Captain of the Steppe by Oleg Pavlov & Ian Appleby

Author:Oleg Pavlov & Ian Appleby [Pavlov, Oleg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: contemporary fiction, literary fiction, novel, translation, translated fiction, comedy, drama, dark humour, Russia, Soviet army, Kazakhstan, steppe, prison camp, soldiers, captain, potatoes, Russian Booker Prize, Solzhenitsyn Prize, Solzhenitsyn, Russian fiction, Oleg Pavlov, Solzhenitsyn, Russian fiction, Russian contemporary fiction, Captain of the Steppe, Павлов, Олег Олегович, Récits des derniers jours, Soviet fiction, Soviet literature, Russian Books, Russian Authors, contemporary Russian authors, prison literature
Publisher: And Other Stories Publishing
Published: 2013-03-20T00:00:00+00:00

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A Passion for Orders

Reveille in the sickbay happened later than in the barracks. The sickbay was managed by a military doctor with a foreign-sounding surname; it was his habits that set the rules here. A sergeant major roused the men from their beds before the doctor arrived, although he himself would hide in the storeroom and doze, waiting to find out what mood his boss was in that morning.

Relaxing after breakfast, which had been brought to him right in the ward, Skripitsyn set off to explore the sickbay, still holding his dirty crockery. He wanted to wander round, maybe eavesdrop on conversations, but the sickbay was full of the wildest people. The wards, which seemed just like gas chambers, were crammed with either Kalmyks or Kyrgyz, little earthenware figurines, wordless, quiet. This little tribe was huddled to the walls in the corridor, and everyone – there must have been about fifty mouths, you wouldn’t have put it at any less – everyone was eating right there out of mess tins, ignoring everything around them, just hunched over their tins.

Wishing to be of use to the Special-Department agent, the sergeant major sprang towards Skripitsyn and led him out into the fresh air, clearing a way for him. Striking up a conversation with him about this black tribe, Skripitsyn’s mind wandered around and about the sergeant major’s simple replies. The more junior man explained that the rejects from every company had been brought to the sickbay. They couldn’t serve on sentry duty, so it had been decided to send them off to the construction battalions in Baikonur and Semipalatinsk. ‘They’ve been here at least a week, they’ve worn us all out, but they still haven’t been sent on,’ the sergeant major moaned.

Hearing him out, Skripitsyn passed him his dirty plate as if he had had plenty to eat and set straight off for the chief medic. When Skripitsyn promised the medical officer that he would send all these rejected human resources off that same day to their intended destination, the medic instantly cheered up, and assured the Special-Department agent that he would see to everything that was his responsibility without delay.

A man could only be discharged from the regiment if the adjutant signed him off. Ringing Degtiar and telling him, incidentally, that he was unwell, Skripitsyn reported with great feeling the existence of the spongers he had discovered by chance in the infirmary. Degtiar agreed with Skripitsyn’s observations and, in an hour, at the adjutant’s order, an old bloke appeared in the infirmary. He had been charged with sorting out train tickets, and he wanted a list with a headcount of the people he would be taking, so that he could get hold of supplies.

Meanwhile Skripitsyn had taken the medical officer to one side and whispered to him that the list for transportation had to include one more soldier: a private from the Special Department who had become unsuitable. The doctor demurred, saying it took more than a day just to have someone discharged from the sickbay.

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