Stargorod: A Novel in Many Voices by Peter Aleshkovsky

Author:Peter Aleshkovsky [Aleshkovsky, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Russian Information Services, Inc.
Published: 2013-04-16T22:00:00+00:00

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“Lyamochkin, wake up! Lyamochkin, the day’s over. What are you supposed to say to that, Lyamochkin? You’re supposed to say, ‘And to hell with it!’”

It’s Timofeyev from the Letters Department, the eternal drill sergeant. Lyamochkin stretches, wipes off a bit of spit from the corner of his mouth – less than a drop, really, more a perspiration, the sweet drool of a midday nap. Did anyone notice? And if they did, who cares! He waves, at no one in particular, and heads for the street door. Some dreams, man! Sometimes you don’t want to know where they come from.

Lyamochkin goes straight to the beer stand – to have a mug or two, shoot the breeze, maybe hear a story. In advance, he prudently takes off his tie. He sips his beer. He listens.

“That Potyekha, son of a bitch, did he fuck up today or what! Captain’s on vacation – you ain’t getting no fish. Potyekha’s in charge. Made us haul ass all the way to Senga, the knuckle-dragger, to this side channel – and there’s fish alright, but you ain’t getting it, except maybe with a trammel. Thought I’d sprain something for sure, but we got it all pulled up – and what did we get there? A load of thorny coontails! We dragged right over it – twisted our nets nice and tight.”

“Coontails? Gramps used to say, they fed it to goats after the war.”

“Gramps? You just go on and listen to that old fart – he’s the biggest mouth for miles,” the story-teller says before turning around and sizing up Lyamochkin. The man’s dull eyes are pure beer – not a single spark glows there. The beer pushes him; it pushes him towards Lyamochkin. A fork-like paw shoots out, grabs Lyamochkin’s lapel and reels him in, like a boat’s propeller spooling weed.

“What are you... staring at? Huh?”

“All right, just take it easy, man,” Lyamochkin says. He knows how to deal with these types.

“What are you now? Who’d you think you are? You from around here? I fish, dude, I am a man, you get it? And what are you now?”

Suddenly, Lyamochkin recognizes him – recognizes his eyes, the same eyes he’d seen across the channel – and gets scared. That’s bad, that’s really bad – he cannot be scared now. That’s the worst thing he can do. Lyamochkin makes a step back; he’s in trouble.

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