The Wolves of Eternity by Karl Ove Knausgaard

Author:Karl Ove Knausgaard [Knausgaard, Karl Ove]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2023-09-19T00:00:00+00:00

YEVGENY

The young man who could only be the new helper was standing outside the office building when I came into work that morning. I turned into the parking area, and although it was as good as empty, I picked a space at the far end just so I’d have time to give him the once-over. He didn’t know who I was yet.

The snow still lay heaped up along the verges, packed hard after the long winter, glittering in the sunlight. The asphalt was wet, and behind the trees the ice on the river was retreating, the water gliding green and full through the wide channel that had already opened in the middle, and here and there what looked to be chunks of ice came bobbing.

I slammed the door shut and went towards him. He looked to be twenty at the most. Small and well built. Shaven-headed. Blue jeans, black boots, a grey hoody under a blue jacket. He stood staring at the ground with both hands buried in his pockets. As I came closer I noticed his throat was tattooed. His face was pale, not yet that of an adult, his cheeks a blotchy red.

I walked past him and went inside to the office, still barely a shed, where Stanislav was standing at the printer gathering the sheets of paper it was spitting out into a pile, while Natasha sat with the phone clamped between her cheek and shoulder and chewed her fingernails.

Stas turned round.

‘Yevgeny Pavlovich,’ he said.

‘At your service,’ I said, and sat down on his swivel chair. A grimace of annoyance passed over his face, but he said nothing.

‘What’s the plan for today?’ I said.

‘You’ve got a new man. He’s waiting outside. Viktor. You’re going to Kazan. I take it you knew.’

I smiled at Natasha, who smiled back.

‘I suppose I did, now I come to think about it,’ I said.

‘Then Moscow on Monday.’

‘Parquet staves?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Anything to bring back?’

He shook his head.

‘Just yourself and the lad.’

‘Where did you find him?’

‘He phoned the same day as Seryozha quit.’

‘And you just took him on?’

‘No, of course not. I interviewed him here last Friday. He came with some good references. Seems like a decent lad.’

‘You’re not the one who’s going to be sitting next to him every day.’

I stood up, took the documents Stas handed me and went back out. The lad took no notice even when I went up to him.

I lit a cigarette. Held the packet out.

‘Want one?’

He shook his head.

‘I’m Yevgeny,’ I said. ‘You’ll be with me.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said, without sounding like he meant it.

‘I hear you’re a good worker. I like that. But what’s with the tattoo?’

‘Nothing in particular,’ he said, his eyes still fixed on the ground. ‘It’s just a tattoo.’

‘Of what?’

‘The FC Rubin crest.’

‘Ah!’ I said. ‘The lion that’s a swan! A football fan, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Of course you are. Do you play yourself?’

He shook his head, then turned aside and spat.

Crude and angry, the way short men often were.

‘But you go to the matches?’

‘Yes.

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