Memoir of a Russian Punk

20

At the place where the fences on either side of the rectangle converge in a sharp angle and the narrow asphalt path abruptly turns toward the trolley line, they are met by flying stones and a terrible howling. It isn't even a howling, more like a concerted roar – something on the order of a distorted "Hurra-a-a-h!" coming from invisible throats in the darkness.

"Goddamn!" Stepan curses angrily but impotently as he ducks the cobblestones, as heavy as cannonballs. His voice trembles, as if he were crying. "There's no fucking way we'll get them out of there! We're the ones who have to pay just because those asshole workmen haven't finished repaving the road."

The fact is that the blackasses have taken refuge behind a natural barricade of cobblestones, about a meter and a half high, left there by road workers who are now probably off getting drunk somewhere, with no inkling of what is happening at their abandoned workplace.

Stepan, Sanya, Cat, and Lyova, and behind them Eddie-baby, are forced to beat a hasty retreat beyond the range of the heavy cobblestones and talk the situation over.

"We've got to hold them until the militia cars arrive," Stepan says.

"No fucking way," Sanya objects. "The main thing is to catch the sergeant, and then the rest will run for it."

"Catch him, what do you mean catch him!" the militia officer sneers at Sanya. "How are we going to do that? There are only four of us and at least ten of them."

"Five of us," Eddie-baby observes grimly and resolutely as he pushes his way into the circle, but nobody pays any attention to him.

"Why don't you shoot them, you pussy?" Sanya asks Stepan. "What the fuck do you think they gave you a TT for? So you can catch crooks with your bare hands?"

"I can't do that," Stepan answers severely. "If I kill somebody and he's not armed, and a soldier to boot, I'll have to stand trial. I can't use the gun."

"You asshole!" Sanya says in a rage. "Shoot and they'll shit all over themselves. We'll all swear that it was in self-defense. If you don't want to shoot because you're afraid of killing them, then shoot at their legs."

"I can't do it!" Stepan cuts him off. "I can't do it."

"Well, give the cannon to me, then," Sanya says, "and I'll get the sergeant."

"How can I entrust a militia pistol to you!" Stepan says, losing his temper. "Are you joking?"

"You asshole! You fucking asshole!" Sanya curses him.

Their argument is interrupted by an outburst of roaring and a hail of stones. This time the situation is a great deal more serious. The frenzied soldiers have come out from behind their barricade and are running toward them. Eddie-baby can see them for the first time. Only a few of them are in greatcoats, despite the November cold. Without belts, their uniform tunics hang on them like peasant shirts, and their open collars reveal their white undershirts, which emphasizes their swarthy oriental features. Wrapped around the right hand of each is a wide army-issue tunic belt with a heavy brass buckle. Anybody taking one of those buckles in the side or top of his head usually falls down unconscious. Fighting with belt buckles is normal army practice. The soldiers are now running straight at them, swinging their belts in the air.

Sanya, Cat, and Lyova, the last limping, pick up the cobblestones thrown by the soldiers and hurl them back at them. Eddie-baby follows their example. Without much success. As in a slow-motion film, Eddie-baby sees the frenzied faces of the soldiers coming dangerously closer.

As if to give Eddie-baby a better look at what is happening, a previously inaudible trolley car rolls up and comes to an enforced halt, furiously ringing all its bells. It can't go any farther, since some of the soldiers are running across the trolley line and several large cobblestones are lying on top of the tracks.

The soldiers are now less than ten meters from the militia officer and the kids, who have all taken cover behind a pile of telephone poles. Stepan's trembling fingers move to the vicinity of his holster.

"Shoot, you asshole, or they'll bash our heads in! Shoot!" shouts Sanya.

Cat grabs Stepan by the arm and tries to take the pistol away from him.

Stepan wrenches himself free and holds the pistol at arm's length. The pistol shakes in his hand. Stepan is terrified.

"Shoot!" shouts Sanya.

"Shoot, you pussy!" shouts Lyova in a fury.

"Shoot at their legs!" yells Cat.

"Shoot!" shouts Eddie-baby.

Accompanied by the ceaseless chiming of the trolley's bells, the militia sergeant finally squeezes the trigger several times in succession. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Four shots ring out in the night air, and four times the invisible bullets strike sparks on the cobbled roadway under and between the feet of the advancing horde, bringing it to a sudden halt.

Clustered behind Stepan, the kids see the soldiers running back into the darkness to take cover behind their barricade. In a shower of sparks, a second trolley car, also ringing its bells, rolls up behind the first. Its doors are closed, and its passengers' faces are pressed against the windows.

