Wave of Terror (15 page)

He ignored Kulik and Sergei, addressing Marusia, “Haven’t I seen these two fellows someplace before? Oh, yes, now I remember. I saw them at the teachers’ conference.” Pursing his lips, he looked Kulik over. “Why, if it isn’t Ivan Kulik. Aren’t you the one who gave that ghastly speech in Ukrainian? I must say, you certainly know how to stir things up. You had the participants virtually at each other’s throats. This is what I think of you and your Ukrainian schools. Piffle!” Then back to Marusia again, “Certainly you didn’t come here with these two fellows?”

Before Marusia had a chance to respond, Kulik, feeling tremendously insulted, spoke up, intending to put the poet in his place. “Nikolai Nikitich, have you ever gone to the zoo?”

Nikolai had not expected such a peculiar question. He crinkled his nose and cleared his throat. “Er, unfortunately, no.”

“Well, in Prague I saw a beautiful chimpanzee whose imitation of humans was remarkable. The Czechs named him Potapka, which means imitator. If I might add, there’s a striking resemblance.”

No one had ever dared talk to Nikolai like that. He shot back haughtily, “In Prague, you say? I didn’t think
moujiks
ventured that far.”

“Oh, stop!” Marusia could barely contain herself. Looking profoundly embarrassed, she took Nikolai’s arm, and hurriedly changed the subject. “Tell me, Nikolai, are you still writing?”

“Yes, naturally! How can I not write! Poetry is my muse, my elixir.”

Marusia went on. “You have such a wonderful style. Do you remember last summer when you read to me from one of your books?”

“Yes, indeed, from
The Forgotten Book Of Verse
, if I’m not mistaken. I also read to you some of my reviews, which, if I may say so myself, were extremely favorable.”

“Allow me to recite to you from my most recent collection. As you’ll notice, my poems are no longer frivolous. They are now fearless and full of hope, and in them I give answers and an insight into what is going on around us:

Hunger, cold and want

Months, even years of struggle

Listen for the Revolution …”

As he began the next line, Sergei cut him off. “Hey, Nikolai, why don’t you try something like this:

Hunger, cold and want

I plop on my bed

And snore and snore and snore some more …”

“Seryoza!” Marusia stamped her foot. “How can you be so rude?” Then apologetically to Nikolai, “Forgive Seryoza. As you can see he’s had too much to drink.”

At the sound of the word
Seryoza
, Nikolai froze on the spot and his eyes widened. He was shocked that Marusia had addressed Sergei in the diminutive,
Seryoza
, suggesting to him the two were more than the casual acquaintances he had assumed them to be. It
was plain and simple: Marusia Valentynovna was associating with
moujiks
! “Excuse me, Marusia Valentynovna,” he said quickly, hoping that no one had noticed that he was with these people, “I must be off. Give my regards to your father and mother. And how’s Lonia? Is he still in Lvov? Well, goodbye.”

The band began the rhumba. Kulik found himself mouthing the lyrics in Polish. Again he was alone. Sergei had gone off somewhere with Marusia. Kulik focused on trying to find a partner. He looked along the wall, around the podium, by the entranceway, but all the women seemed to be taken. His eyes strayed across the floor. Yeliseyenko caught his attention again. He was still dancing with the same woman. Kulik could now see her more clearly. She was very pretty, with big black eyes and a long, slender neck. There was something unusual about her and curiously familiar. Where had he seen her before? He watched her move across the floor. She was an excellent dancer, light on her feet, whirling and twirling gracefully, in a soft velvet dress that clung to her shapely body. It was almost as if she was oblivious to her partner and was dancing alone.

When finally the music stopped, Kulik, almost involuntarily, found himself drifting toward her. Who was this girl? As he moved closer, Yeliseyenko noticed him, and frowned. “You! I remember you from the conference. What do you want? Do you intend to ask this young lady to dance?”

Kulik hesitated a moment, then, ignoring Yeliseyenko, said to the girl, “Would you do me the honor?”

She smiled, nodded to Yeliseyenko, gave Kulik her arm and walked with him to the middle of the floor. She was as tall as Kulik, and when they danced, their eyes met. Where had he seen this unusual, lovely creature before, with eyes as black as the night? Suddenly he was seized by a wave of excitement. It was she, he realized, the girl from St. Barbara’s Church! She drew back, startled. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Well, because … because, well, it’s all quite odd. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“What if I’m not?”

“You’re not a teacher either.”

