I, Andrei

Relieved to be away from the lab, Andy wanted to forget everything it meant. He'd been spending meals and what little leisure time was allowed surrounded by the other soldiers, but he didn't know any of them by name except for Jenkins. No one seemed much bothered by what they were doing, but it was eating him alive. He couldn't keep it out of his mind. A constant pain gnawed at his stomach, and he knew he was losing weight because his uniform pants were baggy. Even his jeans, pulled out from the bottom of his footlocker, sagged down around his hips. He felt like a fool after his smartass talk when Scott had moaned about being in the Army. How stupid could he have been? As he stepped off the bus, he told himself to forget it, enjoy the day. The sky had grown lighter in the east, and he set off at a brisk pace, determined not to miss the American tour boat the sergeant had told him about. He had no idea what the tour boat looked like. He was in luck, however, and wound up in the correct ticket line. Emptying his pockets and coming up with barely enough cash for his ticket, he stepped past the rope barricade and walked up the ramp onto the boat just before they closed the line. Groans and a few mild obscenities echoed behind him from camera-toting tourists who'd come out before dawn only to be turned away. Determined to enjoy his leave, Andy tried to shake the dull feeling that had settled more heavily on his shoulders with every working day in the laboratory. The water surrounding the boat cooled and freshened the air somewhat. He was surprised that the bay didn't smell like fish the way the ocean did to him. It smelled like mud, greenery, and a trace of diesel fuel. Surprised, also, by the vastness of the lake, he was astounded to see tree-clad islands in it, the treetops catching the rays of the rising sun. He'd envisioned a narrow channel with a series of locks large enough to accommodate a ship, not this huge expanse of water surrounded by knobby green hills and looming vegetation. As near the prow of the ship as tourists were allowed to stand, he braced himself with a hand on the rail as the small vessel got underway, watching as Panama slid by on either side. Euphoria flooded through him, finally, joy at being free for awhile. He held his face to the breeze and closed his eyes, letting his mind empty as the sun rose to his left. Relaxing for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to feel refreshed. When he opened his eyes again, an ancient woman in a red polka-dot sundress and a wide-brimmed straw hat had moved around to lean against the rail in front of him, clutching her handbag in one hand and hanging onto the white-painted rail with the other. He thought of starting up a conversation with her, finding out where she was from, maybe watching after her for the duration of the trip. But how would she feel if she knew what I do every day? His pleasure dampened by the thought, he took a deep breath, determined not to let it spoil the trip. Just then, a puff of wind tore the hat from the old lady's head. It floated above the water for several seconds, suspended by the breeze in the morning sunlight, before a draft caught and carried it out of sight down by the ship. Mesmerized, he imagined himself—could feel himself—falling along with it. His mind flashed on the image of Jerzy's open grave, deep and black, and his stomach lurched as a wave of dizziness threatened to stagger him. Regaining his balance with difficulty, he stared at the spot where the hat had disappeared, fighting nausea, finally forcing himself to look away. He turned to the old woman again and saw that she was distraught, patting her thin hair and looking around, lost. She looked naked, the way a bird would without its feathers. He knew exactly how she felt. His insides were shivering, like they might all melt together. When he could, he moved a small step toward her, but she shrank away and sat down on the bench beneath the rail.