The Geographer's Library

The Geographer’ s Library
tered with medals and ribbons. His hair was cut slightly longer than the standard
military brush, and his posture was more relaxed than standard military
bearing.
Yuri stood up. “Engineer Kulin, sir. But if you don’t mind my asking, I am
in military dress. How did you know that I was a civilian and not a transfer?”
“Aha,” said the man, leaning close to Kulin’s face and beckoning. He
pointed at Kulin’s plate. “Your eating habits betray you. You have been cutting
your meat with a fork and knife and carrying the food to your mouth with
a fork. You also eat your salads with a fork. Your spoon lies undisturbed, right
where the galley’s assistant placed it. These men here, these enlisted men”—
he gestured generally with his right hand and Kulin’s eyes swept the room—
“most of them use the back of their fork to shovel as much food as possible
into their spoons and then cram it into their mouths. Now, it is not impossible
to have a recruit with decent table etiquette, but it is impossible that he
should retain that etiquette after his military training. You yourself did
service, did you?”
“Yes, sir, in the Tajik Republic.”
“And did your standards of decorum slip?” Kulin stayed quiet and involuntarily
looked down. “You see,” said the man, breaking into a tight
smile, “you would not have brought those manners home to your mother,
would you?”
“No, sir.”
“Well. I came to welcome you, not taunt you. I am Colonel Voskresenyov.
I live in my own barracks, not a hundred meters from where you’re staying.
Please call on me if you have any problems while you’re here.”
“Thank you, sir, I will.”
“Do you play chess, Kulin?”
“No, sir, I don’t.”
“Ah. Pity. Well, enjoy your meal. Good evening.”
in his room Yuri laid out his tools for the next day: paper, pencils, Tajik-
Russian and Uzbek-Russian phrasebooks—he spoke both languages fluently
but had been instructed to carry and make obvious references to both
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