Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 97 1933
Five o'clock in the morning.

Ivan had just finished his night shift.

He didn't walk fast; his mind was hazy, sometimes clear, sometimes confused.

The soles of my shoes were covered in frost, and they crunched as I stepped on the cement.

The streets were deserted.

At this hour, apart from the guards on night watch and the drivers changing shifts, no one is awake.

The signal lights at Kamine Station were still on, but the marshalling yard had long since fallen silent, with only a few empty wagons parked on the siding.

Ivan walked through the alley and turned into a row of old staff buildings.

The buildings constructed during Khrushchev's era have long since faded in color.

He climbed the familiar stairs step by step to the fourth floor, where the dormitory door was at the end of the corridor.

The old mailbox still hangs on the nail, the lock is rusted, and the postman no longer delivers mail.

Ivan stopped, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out his keys.

Just as he was about to insert it into the keyhole, he suddenly frowned.

A sliver of light shone through the crack in the door.

There shouldn't be anyone at home at this time.

Oksana made it clear yesterday that Pavlo would be staying in the hospital for observation, and she would be staying with him all night and wouldn't be coming back.

Ivan approached quietly, listening intently, but there was no sound from inside.

But the light was real.

Ivan glanced down at the doorknob; the old brass gleamed faintly, indicating it hadn't been pried open.

He sighed, gently inserted the key, turned it, and pushed the door open—

A stranger was sitting at the table.

An Asian face, short hair, wearing a black overcoat, as if she had been waiting for him all night.

"Good evening," the man said softly as he looked up when he heard him come in.

Ivan calmly closed the door, took off his coat, and hung it on a nail.

"Are you their messenger?" he asked.

"Not really."

Upon hearing this, Ivan understood.

If they're not here to deliver a message, then they're here to deal with themselves.

Nevertheless, he walked over and poured himself a glass of water from the kettle, as if it were just an ordinary night.

“You’ve come to kill me,” he said.

The man smiled slightly.

"I have no relation to Lavrentiev."

"On the contrary, I just want to ask you for a favor."

As he spoke, he pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and placed it on the table.

"April 1993, 12."

"Does this day leave any special impression on you?"

Ivan's expression remained unchanged as he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, no."

"The system was shut down on the 6th, and the entire station's dispatch was suspended for a full 24 hours."

The man sighed and pulled a wad of cash from his pocket.

green.

It features Franklin's face.

Ivan stared at it for a while, but didn't reach out.

"May I ask, what exactly is the purpose of your visit?"

“I’m looking for a train,” the man said. “To be precise, a train carrying special supplies.”

Ivan frowned. "I'm sorry, but I really didn't know. All the scheduling that day was locked down, and everyone went home early."

“Very good.” The man didn’t seem disappointed, as if he had expected this answer.

“It seems I’ve come to the right person,” he said. “So I hope you can let me know in advance before the next lockdown like this happens.”

Unsure how to respond to this strange request, Ivan could only ask in a low voice, "Excuse me, who do you represent?"

The man chuckled softly. "You'd better not know." As he spoke, he took a black, unmarked satellite phone from a box at his feet.

Immediately afterwards, he wrote a string of numbers on the back of a piece of paper on the table and then pushed it over.

"The notification will be delivered at least twelve hours before the lockdown begins."

He said, "All you have to do is dial that number at that time and say, 'It's going to be shut down again,' and that's all."

Ivan stared blankly at the paper for a long while before asking with difficulty, "How can you be sure I'll accept this?"

"Because I know you are a smart person."

"He was also a father and grandfather who was going through a difficult time."

“You are not just living for yourself.”

"Is not it?"

Ivan did not answer.

There was another long silence.

He finally approached, picked up the stack of money, and felt its weight in his hand.

Upon seeing this, the man smiled.
"Great, once the message is verified, you will receive the remaining half."

"A total of $100,000."

"I will contact you again later, not through this phone, but through another means."

Ivan stood still, without saying a word.

The man waited for a while, and seeing that he had no other questions, he prepared to turn and leave.

However, just as he was walking towards the door—

“Wait a minute,” Ivan suddenly said.

The man stopped and turned to look at him.

Ivan's voice was low: "Could you... stay a little longer?"

The man's brow twitched slightly, as if he hadn't expected to be persuaded to stay like this.

“It’s not about those things,” Ivan said. “It’s just that I suddenly wanted to talk to someone.”

After a moment's hesitation, the other person walked back to the table and sat down in the same spot.

Ivan took a small earthenware jar from the cabinet and found two cups, which he then placed on the table.

He poured out some liquid and handed it over.

“Corn liquor,” Ivan said, “was left by an old friend of mine.”

"His only wish before he died was for me to finish the last jar of wine for him."

Zhou Yi took the cup and nodded.

Ivan didn't start speaking immediately; instead, he leaned back in his chair, as if he were engulfed in the firelight.

Two minutes later, he finally spoke:

"I was born in 1933 in a small village in Vinnytsia Oblast."

"You can find out what era that was in by looking it up in a book."

"With so many people dying, farming is pointless. After the food rations are all handed over, all that's left in the house is tree bark."

“My dad was a blacksmith. He lived a long life because he could make farm tools.”

"Later, the village was merged into a collective farm, and he became a 'skilled worker' of the commune, shoeing horses and repairing plow blades."

“My mother is a thin woman who rarely speaks. In winter, she always takes off her cotton-padded coat and covers it over my brother.”

“I was eight years old when the Germans came, and I remember it very clearly—the sky was very blue, and as soon as the tanks entered the village, all the chickens flew away.”

“My brother was stealing potatoes in the field when the soldiers caught him and beat him, but he was lucky that they didn’t shoot him.”

"Those three years were chaotic, but not everyone got beaten up."

“Our village secretary is living better than anyone else; he just changed his collar insignia and continued to be the leader.”

“Sometimes my dad goes to town to repair horse harnesses and comes back with some beer candy or half a radish. That’s how we celebrate the holidays.”

"When I was thirteen, the war ended, and my brother came back from the hospital with two fingers missing."

“We didn’t even have a proper set of clothes at home, but my dad said, ‘Now that you’re done, you should go to work.’”

"So I went to a construction site under the railway department to repair sleepers and carry gravel. In winter, my pants were so cold that I could stand up on my own."

"But I didn't feel bitter back then. Being able to live and have a job was a blessing."

(End of this chapter)