The Suitcase by Sergei Dovlatov Read Free Book Online Page B

to take you to Iosser. The rest doesn’t interest me. The only condition is, don’t overplay the part. If you start biting, I’ll shoot you. But you can bark and crow as much as you like…”
    We had to walk about three miles. There weren’t any lumber trucks going our way. Captain Sokolovsky had
taken the camp director’s car. They said he went off to take some kind of exam. We had to walk on foot.
    The road went through a village towards the peat bogs, then past a grove all the way to the highway crossing. Beyond that rose the camp towers of Iosser.
    Churilin slowed down near the village store. I handed him two roubles. We didn’t have to worry about military police at that hour.
    The prisoner was clearly in favour of our idea. He even shared his joy. “My name is Tolik.”
    Churilin brought back a bottle of Moskovskaya vodka. I stuck it in my jodhpur pocket. We had to hold back until we got to the grove.
    The prisoner kept remembering that he was deranged. Then he’d get on all fours and growl. I told him not to waste his strength. Save it for the medical examination. We wouldn’t turn him in.
    Churilin spread a newspaper on the grass and took a few biscuits from his pocket. We took turns drinking from the bottle. The prisoner hesitated at first. “The doctor might smell it. It would seem unnatural somehow…”
    Churilin interrupted. “And barking and crowing is natural?… Have some sorrel afterwards, you’ll be fine.”
    The prisoner said, “You’ve convinced me.”
    The day was warm and sunny. Fluffy clouds stretched along the sky. At the highway crossing lumber trucks honked impatiently. A wasp vibrated over Churilin’s head.
    The vodka was starting to take effect, and I thought, “How good it is to be free! When I get out I’ll spend hours walking along the streets. I’ll drop by the café on Marata. I’ll have a smoke near the Duma building…”

    I know that freedom is a philosophical concept. That doesn’t interest me. After all, slaves aren’t interested in philosophy. To go wherever you want – now that’s freedom!
    My fellow drinkers were chatting amiably. The prisoner was explaining, “My head isn’t working right. And I have gas, too… To tell the truth, people like me should be let out. Written off completely because of illness. After all, obsolete technology is written off, isn’t it?”
    Churilin interrupted. “Your head isn’t working right? You had enough brains to steal, didn’t you? Your papers say group theft. What was it you stole, I’d like to know?”
    The prisoner was modest. “Nothing much… A tractor.” “A whole tractor?”
    “Yeah.”
    “How did you steal it?”
    “Easy. From a reinforced-concrete plant. I used psychology.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I go in. Get in the tractor. I tie a metal barrel to the tractor and drive to the checkpoint. The barrel’s making a racket. The guard comes out. ‘Where are you taking that barrel?’ And I say, ‘It’s for personal needs.’ ‘Got documentation?’ ‘No.’ ‘Untie the fucker.’ I untie the barrel and drive off. Basically, the psychology worked… And then we took the tractor apart for spare parts.”
    Churilin slapped the prisoner’s back in delight. “You’re a real artist, pal!”
    The prisoner accepted it modestly. “People admired me.”
    Churilin suddenly stood up. “Long live the labour reserves!”

    He took a second bottle from his pocket.
    By then the sun was shining on our meadow. We moved into the shade. We sat down on a fallen alder.
    Churilin gave the command, “Let’s roll!”
    It was hot. The prisoner’s shirt was unbuttoned. He had a gunpowder tattoo on his chest that said, “Faina! Do you remember the golden days?!” Next to the words were a skull, a bowie knife and a bottle marked “poison”.
    Churilin unexpectedly got drunk. I didn’t notice it happen. He suddenly grew grim and still.
    I knew that the garrison was filled with neurotics. Work as a prison guard