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Authors: Vladimir Sorokin
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moment the Tungus meteorite fell.”
And I realized that Kulik had accepted me on the expedition only because of this. Everyone turned toward me with curiosity.
“Where were you born?” asked Trifonov.
“About thirty versts north of Petersburg,” I answered.
“Kilometers, kilometers, young man!” Kulik corrected me. “Your mother heard the thunder during the birth?”
“She did hear it. And she wasn’t the only one,” I answered.
“It was heard all over Russia that day,” the glum geologist Yankovsky spoke up.
“And what else were you told about the day of your birth? Was there anything else unusual?” asked Kulik, staring intently at me.
“Unusua l.. .” I thought a minute and suddenly remembered. “Of course. There was something. My family said that there was no night at all. And the sky was lit up.”
“Absolutely right!” Kulik raised a long finger. “This phenomenon was noted along the entire coast of the Baltic Sea, in the northern parts of Europe and Russia — from Copenhagen to Yeniseisk! An anomalous luminescence of the atmosphere!”
“Which Torvald Kohl and Herman Seidel wrote about,” nodded Ikhilevich. “A bright dawn and dusk, a massive development of silvery cloud s.. .”
“The mass accumulation of silvery cloud s.. .” Kulik repeated in a loud voice. He grew thoughtful and suddenly banged his fist on the rostrum. “This time we are obliged to find the meteorite!”
“We’ll find it! It won’t get away from us! That’s why we’re going!” Everyone began talking at once.
“Sasha, Sasha, it’s so wonderful!” Masha turned her reddened face toward me. “Find it, find the Tungus meteorite!”
“I’ll try,” I muttered without much enthusiasm.
I just wanted to travel somewhere. To travel and travel, as I did
back then
.
The next day we left on the Leningrad–Moscow–Irkutsk train, in which we had been assigned an entire car. The four days to Taishet passed in conversations and arguments in which I was a passive listener. In our car, No. 12, they argued about topical questions: Communism, free love, industrialization, world revolution, the structure of the atom, and, of course, the Tungus meteorite. All this was accompanied by what was excellent food for that time, and endless drinking of tea with unlimited sugar, which for me, after my half-starved existence, was particularly pleasant. Having stuffed myself with horse sausage, Baltic herring, boiled eggs, and bread with cow’s milk butter, and drunk my fill of strong tea, I climbed onto the top bunk and, half asleep, looked out the window where the endless Vologodsky and Viatsky forests sailed by. After the low Ural Mountains, that view was replaced by the incomparable Siberian landscape. From Chelyabinsk all the way to Novosibirsk the depths of an ancient sea, according to Kulik, stretched in boundless breadth, overgrown with pine and larch. Gazing at these expanses I fell asleep.
Relations among members of the expedition were good, everyone was friendly and well disposed. The mysterious meteorite, which the Soviet newspapers had begun to write about, thanks to Kulik, captivated and excited the imagination. I liked to think about it when I lay on the top bunk. But I always imagined it still gliding through the Universe. That way was even
more pleasurable
for me. Arguments about its composition, velocity, and size went on endlessly. Kulik infected everyone with his enthusiasm, which bordered on fanaticism. For this everyone forgave him his dictatorial manner, his everyday terrorism and intolerance in discussion. On the expedition he called everyone “comrade,” as a matter of principle, ignoring names and patronymics. After the victory of the Soviets in Russia, his “scientific Marxism” grew even stronger. Kulik deified “Stalin’s iron consistency” and believed in a coming Soviet economic leap capable of “proving to the whole world the dialectical objectivity of our path.”
We arrived in
And I realized that Kulik had accepted me on the expedition only because of this. Everyone turned toward me with curiosity.
“Where were you born?” asked Trifonov.
“About thirty versts north of Petersburg,” I answered.
“Kilometers, kilometers, young man!” Kulik corrected me. “Your mother heard the thunder during the birth?”
“She did hear it. And she wasn’t the only one,” I answered.
“It was heard all over Russia that day,” the glum geologist Yankovsky spoke up.
“And what else were you told about the day of your birth? Was there anything else unusual?” asked Kulik, staring intently at me.
“Unusua l.. .” I thought a minute and suddenly remembered. “Of course. There was something. My family said that there was no night at all. And the sky was lit up.”
“Absolutely right!” Kulik raised a long finger. “This phenomenon was noted along the entire coast of the Baltic Sea, in the northern parts of Europe and Russia — from Copenhagen to Yeniseisk! An anomalous luminescence of the atmosphere!”
“Which Torvald Kohl and Herman Seidel wrote about,” nodded Ikhilevich. “A bright dawn and dusk, a massive development of silvery cloud s.. .”
“The mass accumulation of silvery cloud s.. .” Kulik repeated in a loud voice. He grew thoughtful and suddenly banged his fist on the rostrum. “This time we are obliged to find the meteorite!”
“We’ll find it! It won’t get away from us! That’s why we’re going!” Everyone began talking at once.
“Sasha, Sasha, it’s so wonderful!” Masha turned her reddened face toward me. “Find it, find the Tungus meteorite!”
“I’ll try,” I muttered without much enthusiasm.
I just wanted to travel somewhere. To travel and travel, as I did
back then
.
The next day we left on the Leningrad–Moscow–Irkutsk train, in which we had been assigned an entire car. The four days to Taishet passed in conversations and arguments in which I was a passive listener. In our car, No. 12, they argued about topical questions: Communism, free love, industrialization, world revolution, the structure of the atom, and, of course, the Tungus meteorite. All this was accompanied by what was excellent food for that time, and endless drinking of tea with unlimited sugar, which for me, after my half-starved existence, was particularly pleasant. Having stuffed myself with horse sausage, Baltic herring, boiled eggs, and bread with cow’s milk butter, and drunk my fill of strong tea, I climbed onto the top bunk and, half asleep, looked out the window where the endless Vologodsky and Viatsky forests sailed by. After the low Ural Mountains, that view was replaced by the incomparable Siberian landscape. From Chelyabinsk all the way to Novosibirsk the depths of an ancient sea, according to Kulik, stretched in boundless breadth, overgrown with pine and larch. Gazing at these expanses I fell asleep.
Relations among members of the expedition were good, everyone was friendly and well disposed. The mysterious meteorite, which the Soviet newspapers had begun to write about, thanks to Kulik, captivated and excited the imagination. I liked to think about it when I lay on the top bunk. But I always imagined it still gliding through the Universe. That way was even
more pleasurable
for me. Arguments about its composition, velocity, and size went on endlessly. Kulik infected everyone with his enthusiasm, which bordered on fanaticism. For this everyone forgave him his dictatorial manner, his everyday terrorism and intolerance in discussion. On the expedition he called everyone “comrade,” as a matter of principle, ignoring names and patronymics. After the victory of the Soviets in Russia, his “scientific Marxism” grew even stronger. Kulik deified “Stalin’s iron consistency” and believed in a coming Soviet economic leap capable of “proving to the whole world the dialectical objectivity of our path.”
We arrived in
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