Watson, Ian - Novel 11 Read Online Free PDF Page B

knife that scarecrow of
a youth was holding! He must be the husband . . . And quite conceivably they had been planning to use that insanitary
blade as their next surgical instrument.
                 With
an effort Anton controlled his feelings. It was all perfectly comprehensible.
Anything other than this ignorant butchery would be the miracle . . .
                 “Yevgeny,’’
he shouted. “Get me my doctor’s bag!’’
                 While
he waited, he began searching his pockets in a quiet fury, he knew not quite
for what. The woman would die—no doubt of it. Whatever he
did.
                 His
fingers encountered folded paper and he pulled this out. Oh yes, that sheet of
bum-wiper from the post station. He hadn’t even used it. Unfolding the torn
scrap of Siberian Herald , he stared
glazedly at the contents as if he was consulting a pamphlet on gynaecology
which he just happened to have on hand.
     
                 ... in the
North-West the peasants observed racing through the sky a shining body in the
shape of a cylinder, too bright to behold. Moments later a huge cloud of black
smoke arose and a tongue of flame shot up into the heavens. A crashing noise,
as of artillery, was heard several times. The ground itself shook, throwing
many people down, and horses even fell to their knees. A hot fierce wind blew
up suddenly, tearing the roof from one house. Many people cried out in terror
that this was the end of the world.
                There
is no doubt whatever that a large heavenly body must have crashed to earth
somewhere; though where exactly is less certain . . .
     
                 This
scrap of newspaper was dated . . . 2nd of July 1888. A year
and ten months ago.
                 Hysteria,
wild exaggeration, ignorance! Anton could have moaned aloud.
                 But
the sick woman was already doing that, while she lay corrupting internally.
Stuffing the paper back into his pocket, resolved that he definitely would wipe
his arse on such nonsense as soon as he had time, Anton stepped over to the
victim. He pulled the covers back to inspect the bloody atrocity underneath.
The kids stared down from the rafters, goggle-eyed; and the crones crooned
softly.
     

SIX
                 Krasnoyarsk May 29th, 1890
     
     
                 How are you, Olga, my precious star-gazer?
                Here am I in Siberia , and you’re far away. But how I wish you
had been at my side last night so that I could squeeze your hand in the
starlight and ask your advice on matters interplanetary, of which a humble
doctor and scribbler knows little. (Other than that the cosmos is vast and
drear, and that time stretches out intolerably till this planet will be as cold
as space itself. . .)
                 But
first a scribbler ought to set the scene, don’t you think?
                 Krasnoyarsk is an excellent town—particularly after
such vile Asiatic holes as Tomsk . Goodness alone knows why they send exiles here to Krasnoyarsk ! This must seem more like a reward, what
with the grand forested mountains encompassing the city like high walls, and
the broad swift Yenisey winding its way through—worthier of Levitan’s brush
even than the Volga. And I mustn’t forget the town itself. Why, there are paved
streets and gracious churches and handsome houses built of stone! But they do send
exiles here, and they’ve done so for years. Result? Krasnoyarsk is quite cultured, as well as being
picturesque.
                 Anyhow,
I have fallen in with an army doctor and a pair of lieutenants all on their way
to the Amur. We intend to travel onward together, so I shall hardly need my
revolver. Boldly would I harrow Hell itself in company with this trio.
                 Can
you read my writing? This ink is disgusting. Blot and splotch.
                So let me tell you about these