— You think there’s going to be a grave, dreamer?
I opened my eyes. No, I flung them open, as wide as they’d go, and gasped.
Standing over me was the dapper gentleman from the carriage. I recognized the black tailcoat and the monocle instantly. The cane was gone. So were the snow-white gloves. The gentleman, focused, without once glancing my way, was filing the nails on his right hand.
— There won’t be a grave, — he informed me. — No one to dig it. Nobody bothers with corpses out here. So it’s you, yourself, all by yourself…
At the word “corpse,” my shock gave way to confusion:
— And who are you?
— A horse in a coat, — the gentleman smirked. — A local, like you are now.
— What kind of place is this?
The gentleman didn’t answer. He inspected his manicure, tossed the nail file aside. Then he turned his gaze on me, scanning me up and down.
— Height one seventy-five, chest forty-eight, shoe size forty-two, — the gentleman concluded, with startling precision. He turned and walked off, sideways and up the slope of the dune. He walked evenly, springily, without effort. His feet didn’t sink into the sand at all.
I shouted:
— Wait!
I wanted to find out what this place was, where to go, and why he’d been announcing my measurements.
A pile of questions pressed down on the crown of my head from inside, demanding answers. The gentleman, without stopping, without turning around — just walking, walking, and — hop! — tossed a grenade my way. A khaki-colored metal cylinder, the size of a faceted drinking glass, thudded down in front of my nose. I squeezed my eyes shut.
Paralyzed with terror, I flashed back over my life and got upset — nothing worthy of a deathbed memory! A kilo of caramels for my birthday at kindergarten, and my first slow dance with Lena… or was it Tanya? Damn it! I remembered “Johnny, oh yeah” for the rest of my life, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember her name — just that she was a redhead from the eighth unit at Pioneer camp… And nothing else worth remembering, besides the redhead and the caramels… Pity. Pity. Pity… Oh yeah…
I peeled my eyelids open. The fragmentation grenade lay ten centimeters from my face. Perfectly intact, smelling of machine grease. The steel ring — what basic military training manuals call the pin — swung right where it should. Phew.
The gentleman had vanished beyond the dune’s crest as if he’d never been there. He hadn’t even left footprints in the sand. I looked around. My own footprints were right where they should be. Strange.
And what was this?
A faint hum, something like a Holst suite, rose and faded.
I remembered my childhood, the music school where I’d tooted away on the French horn, and the graduation concert. That had thundered! But here? Where was this whispering coming from?
I looked around for the source of the sound and slapped my palm against my thigh. Damn it!
I was in the hollow between two dunes and could see nothing but pink slopes. And the hum, breaking through the hallucinations, was growing louder. Becoming clearer, more distinct, and… and… and turning into the genuine roar of an engine. It was a vehicle’s motor, heading toward the carriage. I heard shouts: Over here! Over here! We’re here!
Damn it all! Real, waking help was on the way!
I forgot all about the local in the tailcoat, waved him off, and, not wanting the momentum to go to waste, scooped the grenade up off the sand. I wasn’t a grenadier, but why not — it might come in handy.
Stumbling, slipping, and falling, grenade in hand, I slid back down and clambered back toward the carriage.
I couldn’t imagine a more hellish task. My feet sank into the shifting mush. The slope kept crumbling away. After ten steps — won through desperate effort! — I’d gained maybe a meter. I panted. I wept. I was losing my mind, cursing everything under creation, but I kept crawling. In the end, I got what I wanted.
Utterly spent, having cursed everything and everyone, on trembling, half-bent legs, thoroughly wrung out, I hauled myself up to the summit and saw the thing I’d wanted, the thing I’d dreamed of, the thing I’d prayed for through that exhausting climb.
It was a tank.