“No.” She looked steadily at him. “Do you always interrogate your dancing partners like this?”

“I’m terribly sorry. It was impolite of me. What’s your name?”

“Zena. And yours?”

Kulik was surprised she did not give her patronymic, and even more surprised that she spoke in Ukrainian. “My name is Ivan, Ivan Kulik … You look familiar to me. I’ve seen you someplace before.”

She was amused. “Is that what you say to all the girls?”

A Strauss waltz began. The floor filled with dancers, young and full of energy. Everyone was intoxicated, carried away by the significance of the night. They were not only celebrating the coming of the New Year, but the coming of a new era. History was in the making.

When at last the music slowed, Zena became surprisingly chatty, even affable, going on about the band, the music, the dancers, but when she mentioned the colorful decorations and the pictures of Stalin on the walls, their eyes locked. It seemed to Kulik that something odd had passed between them, as if they both harbored the same dark secret. He longed to ask questions, to speak, to exchange confidences, but did not dare. She looked away from him and seemed to become distant. Why, Kulik asked himself, had this young woman gone into the offices of the
Oblispolkom
? Could she possibly be a Soviet spy or an agent of some sort? He said casually, “On our way here we passed the
Oblispolkom
. Surely you know where that is? It used to be Father Mendiuk’s house. One day party officials came and booted him out into the streets. Now he’s no more than a beggar.”

Zena broke free of his embrace and said quickly, “It was very nice to meet you, Ivan Kulik. Thank you for the dance. I’d better be off and find Yeliseyenko before he thinks I’ve abandoned him. Good-bye.”

Before Kulik could say another word, she was gone. Why, he asked himself, had he gone and opened his big mouth? Why had
he tried to corner her and in such an obvious way? Now he was left alone. He decided to return to the bar for another drink. As he was about to place his order, Dounia Avdeevna emerged from the crowd.

“Yoo hoo! Comrade Ivan!” she called. “So, we meet again … You’re all alone? My, my! … First a blonde, then a brunette. Quite the Casanova. But how sad, now you’re all alone, you poor dear thing.” She lowered her voice. “May I give you a word of advice? Never trust beautiful women. You’re better off looking for one with stamina and character, not unlike myself.”

Kulik smiled. “What’s become of your sailor?”

“Sailors! They’re a reckless bunch. I’m interested now in the more stable professions like engineering, medicine, teaching …” She brushed up against him, “Yes, teachers in particular are very dependable.”

Kulik stumbled back against the wall. He wanted to get out of there. Dounia Avdeevna, offended, threw herself back into the crowd.

Sergei came by, looking irritated. “Marusia just up and left. I don’t know what came over her, but something obviously set her off. I offered to walk her home, but she wouldn’t have it. She’s so unpredictable and headstrong. What’ll we do now?”

They were in no mood to participate in the festivities. Outside, the snow was now coming down heavily, so heavily that almost everything became invisible to them—the lamp posts, the buildings, the parked trucks. It was colder than ever. Kulik pulled his cap down over his ears and Sergei fumbled in his pockets for his gloves. They could hear the distant sound of cheers and applause. “Five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!”

They walked on, welcoming the New Year in silence. Nineteen-forty had begun.

F
or almost an entire week, chaos reigned in the Bohdanovich household. It began when Efrosinia snatched the money given by Kulik and Sergei from her husband’s pocket and placed it under lock and key in the pantry. She had already decided what she was going to do with it: she was not only going to purchase the train ticket for him, but she was even going to take him to the station and place him in his seat.

All the while Valentyn was at a complete loss. He loved his son dearly and wanted to see him come home as much as his wife did, but he felt the demands being made upon him were far too great. True, initially he had agreed to go to Lvov, but was it really such a good idea? After all, he was old, nearing seventy, and he had no business traveling on trains, especially in these troubled times. He could have a heart attack or get mugged or something worse. And what about his arthritis? He racked his brain to try and find a way out, but there didn’t appear to be one. And if he were to simply refuse to go, Efrosinia would go after him with her wooden spoon, something she did all too often. As much as he hated to admit it, everything was working against him.

In the midst of all this confusion, Marusia fell ill. When she returned from the New Year’s Eve dance slightly after midnight, she collapsed on her bed with a throbbing headache. At dawn she woke with a temperature and by mid-afternoon it was higher. Efrosinia and Valentyn dropped all preparations for the trip to Lvov and turned their attention to their daughter. Although
Valentyn was deeply worried about her, he was privately relieved that he could postpone his trip to Lvov, at least until she recovered.

