Hard to Be a God

Epilogue

“And then?” Anka asked.

Pashka looked away, slapped his knee a few times, bent down, and reached for the wild strawberries by his feet. Anka waited. “Then…” he muttered. “No one really knows what happened then, Anka. He left the transmitter at home, and when the house started burning, the patrol airship realized that something was wrong and they immediately landed in Arkanar. They dropped grenades of sleeping gas on the city just in case. The house had almost burned down. At first they were taken aback, weren’t sure where to look for him, but then they saw…” He looked uncomfortable. “Anyway, it was obvious which way he went.” Pashka stopped talking and started tossing berries into his mouth one by one.

“Well?” Anka said very quietly.

“They came to the palace. That’s where they found him.”

“How did they find him?”

“Well… he was asleep. And everyone around him… they were also… lying down. Some were asleep and some, well… They found Don Reba there too.” Pashka took a quick look at Anka and averted his eyes again. “They took him away—I mean Anton—brought him to the Base. You see, Anka, he hasn’t told us anything about it. He doesn’t talk much at all anymore.”

Anka sat very pale and upright and looked over Pashka’s head at the meadow by the little house. Pine trees were rustling, swaying gently. Puffy clouds slowly drifted through the blue sky. “And what happened to the girl?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Pashka said harshly.

“Listen, Pasha,” said Anka. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, don’t be silly! I think he’ll be happy to see you.”

“And I keep thinking that he’s hiding somewhere in the bushes, looking at us and waiting for me to leave.”

Pashka chuckled. “No way,” he said. “Anton wouldn’t sit in bushes. He’s probably fishing somewhere, as usual.”

“And how is he with you?”

“He isn’t anything. He tolerates me. But it’s different with you.”

They were quiet.

“Anka,” Pashka said. “Do you remember the anisotropic highway?”

Anka frowned. “What highway?”

“Anisotropic. The one with the do-not-enter sign. Remember, the three of us went there?”

“I remember. It was Anton who said that it was anisotropic.”

“That was the time Anton went through the sign, and when he came back, he said that he found a blown-up bridge and the skeleton of a fascist chained to a machine gun.”

“I don’t remember that,” said Anka. “So what?”

“I often think about that highway nowadays,” said Pashka. “Like there’s some connection. The highway was anisotropic, like history. You weren’t supposed to go back. But he did go back. And stumbled on a chained skeleton.”

“I don’t understand you. What does the chained skeleton have to do with it?”

“I don’t know,” Pashka admitted. “It just makes sense to me.”

Anka said, “Don’t let him think too much. You should always talk to him about something. Any kind of nonsense. So he’ll argue with you.”

Pashka sighed. “I know that. Except what does he care about my nonsense? He’ll listen, smile, and say, ‘Why don’t you just sit here, Pasha? I’ll go wander.’ And off he goes. And I sit there. At first, I was discreetly following him, like an idiot, but now I just sit and wait. But if you—”

Anka suddenly stood up. Pashka looked around and also stood up. Anka watched, holding her breath, as Anton walked toward them across the clearing—huge, broad, with a pale, untanned face. He hadn’t changed much; he had always been a bit gloomy.

She walked toward him.

“Anka,” he said tenderly. “Anka, my friend…”

He stretched his huge hands toward her. She timidly reached for him and immediately shrank back. On his fingers…

But it wasn’t blood—only strawberry juice.