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ably full of glue. I watched as the boy began breathing into the bag with the des-
peration of someone close to drowning. His eyes were wide and lifeless.
Eventually, the gypsies walked off in a sulk. Chris had handed out some biscuits
but nothing more. We were left with the glue-sniffers, who were clinging onto a
fence, rocking it back and forth in a rage. When they grew tired of the fence they
picked up rocks and began hurling them into the air. Meanwhile, the diners in the
Coca-Cola café continued to drink and smoke unperturbed.
Suddenly, someone was standing in front of me. 'Hello, I am from Kh-
aborovsk!' said a tall man in a beige suit. His head was remarkably egglike in shape
and an extremely wide part in his hair exposed a shiny scalp.
I shook his extended hand and met his magnified eyes through thick, rectangu-
lar, Soviet-made spectacles. For a moment I was lost for words, then I told him our
story.
'That kind of route, hey,' he exclaimed, chuckling. 'Marvellous, boys, just mar-
vellous!'
He seemed like a well-spoken, upper-class gentleman. Only the eyepiece and
fob watch was missing. As it turned out, he was an engineer who had been called
in from Khaborovsk in eastern Siberia to work on a problem at the Ust Kut power
station.
As we chatted, I watched the rest of the scene develop out of the corner of my
eye. The local thugs were again approaching, the glue-sniffers were digging up the
footpath, and the gypsies sat on a nearby bench keeping a close watch on us.
It was a great relief to mount the bikes and ride away.
We didn't hesitate to cross the Lena River and head for the solitude of the forest.
I had arrived in town in desperate need of a rest, and yet felt more depleted as Ust
Kut slipped from view.
———
A day out of Ust Kut, I struggled along an inclining sandy road. The hot, almost
viscous air was choking. In desperation, I welcomed a crash now and then - they
seemed to refresh my muscles and provide legitimate breaks from the torment. I
guzzled water by the litre and yet felt my mouth become claggy as soon as the drink
bottle was in its holder. Any momentum was pegged back by the gravel and sand,
and a need to concentrate on balance. I cursed the odd log truck that came roaring
around the corners, showering us with stones and clouds of dust.
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