Free Omon Ra by Victor Pelevin Page B

else, including even the sense of approaching death that had been constantly with me during the last few months: it was no longer so sharp now, it was simply there as the background for all my other thoughts.
    “Did you sign a promise not to tell?” Mitiok asked scornfully.
    “Leave me alone,” I said, turning to face the wall.
    “These two fat-faced warrant officers in black robes just dragged you in here,” he went on, “and they said to me, ‘Here, take back your Egyptian’. And your blouse is covered in puke. Can’t you remember anything at all?”
    “Not a thing,” I answered.
    “Well, wish me luck,” he said. “I have to go now.”
    “Break a leg,” I said. All I wanted to do was sleep, because it seemed to me that if I fell asleep quickly enough, I’d wake up as myself again.
    I heard Mitiok close the squeaky door behind him, and then it was morning.
    “Krivomazov! The Flight Leader wants you!” one of our group yelled in my ear. I didn’t really wake up until after I was already dressed. Mitiok’s bed was empty and undisturbed: the other guys were sitting on their beds in just their vests. I could feel the tension in the air as they glanced awkwardly at each other, and Ivan wasn’t even cracking any of those stupid but very funny morning jokes of his. Something had happened, and all the way up to the Flight Leader’s office on the third floor above ground I tried to figure out what it was. As I walked along with my eyes screwed up against the sunlight that pierced through the curtains—I was so unused to it—I noticed my reflection in a huge dusty mirror standing in a bend in the corridor, and I was amazed at how deathly pale my face was. I realised that my feat of heroism had really begun a long time ago.
    The Flight Leader stood up to greet me and shook my hand.
    “How’s the training going?” he asked.
    “Fine, Comrade Flight Leader,” I said.
    He looked into my eyes, checking me out.
    “Yes, I can see it is. The reason I sent for you, Omon, is that I want you to help me. Take this tape recorder,” he said, pointing to a small Japanese cassette player on the table in front of him, “and these forms and a pen,and go to room number 329. It’s free just at the moment. Have you ever transcribed a tape recording?”
    “No,” I replied.
    “It’s easy. You play a bit of the tape, write down what you heard, and then play a bit more. If you can’t make it out the first time, you listen to it as often as you need to.”
    “I understand. Permission to go?”
    “Granted. No, wait. I think you’ll understand why I’m asking you to do this for me. Very soon you’ll have all sorts of questions that no one down there will answer.” As he spoke, the Flight Leader jabbed his finger towards the floor. “I could have decided not to answer them too, but I think it’s better for you to know what’s going on. I don’t want you tormenting yourself unnecessarily. But bear in mind that neither the political instructors nor the crew must know what you find out. What’s happening now is a breach of discipline on my part. So you see, even generals commit them sometimes.”
    •
    Without speaking, I picked up the tape recorder from the table, together with a few yellow forms—they were the same as the ones I had seen the day before—and went to room 329. The curtains on the windows were firmly closed, and the metal chair with the leather straps on the legs and armrests still stood in the middle of the floor, only now there were wires leading to it from the wall. I sat at a small writing desk in the corner, placed a ruled sheet of paper in front of me, and switched on the tape recorder.
    “Thank you, Comrade Colonel … It’s very comfortable,more like an armchair really, ha-ha-ha … Of course I’m nervous. It’s kind of like an examination, isn’t it? … I understand. Yes. Two i’s—Sviridenko …”
    I switched off the tape recorder. It was Mitiok’s voice, but it was strange