EPILOGUE

"And then?" asked Anka.

Pashka lowered his eyes, slapped his knee several times with the flat of his palm, bent down and picked a wild strawberry growing on the ground near his feet. Anka waited.

"Then . . .," he murmured. "Actually, nobody knows for sure what happened then, Anka. He had left his transmitter at home, and after the house had burnt to the ground, they understood at Controls that things were not going well, and they immediately sent a special emergency squad to Arkanar. They released a considerable amount of sleeping gas over the city, to cover all eventualities. At first they looked at the house. But since it was totally burnt to the ground, they were confused, not knowing where to look for him. But then they saw--"

He became embarrassed and hesitated for a moment

"Well, they saw the traces he had left behind."

Pashka fell silent again and started popping one strawberry after the other into his mouth.

"And?" said Anka softly.

"They came to the palace . . . That's where they found him."

"How?"

"Well ... he was sleeping. And all the others . , . around him . . . were also lying on the ground. Some were asleep and others . . . well . . . They also found Don Reba . . ." Pashka quickly glanced at Anka, then swiftly lowered his eyes again. "They took him, that is, they took Anton and brought him back to the station at the base . . . You see, Anka, he doesn't tell us about anything. And in general he talks very little now."

Anka sat bolt upright, very pale, and looked over Pashka's head toward the little meadow in front of the cabin in the woods. The fir trees rustled their needles as they swayed in the breeze; a pair of fat white clouds slowly drifted through the blue sky.

"And what was the matter with the girl?" she asked.

"I don't know," Pashka said firmly.

"Listen, Pashka," said Anka, "maybe I shouldn't have come here at all."

"Will you stop that nonsense! Of course he will be happy to see you..."

"And I have the feeling he is hiding somewhere here in the bushes, watching us, and waiting for me to leave."

Pashka laughed.

"No, no," he said. "Anton's not hiding in the bushes, you can believe me. He hasn't got the faintest idea that you're here. He's gone off fishing somewhere, as usual."

"And how does he behave toward you?"

"So-so. We get along all right. But didn't you want something else?..."

They were both silent for a while.

"Anka," said Pashka. "Do you remember the anisotropic road?"

Anka frowned.

"What kind of a road?"

"The anisotropic road. With the one-way street sign. Don't you remember? We were there, the three of us ..."

"Oh, yes. Now I remember. Anton used that word."

"Yes, and then he entered the one-way road the wrong way and walked its whole length; and when he returned he said he'd found a collapsed bridge and the skeleton of a German chained to a machine gun."

"I don't remember that part," said Anka. "What about it?"

"Nowadays I often think back to that road," said Pashka. "Maybe there's some connection somewhere ... the road was anisotropic--just as history is. There is no way back. And he went right ahead anyway. And met up with a chained skeleton."

"I don't follow you. What do you mean by the chained skeleton?"

"I don't know," admitted Pashka. "It's just an impression I have."

Anka said:

"See to it that he doesn't brood too much! Try to keep him involved in discussions about anything at all. Make small talk with him. Try to take his mind off his worries."

Pashka sighed deeply.

"Oh, I know ... I've tried all of that. But what good does all my small talk do him? He listens for a little while, smiles and says: 'Pashka, why don't you sit here? I'm going for a walk.' And then he goes off. And there I sit ... In the beginning I used to follow him secretly; but now I only sit here waiting for him to come back. Maybe you could--"

All of a sudden Anka got to her feet. Pashka stood up too and looked around. Anka followed with bated breath as Anton emerged from a clearing in the woods and came walking toward them--very tall, broad-shouldered, his face pale. He seemed completely unchanged; he had always had a serious expression on his face.

She walked to meet him.

"Anka," he said tenderly. "Anka, my little friend ..."

He held his long arms out to her. Timidly she leaned forward, then quickly jumped back a step. On his fingers . . .

But it was not blood, only the stain of strawberries.