Stepan fires several more times and then changes the magazine.

The soldiers have taken cover behind the barricade, but not all of them. One large figure stops, as if changing his mind, then utters a desperate roar – "A-a-a-h!" – and sets out again toward Stepan and the kids.

"The ringleader!" Stepan says hoarsely, "the sergeant!" and steps back.

"That's the one we want," Sanya says. "Distract his attention, Stepan, tease him, while Cat and I sneak around along the fence and grab him from behind. He's in such a fucked-up state he won't notice."

Cat and Sanya drop down on all fours and creep toward the fence, staying close to the ground.

The sergeant is no longer running but advancing ponderously toward the retreating Stepan, Lyova, and Eddie-baby, who has stayed with them.

"Shoot, you motherfucker!" shouts the sergeant. "Shoot, you goddamn prick! Go on, shoot a Russian soldier, you goddamn militia bastard!"

"Give up, you asshole, or you'll be sorry!" Lyova shouts to the sergeant. All three, including Eddie-baby, retreat before the advancing hulk of the sergeant, waiting for the moment when Sanya and Cat will drop on him from behind.

Suddenly the trolley driver switches on his headlights, and the whole scene is bathed in yellow light. The sergeant is no longer a dark, massive figure but can now be clearly seen. He walks toward them, pulling open his uniform tunic with both hands so as to bare his chest, and despite the November temperature, drops of sweat are visible on his forehead. Unlike the soldiers, whose heads are shaved, his reddish hair is in a crew cut. He comes closer and closer. Stepan cautiously waves his TT, once more holding it out at arm's length.

"You asshole! Don't do it!" Lyova shouts at the sergeant.

"Don't do what, or do it to whom?" Eddie-baby wonders, failing to understand. Suddenly, looking at Stepan, who is bent almost double with the TT pointed straight ahead, he realizes that Stepan doesn't actually know how to shoot. "Was he at the front during the war?" Eddie-baby wonders for some reason.

"Shoot me in the chest, you bastard! Shoot a Russian soldier!" the sergeant keeps shouting in a senseless, brutal way, and bending down, he picks up a cobblestone lying in his path and lifts it over his head.

"I'll kill you-u-u!" he shouts in a savage voice, and lunges forward, only to crash to the ground along with the stone under the weight of Cat and Sanya, who have hurled themselves on him from behind.

The soldiers, who turn out to be closer than anyone expected, silently dash out from behind their fortification to assist their leader and superior officer, but Stepan fires at their feet and legs again, this time more coolly, once again striking beautiful yellow sparks on the pavement.

Almost at that very moment the scene is enlivened by the sudden arrival of three militia cars and the militia officers who leap out of them. Under Stepan's leadership, they attempt to catch the soldiers. Both trolley drivers simultaneously open their doors, and crowds of slightly drunk, festively dressed men tumble out, trying to find out what's going on.

Eddie-baby hears his name: "Hey, Ed!" Sanya is calling him, and has obviously been calling him for a long time, since his voice sounds angry.

"Goddamn it, Ed, where the fuck are you?! Come here!" Eddie-baby runs toward the voice.

Sanya and Cat have the defeated Russian Samson pinned to the ground. The Samson is wheezing and trying to move. Despite Sanya's hundred kilograms and Cat's trained muscles, it's no easy matter for them to keep the sergeant immobile.

"Ed, where the fuck have you been?" Sanya says in a friendlier tone. "Pull the belt out of the stallion's pants!"

Eddie-baby cautiously pulls the sergeant's tunic up and unbuckles the belt on his pants.

"Get your hands off me, you little fuck, or I'll break your neck!" the sergeant wheezes through his bloodstained mouth.

"Shut up, stallion!" Sanya says to the sergeant in an affectionate tone while punching him in the face from above as though with a hammer. Sanya's blow is a heavy one; his hand is hard. He constantly toughens it by striking its edge against hard surfaces. He can easily break a good-sized piece of wood in two. The sergeant falls silent.

Sanya and Cat turn the sergeant over onto his stomach and tie his hands together with his belt as tightly as they can.

"We'll go take a look around while you stand guard over this criminal, Ed," Cat says mockingly. He's obviously amused by his role as defender of law and order. Noticing the wary look Eddie-baby is giving the sergeant, he adds, "Don't be afraid of him. If anything happens, just kick him in the neck or the face with the steel tip of your shoe."

"And don't feel sorry for him," Sanya adds. "If he gets loose, he certainly won't feel sorry for you."