Читать книгу The Ball. Volume#1. “Kuluangwa” - Michael Ouzikov - Страница 19

«Nikolai Alekseyevich, don’t make any steps and do not touch anything.» Romanov sat down and lit a thin cigarette, squinting at the flickering tongue of the flame. The corpse has clearly been laying here for years. The human flesh had rotted, decayed, and flowed away with the vernal waters of the Chukchi Sea, which rested like a frozen mirror a few dozen meters from the boulder. However, the man’s odd paper-like robe still remained, with much of its inside eider down intact. Half decayed, the corpse lay in the fetal position, with its hands carefully guarding something from the world. Behind the corpse, a steel frame and rotting leather scraps of what was once a travel bag unveiled a briquette, topped with candle wax, with a bible-sized manuscript inside.

«Look, Andreyich… what’s he holding on to?» The man’s bony hands tightly pressed a black spherical object the size of a sheep’s head against his chest. The ball was pressed so hard as if it were the last thing that would save the man before his death. Andrei Romanov, looking wincingly at his companion, said, «Nikolai, why don’t you go back to the guys in the car. Let them call for the investigators from the district. This is their business to figure out, whatever happened. But it looks like the poor fellow simply lost his way and froze. Come on, come on, Alekseyich!» his voice did not conceal his impatience, «Go to the car! Are also frozen? Go, and also grab my shotgun. Looks like we’re done hunting for today.» Hobbling over to Romanov, Nikolai threw the shotgun over his shoulder and ran back up the hill to the lone all-terrain jeep.

Romanov bent over the corpse, eyeing the strange clothes with interest. He figured the round object was just a common ball that has served its life of being kicked around by village boys. He took off his gloves and touched it. It felt like porous and cold. The material was like a natural rubber. Then, drawing a Swiss Army knife from an inner pocket, he freed the blade and began to gently unpeel the bony fingers grasping the round object. To his surprise, this turned out to be extremely difficult to do. If the tibia crumbled to the melting snow with the faintest touch, the finger bones were rooted to the black ball. Putting the knife aside, Andrei clutched the ball with both his hands and tried to wrest it from the corpse’s grasp. He was pulling to each side with all his strength. The corpse lifted off the ground with the ball, the skull flew off, and the ribs scattered across the dead man’s clothing. The ball was still in its «last embrace» and didn’t want to part with its keeper. Bitch! Well, I’ll get you anyway! thought Romanov. He grabbed the knife and began to frantically scrape the ball from the dead man, finger by finger. Middle finger. Pinky. Forefinger. Fuck! The phalanx of a finger flew off, and before it was lost in the snow, it hit Romanov’s right eyebrow. At the same time, the knife slipped on the icy ball and ripped the palm of Romanov’s left hand. Bloody hell! Andrei shouted at the departed Nikolai, «Kolya! Kolya!»

«Yes, Andrei Andreyevich!»

«Grab the medical kit. I’ve scratched my hand a little.»

«Got it, boss. I’ll be back in a minute!» Nikolai hastily limped to the car.

With some difficulty, so as not to stain his jacket with blood, Romanov took out a paper handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed the scratch on his eyebrows, then covered the wound of his hand with it and held it firmly with his fingers. With a smirk on his face, Andrei put his hand on the black ball on the stranger’s chest. You are strong, brother! Suddenly, he felt a very strange sensation, that the ball was becoming unnaturally warm. Leaning forward, he easily freed the black thing from the dead hands. It even seemed that the headless skeleton stretched out and handed the ball into new hands. Dropping aside the bloody napkin, Romanov brought the ball closer and began to examine it closely: black, weighs maybe two kilograms, about 15 centimeters in diameter, made out of some natural rubber. In two places, it looked as if someone gnawed or plucked at it. Andrei remembered himself as a child, how many times his mother hit his hands for making such holes in bread. The ball now became really warm, soft, and elastic! As he clenched the prize in his hands more firmly, the ball responded to each movement of the fingers. Something extraordinarily attractive was in this strange object. Just like an old favorite childhood toy, he didn’t want to let go of it. He just wanted to keep on crumpling and rolling it between his palms.

Andrei winced painfully – the deep wound on his palm was open again and his blood marked the surface of the ball. At the same moment, the ball was turning red-hot, like an iron. Not having enough time to understand what was happening, Andrei reflexively threw the ball aside. The ball flew like a cannonball, instantly melting the snow on which it landed, and drowned in the ice hummocks. Damn! Is this a hallucination or is this actually happening? Some fucking mystical shit! I didn’t even drink yesterday. He heard some crunchy steps behind him. Nikolai Alekseyevich approached with one of the guards, Renat.

«What happened, boss?» he asked with alarm in his voice.

«It’s all fine. I just scratched my hand on an ice hummock,» Andrei reassured. The guard, squatting, pulled the ball out of the snowdrift and looked at it with interest. The ball again looked like a cold rock – it didn’t burn the hands of Renat.

«Interesting thing, chief. What is it? A children’s toys from the Paleolithic times?»

«Well, well, well… look at how well educated my guard is after all! How do you know about the Paleolithic era, Renat?»

The big guy with Asiatic features curiously stared at the human remains below him. «Chief, I studied at the Geological Institute in Vladivostok. Your words hurt me».

«I thought they took you as an athlete, to lift barbells in university tournaments,» Nikolai butted into the conversation. «Anyway… Andreyich, the guys already got in touch with authorities in Anadyr. A brigade will be here in three or four hours. We described this location to them – they’ll find it themselves.»

«Good. Did you bring the first aid kit?» Romanov showed his bloody palm.

«What’s with the hand, Andrei Andreyevich… it’s not a cut, it looks like a burn of some sort. How did you manage to do this?» Nikolai carefully examined his boss’ palm, whistling. «Let me dress it, dear.»

«No, just put a patch on it. What am I – a soldier on the Second Belorussian Front or something?»

Nikolai splashed some hydrogen peroxide on Romanov’s palm. The liquid rose like white foam before evaporating. He dabbed a gauze pad and put a large patch over it, while muttering an old Russian nursery rhyme, «Tamara and I are a pair, a pair of nurses, Tamara and I…»

«Andrei Andreyevich, we must go. The weather is worsening. By the time we get to the helipad, anything can happen. I don’t want to spend the night in the car. Look at how strange the sky is! And they say that there are no northern lights in the spring! So green! Like grass growing in the clouds!» Nikolai jerked his head toward the horizon.

«Yes, Kolya. Put some pole next to this dead tourist so the brigade finds him quickly. Tie my red scarf on it,» he nodded at the bloodstained cloth. «Renat, grab the Paleolithic toy and the dead traveler’s notebook and throw them in the car. The book is in his bag. And one more thing,» Romanov looked firmly into the eyes of his companions, «don’t mention these things to the cops. Why do they need this headache?»