The Curious Journey of Mr. Eric Delko or Red Star Galactica

ON THE MORNING when Countess Zelenina called on Eric at the Staraya Rossiya Hotel in Rybichkala, he was suffering a recurrence of one of his old enemies: migraine.

It was just a mild attack as yet, compared with previous bouts, but he took it as a warning sign. Was it possible that all his old familiar foes---which he thought he had abandoned on the Siberian plain, somewhere between Omsk and Tomsk---were even now hastening to catch up with him? Were his hemorrhoids rolling along the Road within striking distance of Krasnoyarsk? Was his gastritis likewise coming this way? Probably. All because he had dallied in one place too long.

At the bedroom door Eric begged to excuse himself, but the countess practically forced her way into the room. He yielded and called to a passing maid, requesting a cup of tea from her.

Lydia Zelenina was a tall slim woman with a fine oval face. He hair was chestnut, and her eyes dark and bold, with thickly "seductive" lashes. At 32 she was a widow, whose husband, a rich local merchant, had perished from cholera three summers ago, leaving her with two young daughters and a big townhouse, as well as income from forestry, lumber mills and tanneries. Unfortunately, she tended to smoke and drink; this married her somewhat in Eric's eyes.

Today she was attired eccentrically, in riding boots, a black brocaded gown, and (although it was the dead of summer) in an impossibly hot fur hat the size of a rook's nest. She looked as if she had set out for a ball, to be held immediately after a funeral, but suspected she might have to escape from a wolf pack en route!

Her noble grandfather had been exiled to Krasnoyarsk back in '25 for taking part in the Decembrist conspiracy. Accompanied by his loyal wife, together they had become part of the kernel of civilizing forces which eventually made this town a decent place to live in. Lydia inherited a penchant for conspiring, in the shape of organizing social events, and for wild deeds....

When tea arrived, she lit a cigarette. Mostly she held it far from her lips, puffing only two defiant billows into the air. After a while she crossed her legs with a flourish, to display the best effect her smartly tooled boots which were so much more finely cut than Eric's own torturers.

He regarded her through his pince-nez in silence. At last, she crushed out her cigarette amidst the stubs of Eric's own Spanish cigars.

"Mon cher Eric Saveli. I'm sure there are secrets hidden in your silence which no one will ever know!"

"If that's so, Countess, then they're likely a secret from me as well..." Actually, he had been thinking about gastritis.

She disregarded his wry smile. "No, I mean it: just as surely as there's a secret locked in the silent heart of the taiga! En tout cas, that's why I'm here. Voyez: we aren't all illiterates in Siberia. I propose that we should raise funds for your coming expedition by means of a benefit performance of your delicious farce, The Bear."

Eric could have groaned aloud. That stupid piece of vaudeville, hacked out for provincial buffoons to laugh their stupid heads off at!

On the other hand, he had been living off the proceeds of its wretched nonsense for the best part of last year....

" I would be delighted to take the role of the widow Kristina, personally."

Oh, yes. Without a doubt! Ca va sans dire. And which of her suitors would she nominate for the role of the "Bear." Yanovich? With whom did she wish to conduct a flaming row in public? And challenge to a duel? And wave a revolver at? Ah yes, with her eyes sparkling and her face a flush---gunpowder and fireworks popping off at every word! And which of her rivals, among the ticket holders in the audience, would she glare at while flinging her gauntlet? Had Countess Zelenina maybe found a packet of her own former husband's billet-doux locked up in some drawer after his death, just as Kristina had?

"I think we will stage it at the Governor's residence. He was a good

"I think we shall stage it at the Governor’s residence. He was a good friend of Zelenin’s. Mais escoutez, there’s more! I’m an extravagantly wealthy woman---I’m sure I may speak frankly! Oh, yes! I would be more than happy to pay a substantial donation towards the cost of mounting the Tunguska Expedition, provided that…."

"Provided what?"

"That I am allowed to go along."

"You can't be serious!"

"I am serious. I want to accompany the expedition. I shan’t hold you back. I don’t expect any comfort. I anticipate danger and privation. Oh Eric Saveli, I’m so sick of frittering my life away on petty excitements. Dances or a duck shoot---what nonsense!"

"I hardly think you fully understand….:

"Women regularly go through childbirth, mon ami. I don’t think you know how much toughness and courage it requires of us."

"No," Eric said. "But I have seen what it's like when it goes wrong. You haven't."

"I have so! Still, I doubt if a man could endure it!"

"Fortunately, we don’t often have to, Countess. But it wasn’t your stamina I was questioning. If I might be blunt: one woman, alone in the wilderness with a band of men?"

"Oh, you're worried about my reputation?" She fluttered her eyelashes. "Or are you worried about yours?"

Good Lord, he thought, she's making a pitch at me. Be careful, Eric, old Bean! On the other hand, don't rebuff her---that's dodgy, too. A woman scorned and all that bullshit!

He spoke jocularly. "It is said that there are giant rats out in the taiga."

"You know perfectly well that's a local superstition. And quite inappropriate for the great Doctor Delko, the intrepid explorer of the Tunguska."

"I can't believe you're serious!"

"You must."

"I do hope, Countess, that you won't challenge me to a duel if I greet your proposal with a certain degree of..."

"Ecoutez: I can shoot straight, and I can ride."

"On pack horses!? We'll be walking most of the time."

"I'd advise you to take a sledge or two."

"That's assuming we ever do set off..."

"You will, with my help." Lighting another cigarette, she waved it around as if the whole matter was signed, sealed, and delivered.

"If you'll allow me to say so, Countess, you're not qualified scientifically. To make observations, for example..."

"I have thought of that. It just so happens I own a camera, and you won't find it's like anywhere east of the Urals. It was given to me as a gift from an eccentric American inventor, whose name I can't remember, for some reason. With this camera, you don't have to fuss with heavy glass plates---it uses what it's inventor calls 'roll film.'"

"Whatever 'roll film' is," he said with heavy sarcasm in his voice.

Lydia smiled triumphantly. "See? You do need a photographic expert. You hadn't even thought of that! What's more, I don't see why you need to go on spending money in this dreadful hotel. Quel ennui! It must be so confining. I should consider myself privileged if you were to accept the hospitality of my own home." She wagged a finger at him. "With no obligations to be on display to casual visitors---or pay any attention whatsoever to my darling daughters. You wouldn't be bothered at all. You needn't even be present at rehearsals of The Bear. Though, if you wish, I could initiate you into the mysteries of the roll-film camera." She winked. "Click!"---as if snapping a photograph.

Eric shifted about uncomfortably in his seat, and as he did so he felt a brief pang in his bum.

He had to admit it; he'd been stuck in this hotel far too long. Writing letters to one and all. Squeezing out articles about the taiga and the Tunguska Mystery. The room wasn't exactly luxurious.

Lydia leaped up and clapped her hands, knocking ash on the worn-out carpet. "I take it that's settled! What are you waiting for? Get your bags packed, mon ami."

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