Early one evening Efrosinia appeared at her daughter’s bedside with a towel draped over her arm, holding a basin filled with cold water. The room was quiet; strips of light seeping in through the slats in the closed shutters cast faint shadows on the wall. A cold draft from beneath the floorboards chilled the air. With her eyes half open, her hair strewn over her pillow, Marusia lay buried under her eiderdown, unaware of her mother’s presence. Stretching her arms languidly over her head, she took a deep breath, sighed, and rolled over onto her side.

Efrosinia laid a compress on her daughter’s forehead and looked reprovingly at her. “Well, Marusia, you went to the dance and now look what’s happened to you. You’re white as a ghost.” Then, angrily, “They took you there but they couldn’t bother to bring you back.
Moujiks
! Just let them try and set foot in my house again!”

“Mother, keep your voice down, please.” The girl massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers to alleviate the pain in her head.

“Don’t you ‘mother’ me. Of course I’m your mother, I’m not your stepmother. If those two come anywhere near this house again, I’ll chase them off like a pair of dogs. And that one, what’s his name, Kulik? To think he even managed to win the old man over!”

At that moment Valentyn came into the room. Stroking his beard, he whispered in his wife’s ear, “Let her rest. How do you expect her to recover if you never leave her alone?” He took the towel and basin from her hands, and setting them on the night table, pulled her out of the room.

Downstairs, in the hallway, he fidgeted, feeling compelled to approach her about something. Efrosinia watched him intently, guessing his intention. And just as she had expected, at last he came out with it.

“Efrosinia, let’s be sensible about all this. Somehow it just doesn’t seem right. It’s about my trip to Lvov. How am I supposed to travel back home with Lonia on a crowded train? He might need medical attention. He’ll be extremely uncomfortable and his condition
might even get worse. And what if there are no seats available? Furthermore, the doctors might even refuse to discharge him from the hospital.”

Folding her arms over her chest, Efrosinia narrowed her eyes and tapped her foot. She allowed him to go on.

“Uh, as I was saying, what I’m suggesting is that Lonia get better first, and then let him come home when he’s fit to travel. Yes, that would make the most sense. I can certainly go tomorrow, but that might not be the best idea, uh, for Lonia, that is. And besides, Lonia is almost an engineer, it’s just a matter of months before he gets his diploma …”

At that point, Efrosinia lost her patience and flew at him. “I see where you’re going with this, old man. Talking in circles, as always. You have the money to buy your ticket and still you drag your feet! Marusia develops a slight fever and out of nowhere you feel obligated to nurse her back to health.” Clutching his arm, she became more exasperated. “I’m going to get you on that train if it’s the last thing I do. And shave off that ridiculous beard of yours and make yourself presentable! You can’t be looking like that in Lvov!”

It was not long before a full-blown fight erupted. The shouting and screaming became so heated that the house seemed to shake. Marusia, unable to endure it any longer, got out of bed, stumbled to the top of the staircase and shouted for her mother. Efrosinia hurried out of the room to tend to her daughter.

Left alone, Valentyn went into the kitchen. He was more than grateful for this moment of respite. Spreading himself out on the divan, he put his feet up and fell into a doze. Barely ten minutes had passed when he was awakened by a strange grumbling noise. It was rather loud and raspy and was coming from somewhere in his body, beneath his chest. Before long he realized it was his stomach. It occurred to him that he had not eaten anything all day. Efrosinia had not only not prepared lunch for him but she hadn’t made supper either, and now it appeared he was expected to go to bed without any food. Efrosinia had even neglected to light the stove, something she did dutifully every evening.

Valentyn grew more and more gloomy. The New Year, without question, was getting off to a bad start. He realized things were going badly for him. Perhaps he should give in to her demands, just get on that train and go to Lvov—at least then he would be left in peace. He pondered a moment. No, her expectations were unreasonable; she was simply unable to grasp the complexity of the situation. The more he thought about it, the more he felt a wrong was being done him. And he knew at that moment that he had to build himself up and stand up to her. But she wouldn’t put up with it and in the end he would lose. No matter how he looked at it there was only one road for him to take, and that was the road to Lvov. Getting up, limping out into the hallway, he resolved to get it over with, to finally give in to her. He called out hoarsely, “Have it your way, old woman. Give me the money and first thing tomorrow I’ll go to the station and buy myself a ticket.”