The Archipelago of Another Life by Andreï Makine

Author:Andreï Makine
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781950691746
Publisher: Arcade
Published: 2021-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

“The thing is,” Ratinsky was holding forth as we halted, “if a woman goes to prison, that means she’s a thief, or else she’s a bad mother. Or even worse: maybe she’s killed her husband. There are lots of those in the camps … I know a thing or two about that!”

It took no great effort on my part to justify the coital feast that lay ahead. In one corner of my mind, the fugitive was associated with Sveta and inspired the same mixture of jealousy and resentment.

We stepped up our pace, and when we reached tight meanders in the river we found we were now coming so close to the woman that our eyes could make out the movement of her hips beneath the coarse fabric of her clothes, the slender line of her neck … Only her weapon, carried upside down on her shoulder, checked our urge to run up to her, push her over, and crush her into the sand. Now, more than ever, firing at her was out of the question—her body must remain intact for our satisfaction.

Ratinsky, the youngest among us, could hardly wait. Several times, I noticed him distractedly fingering the crotch of his pants. At a ford where the distance between us and the fugitive had shrunk to less than fifty yards, he whispered with enraged insistence: “Major, I’m going in. I’ll catch her as she’s crossing. I know I can do it …”

Butov, his face red from the excitement of the chase, uttered an indistinct grunt, signaling tacit approval, his eyes riveted to the figure of the woman whose wet garments brazenly emphasized the curve and movement of her buttocks as she waded on …

Ratinsky moved forward with great strides, stumbling on rocks, slipping on slabs of clay made invisible by the speed of the current. He had managed to cover half the distance when the woman appeared to be missing her footing and falling. She thrust one arm into the water, seeking to support herself on the bottom, her other arm holding up the rifle to keep it above the surface. Ratinsky rushed toward his helpless prey …

Then the fugitive stood upright, and we thought that she was about to playfully splash her pursuer. No, it was a small rock that she threw at him with astonishing precision. Hit on the head, Ratinsky spun round, as if to call on us as witnesses. In reality, it was the violence of the impact that sent him into this half turn. He tottered and sat down in the middle of the ford with the water up to his neck, looking for all the world like a child vexed at being refused a piece of candy.

For a fraction of a second the rest of us had just seen the woman’s face. Slanting eyes with prominent cheekbones, like those of all the native peoples of the far eastern territories. Her hair, which was starting to grow back on her shaven head, was of a charcoal gray like that of the locals.

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