“So how’s old Ernest?” I asked.
He looked over at the bar.
“He looks well. I wouldn’t mind trading places with him.”
“I would. Want a drink?”
“Thanks, I don’t drink.”
“A smoke?”
“Forgive me, but I don’t smoke, either.”
“Damn you then. What the hell do you need the money for?”
He blushed and stopped smiling.
“Probably,” he said in a low voice, “that concerns only me, doesn’t it, Mr. Schuhart?”
“You’re absolutely right,” I said and poured myself another four fingers. My head was beginning to buzz and I was feeling a nice looseness in my limbs. The Zone had let go of me completely. “I’m drunk right now. I’m celebrating, as you can see. I went into the Zone and came back alive and with money. It doesn’t happen very often that people come back alive and even more rarely that they come back with money. So why don’t we postpone any serious discussions.”
He jumped up and excused himself. I saw that Dick was back. He was standing by his chair and I could see in his face that something had happened.
“Your tanks losing their vacuum again?”
“Yep,” he said. “Again.”
He sat down, poured himself a drink, freshened mine, and I could see that whatever it was, it had nothing to do with faulty goods. To tell the truth, he couldn’t care less about the shipments—a model worker!
“Let’s have a drink, Red.” Without waiting for me he gulped down his drink and poured himself another. “You know Kirill Panov died.”
I was so stoned that I didn’t quite understand. Someone died. So what.
“Well, let’s drink to the departed.”
He looked at me with his round eyes and only then did I feel as if a string had snapped inside my body. I remember that I got up and leaned against the table. I looked down at him.
“Kirill?” The silver web was before my eyes and I could hear it cracking again as it tore. And through the eerie sound of the cracking I could hear Dick’s voice as though he were in another room.
“Heart attack. They found him in the shower, naked. Nobody knows what’s happened. They asked about you. I told them you were in perfect shape.”
“What’s to understand? It’s the Zone.”
“Sit down. Sit down and have a drink.”
“The Zone,” I repeated. I couldn’t stop saying it. “The Zone, the Zone.
…”
I couldn’t see anything around me except for the silver web. The whole bar was caught in the web and as people moved around, the web crackled softly as they touched it. The Maltese boy was standing in the middle. His childlike face was surprised—he didn’t understand a thing.
“Little boy,” I said gently. “How much do you need? Will a thousand be enough? Here, take it. Take it!” I shoved the money at him and started shouting: “Go to Ernest and tell him that he’s a bastard and scum. Don’t be afraid! Tell him! He’s a coward, too. Tell him and then go straight to the station and buy a ticket for Malta! Don’t stop anywhere.” I don’t remember what else I shouted. I do remember ending up in front of the bar and Ernest giving me a glass of soda.
“You’re in the money today?” he asked.
“Yes, I’ve got some.”
“How about a little loan? I have to pay my taxes tomorrow.”
I realized that I had a bundle of money in my hand. I looked at the wad and muttered:
“That means he didn’t take it. Creon of Malta is a proud young man, it seems. Well, it’s out of my hands. Whatever happens now is fate.”
“What’s the matter with you?” my pal Ernie asked. “Had a little too much?”
“Nope, I’m fine,” I said. “Perfect shape. Ready for the showers.”
“Why don’t you head on home? You’ve had a little too much.”
“Kirill died.” I said to him.
“Which Kirill? The one-armed one?”
“You’re one-armed yourself, you bastard. You couldn’t make one man like Kirill from a thousand like you. You rat, you son of a bitch, you lousy scum bastard. You’re dealing in death, you know that? You bought us all with your dough. You want to see me tear your little shop apart?”
And just when I reared back to lay a good one on him I was grabbed and hauled off somewhere. I couldn’t understand anything then and I didn’t want to. I was shouting and fighting and kicking and when I came to I was in the john, all wet, and my face was in lousy shape. I didn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. My cheek was twitching, I’d never had that before. Outside I could hear a racket, dishes breaking, the girls squealing, and Gutalin roaring louder than a grizzly:
“Repent, you good-for-nothings! Where’s Red? What have you done with him, you seeds of the devil?” And the wail of the police siren.
As soon as I heard it, everything became crystal clear in my brain. I remembered everything, knew everything, and understood everything. And there was nothing left in my soul but icy hatred. So, I thought, I’ll give you a party! I’ll show you what a stalker is, you lousy bloodsucker! I pulled out an itcher from my watch pocket. It was brand new, never used. I squeezed it a couple of times to get it going, opened the door into the bar and tossed it quietly into the spittoon. Then I opened the window and climbed out into the street. I really wanted to stick around and see it all happen, but I had to get out of there as fast as possible. The itchers give me nosebleeds
I ran across the backyard. I could hear my itcher working full blast. First all the dogs in the neighborhood started howling and barking —they sense the itcher before humans do. Then someone in the bar started yelling so loud that my ears clogged even at that distance. I could just see the crowd going wild in there—some fall into deep depression, others freak out, and some panic with fear. The itcher is a terrifying thing. Ernest will have a long wait before he can get a full house in his place again. The bastard will guess of course that it was me, but I don’t give a damn. It’s over. There is no more stalker named Red. I’ve had enough. Enough of risking my own life and teaching other fools how to risk theirs. You were wrong, Kirill, my old buddy. I’m sorry, but you were wrong and Gutalin was right. This was no place for humans. The Zone was evil.
I climbed over the fence and headed home. I was biting my lip. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. All I saw was emptiness and sadness. Kirill, my buddy, my only friend, how could it have happened? How will I get on without you? You painted vistas for me, about a new world, a changed world. And now what? Someone in far-off Russia will cry for you, but I can’t. And it was all my fault. No one else but me, a good-for-nothing. How could I take him into the garage when his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark? I’d lived my whole life like a wolf, caring only about myself. And suddenly I decided to be a benefactor and give him a little present. Why the hell did I ever mention that empty to him? When I thought about it, I felt a pain in my throat and I wanted to howl. Maybe I did. People were avoiding me on the street. And then things got easier: I saw Guta coming.
She was coming toward me, my beauty, my darling girl, walking with her pretty little feet, her skirt swaying over her knees. Eyes followed her from every doorway. But she was walking a straight line, looking at no one, and I realized that she was looking for me.
“Hello,” I said. “Guta, where are you going?” She took me in in one glance—my bashed-in face, my wet jacket, my scraped hands—but she didn’t say a thing.
“Hello, Red. I was just coming to see you.”
“I know. Let’s go to my place.”
She turned away and said nothing. Her head is so pretty on her long neck, like a young mare’s, proud but submissive to her master.
“I don’t know, Red. You may not want to see me any more.”
My heart contracted. What now? But I spoke calmly.
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Guta. Forgive me, I’m a little drunk today, so I’m not thinking straight. Why wouldn’t want to see you any more?”
I took her hand and we walked slowly toward my place. Everybody who had been eyeing her before was hurrying to hide his mug now. I’ve lived on this street all my life and everybody knows Red very well. And anyone who doesn’t will get to know me fast enough, and he can sense that.