings and besides that they’re planning to wall off the Zone from the cemetery to the old ranch. The good times are over for the stalkers.”
“When were the good old days for stalkers?” I said. There you go, I thought, what’s all this new stuff? I guess I won’t be able to make a few bucks on the side any more. Maybe it’s for the best. Less temptation. I’ll go into the Zone in the daytime, like a decent citizen. The money’s not the same, of course, but it’s a lot safer. The boot, the special suit, and so on, and no worries with the border patrol. I can live on my salary, and I’ll booze it up on the bonuses. Then I got really depressed. Penny-pinching again: I can afford this, I can’t afford that. I’d have to save up to buy Guta the crummiest rag, no more bars, just cheap movies. It was bleak. Every day was gray, and every evening, and every night. I was sitting there thinking, and Dick was yelling in my ear.
“Last night at the hotel I went into the bar for a nightcap. There were some new guys there. I didn’t like their looks at all. One comes over to me and starts a conversation in a roundabout way, lets me know that he knows me, knows what I do, where I work, and hints that he’s ready to pay good money for various services.”
“An informer,” I said. I wasn’t very interested. I’ve had my fill of informers and little talks about services.
“No, buddy, not an informer. Listen. I chatted for a bit, carefully, of course, led him on. He’s interested in certain objects in the Zone. Serious ones, at that. Batteries, itchers, black sprays, and other such baubles do nothing for him. He only hinted at what he did want.
“What was it?”
“Witches’ jelly, as far as I could understand,” Dick said and looked at me strangely.
“Oh, so he wants the witches’ jelly, does he? How about some death lamps while he’s at it?”
“I asked him the same thing.
“And?”
“Would you believe that he wants some, too.”
“Yes?” I said. “Well, let him go get it himself. It’s a snap. There are cellars full of witches’ jelly. Let him take a bucket and bail out as much as he wants. It’s his funeral.”
Dick said nothing and watched me without even smiling. What the hell was he thinking? Was he thinking of hiring me? And then I got it.
“Hold on,” I said. “Who was that guy? You’re not allowed to study the jelly even at the institute.
“Right.” Dick was speaking slowly and watching me. “It’s research that holds potential danger for mankind. Now do you understand who that was?”
I understood nothing.
“The Visitors, you mean?” He laughed, patted my hand, and said:
“Why’ don’t we just have a drink instead. You’re such a simple soul!”
“OK by me,” I said. But I was angry. The sons of bitches think I’m such a simpleton, eh? “Hey, Gutalin,” I said. “Gutalin! Wake up, let’s drink!”
Gutalin was fast asleep. His black cheek lay on the black tabletop and his hands drooped down to the floor. Dick and I had a drink without him.
“All right, now,” I said. “Simple soul or complicated, I’ll tell you what I would do about that guy. You know how much love I have for the police, but I’d turn him in.
“Sure. And the police would ask you why this guy turned to you rather than someone else. Then what?” I shook my head.
“It doesn’t matter. You, you fat jerk, you’ve only been in the city three years and haven’t been in the Zone once. You’ve only seen the witches’ jelly in the movies. You should see it in real life and what it does to a human being. It’s a horrible thing and it shouldn’t be brought out of the Zone. You know yourself that stalkers are a rough bunch, all they want is money and more money, but even the late Slimy wouldn’t have gone in on a deal like that. Buzzard Burbridge wouldn’t go for it either. I hate to think who would need witches jelly and for what.
“Well, you’re right about all that,” said Dick. “But you see, I’d hate to be found one morning in bed having committed suicide. I’m not a stalker, but I am a practical person anyway, and I like living, you know. I’ve been doing it for a long time and I’ve gotten into the habit.”
Ernest shouted from the bar:
“Mr. Noonan! Telephone!”
“What the hell!” Dick said angrily. “Must be Shipping Adjustment again. They find you everywhere. Excuse me, Red.”
He got up and went to the phone. I stayed behind with Gutalin and the bottle, and since Gutalin was of no help at all, I attacked the bottle on my own. Goddamn that Zone. You can’t get away from it. Wherever you go, whoever you talk to, it’s always the Zone, the Zone, the Zone. It’s easy for Kirill to talk about the eternal peace and harmony that will come from the Zone. Kirill is a fine fellow and no fool — on the contrary, he’s really bright—but he doesn’t know a damn thing about life. He can’t even imagine what kind of scum and criminals hang around the Zone. Now somebody wants to get his hands on the witches’ jelly. Gutalin may be a drunk and a religious nut, but maybe he’s got something there. Maybe we should leave the devil’s things to the devil? Hands off.
Some punk in a bright scarf sat in Dick’s chair.
“Mr. Schuhart?”
“So what?”
“My name is Creon. I’m from Malta.
“So how are things in Malta?”
“Things are fine in Malta, but that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Ernest put me on to you.
So, I thought. That Ernest really was a bastard. Not a drop of pity in him. Here’s this young guy—tan, and clean, and pretty. Hasn’t ever shaved or kissed a girl. But Ernest doesn’t care. He just wants to send more people into the Zone. One out of three will come back with swag, and that’s money for him.