Ice - Anna Kavan [38]
EIGHT
I tried to make friends with my companions, young fellows straight from a technical college; but they would not talk. They distrusted me because I was a foreigner. When I asked questions, they suspected me of trying to find out things that were to be kept secret, although I could see that they themselves knew no secrets. They were incredibly naive. I felt I belonged to another dimension, and became silent. By degrees they forgot about me and started talking among themselves. They spoke of their work; of difficulties in assembling the transmitter. Lack of materials; lack of trained personnel; lack of funds; bad workmanship; unaccountable errors. I heard the word sabotage muttered back and forth. The work was far behind schedule. The transmitter should have been functioning at the end of the month. Now no one knew when it would be finished. Exhausted, I closed my eyes, stopped listening.
Now and again an odd sentence reached me. Once I realized I was the subject of their conversation; they thought I was asleep. 'He's been sent to spy on us,' one of them said. 'To find out if we can be trusted. We must never tell him anything, never answer his questions.' Their voices dropped, they were almost whispering. 'I heard the professor say. . . . They don't explain. . . . Why send us to the danger zone when other people. . . .' They were dissatisfied and uneasy, and could not give me any information. I need not waste my time on them.
Late at night we stopped at a small town. I knocked up a shop keeper, and, for the second time, provided myself with a few essentials: soap, a razor, a change of clothing. The place had only one garage: before we left in the morning, the driver insisted on buying up the entire stock of petrol. The owner protested indignantly; with supplies so restricted, he might not get any more. Our man ignored this, told him to empty the pumps, and, in response to further outraged protests, said: 'Shut up, and get on with it! That's an order.' Standing beside him, I remarked mildly that the next person expecting to fill up here would be in trouble. He gave me a scornful glance. 'He's got more hidden away somewhere. They always have.' The petrol cans were crammed into the back with the rest of the load, hardly leaving room for the four of us. I had the most uncomfortable place, over the back axle.
Flaps were rolled up, we could see out. We were driving towards a distant forest with a chain of mountains behind. A few miles from the town, the metalled road ended. Now there were only two narrow tarred strips for the wheels, as far apart as the width of the chassis. It got colder as we drove on; the climate was changing, like the character of the land. The edge of the forest was always in sight, gradually coming nearer: we passed less and less cultivation, fewer and fewer people and villages. I began to see the sense of storing the petrol. The road got steadily worse, full of ruts and holes. Progress was difficult, slow, the driver kept swearing. When even the tarred strips came to an end, I leaned over and tapped his shoulder, offered to take turns with him at the wheel. Rather to my surprise, he agreed.
I had a more comfortable seat beside him, but found it an effort to handle the heavy lorry. I had never driven one before, and until I got used to it, had to concentrate on what I was doing. It was necessary to stop at intervals to remove fallen rocks or tree trunks that blocked the way. The first time this happened, I prepared to climb out to help the others, who had already jumped down from the back and were struggling to shift the obstruction. I felt a light touch and looked round. The driver's head made a just perceptible negative movement. My ability to drive the truck had apparently raised me above such duties in his estimation.
I offered him a cigarette. He accepted. I ventured a comment on the state of the road. As the transmitter was so important and involved so much traffic, I could not understand why a decent road