Tkachuk was springy, wide-faced and wide-hipped, quick in his movements, pink and fresh, as though, while Artiom lay in place for an hour and a half in a catatonic state, he had slept for three full nights without waking up, as in a bear lair under seven layers of snow.
“What a strong race they are,” thought Artiom without any respect, only pain.
“I’ll need you again today,” Tkachuk pointed at Artiom with his large fingers. “I’ve told the work assignment clerk already. Wait in IID so I don’t have to look for you.”
Next to the building, Zahar and Avdei Sivtsev were waiting, for they knew not what. Both of them had a sickly color to their face, their lips caked up, their eyes shadowed in black.
They didn’t say hello. Either they didn’t feel like they had ever parted, or a greeting would
