War of the Beasts and the Animals

Fish

In a tin bath, a tin bath she lay

We poured water in, and mixed in some salt

One man got drunk, another repaired the transmitter,

A fourth man wandered the shore in lament:

What would he tell his grandchildren, but I digress:

Speaks no English, has not expressed hunger,

Still one should do something – cook, or offer something raw.

This cannot be, it simply cannot be.

Eyes – hungry, wide-lipped, hair

Like wet hay, pale as ice and smelling of vodka;

If it turns on its side even slightly, a line

Of vertebrae knots the length of the back, like on yours.

Not a word of Russian, most likely Finno-Ugric

But sadly no experts were at hand

When the nets were cast in hope that morning

And the beast smiled and beat its tail in greeting.

Twilight, tins were opened, lamps brought in.

Cards and a chessboard appeared without undue haste.

I try debating with our mechanic, but he won’t take the bait.

A quick check-over (Witnessed by. Sign on dotted.) –

Not long enough. Only first observations,

Weight: sixty. Length of tail: ninety.

Jagged wounds in the abdominal area

Mostly likely caused by a sharp object.

Not long enough. Only early theories,

There is no time. The reestablishing of radio contact

Keeping the hut warm, catching fish.

Eats the fish with us all, very neat and tidy

Can’t stand coffee, refuses to wear clothes;

Measured the diameter of nipple; change tub water

Morning and evening; the thing sleeps hugging tail.

Can’t tell faces apart. Doesn’t remember names.

Not long enough, just come from the radio engineer

Have suspicions someone sabotaging radio

And emergency generator, work out why

No point in working out why, still I do believe we will meet.

Better to put the notes into code, put all notes into code,

At eighteen hundred last night another helicopter over the pines

Rapid pulse, slight nausea

Splashing and laughter from behind the calico curtain.

Yesterday and today let fish out for a swim.

I stood guard with a pike, Petrov had a carbine.

Didn’t attempt to slip away, only splashed around;

Water temperature; body temperature;

Possible uses for the purpose of fishing.

I ran along the shore, pretending to be a hunter.

It dived in and out gently, to no good purpose,

Wet, white-toothed and gleaming.

Only now: is it happening, I can’t tell

Two hours of pointless conversation

In the cold about the radio and the spares,

A sprint back to the hut. Silence behind the curtain.

And no one there, behind the curtain. The tub upturned.

Smoke in the mess room, I step in a puddle

And there, to the soothing hiss of the radio

The fish and the mechanic are playing snap.

Not long enough, not up to it, the thing is sick

And smells less like vodka, more like moonshine

Distended pupil, sweats, palpitations,

Listless, lethargic, no appetite,

No communications, no photographic equipment

Filth, fishscales amongst the medical instruments

Dreamt of God again, the rotating propeller

The pines bending, and the noise of the rotor.

It’s Petrov again: doctor, he says, doctor —

It’s quiet behind the curtain. The tub is empty.

The mechanic had a flask of spirits, a secret.

I don’t object, let the fish swim. On the floor

A wet scarf, fish likes to keep its throat covered

Although what use a scarf is to it, I don’t know.

From the window astoundingly clear on the bay’s shining

Surface, the head of a swimmer moving forever beyond range.

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Must concentrate on essentials: we are flying away.

Despite the care I took in sabotaging the transmitter

It was put to rights painstakingly, more than once

And then there was no reason to put it off waiting

For the helicopter, for the helicopter waiting, waiting.

Everything is packed and the crates stowed,

All reckonings completed, all logbooks closed,

Blinds drawn, flags lowered, I am asleep.

My dearest, I went out late in the evening

To look at you in photographs taken at college,

I haven’t seen her for so long, she hasn’t changed

My Dearest I hoped I would never have to tell you,

My Dearest, I hoped to conceal it

My Dearest, I hoped I wouldn’t live long enough

To meet with, the coming together of two halves,

The full combination of classical attributes.

Addressed to the President of the Academy, Professor Nikitin

A copy to the Kremlin, the original for my widow.

Research notes. A diary with his observations.

Height, weight, estimated age.

Those characteristic scars in the abdominal area –

There, submerged in water, last-century surgery

Operations without anaesthetic on the seabed

Changes in pressure, fibroids, scars

Giving birth is hard; bringing up the child is hard

And marriage is a near impossibility.

And such yearning, such yearning, although on dry land.

…But most of all: I love you, your very own.

But most of all: forgive me, this is not goodbye

But last of all, and first of all,

And Christ! All in all: fare you well.

And if this place is the far edge of the earth,

It is not the furthest edge of the earth.