Wave of Terror (41 page)

“What is it exactly that you don’t like about him?” Zena was surprised at her vehemence.

“Everything. His language is crude and vulgar, and he almost never speaks Russian. I can’t bear the sound of his voice, or the way he walks, or the way he throws his head back. He’s absurdly awkward, not to mention stubborn. The world is changing around him and he refuses to change with it. He’s recessive, unenlightened. He’s such a, a—a
moujik
!”

Zena found these remarks extremely annoying. Kulik might deserve a lot of criticism, but ridicule was not one of them. Surely Marusia could not really believe what she was saying. Zena, not wanting to start an argument, said, almost dreamily, “I happen to think Kulik is quite charming. As a matter of fact, I could see having a son by him. And I would want that son to be just like him.”

Marusia stared at her. “A son? By him? Why? So, like his father he could dig a hole in the ground, crawl into it headfirst, and stay in the dark forever? What joy would there be in a son like that?” The words spewed from her mouth like water from a fountain. Feeling that she might have said too much, she bit her lip. She had the urge to tell Zena she didn’t believe her own words, not all of them anyway, and that they had just somehow come out. More than anything she wanted to take back all the nasty things she had just said.

Feeling strangely uncomfortable, she struggled to find the right thing to say. Something seemed to be giving way inside of her. She looked helplessly at Zena, and for a brief moment the two women exchanged sympathetic glances.

O
n the outskirts of Hlaby, the vast fields of rye had shot out their tender green stalks and were now gradually forming small ears of grain. A tawny black-headed horse trotted between the fields, pulling an old farmer’s cart with high sides. Kulik sat in the front on a seat made of straw and next to him, handling the reins, was Chikaniuk. The two men were on their way to Pinsk, Chikaniuk to the marketplace to tend to some minor business matters and Kulik, to the Gosbank, the State Bank, to obtain teachers’ wages for four neighboring schools, including his own. In his satchel Kulik had a list of all the teachers’ names and the earnings owed them for the past month, which came to a total of three thousand rubles. First he would have to visit the
Oblispolkom
and get his papers verified, then wait in the long line at the Gosbank. He knew even before setting out that his mission could not possibly be accomplished in one day. The line at the Gosbank would undoubtedly be very long, much longer even than the line at the food cooperative.

As the cart rolled and bumped along, Chikaniuk remarked, “The rye over by Krive Selo has been completely drowned out by rain this year.” He pointed toward a cluster of modest wooden houses with tin roofs, surrounded by towering willows. “Well-to-do farmers live in Krive Selo. Why, one could call them more landowners than farmers. Take Yuri Karral, for instance. He owns a fine big house, with over fifty acres of fertile fields, not to mention thick green forests and pasture lands. As you can imagine, life has been good to him. And now with all his wealth he’s more
miserable than anyone. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes for all the money in the world.”

“How so?”

Chikaniuk gave him an ironic glance. “Do you think the Soviet Regime is about to come around and shake his hand and congratulate him for his accomplishments? Of course not! He’s been branded a bourgeois, a
kulak
. In other words, an enemy of the people. His days are numbered.”

The men fell silent. The sun had just come up over the horizon; Kulik could feel its warmth on his back. The rumbling of the cart made him drowsy and his lids grew heavy. Chikaniuk started up again at some length.

“You’re an educated man, Director, so tell me, what do you think, is there a God or isn’t there? I realize I don’t have much schooling, but I’m not stupid either. I don’t understand it. Leyzarov says that there is no God, that God is just a fabrication. But during the days of the Czar, lawyers and judges believed in God, and when a witness appeared in court, for example, he had to swear on the Bible. Things are so unclear now, I don’t know what to think. Under the Poles, we had priests and churches and we went to mass every Sunday, but now everything has been turned inside out. Does God exist or not? I think maybe Leyzarov’s right, that maybe God doesn’t exist, because if He did, He’d show His face from behind the clouds once in a while. What do you think?”

Kulik forced a smile. “So many deep thoughts for so early in the morning.” He hoped that this chatterbox would be quiet.

But Chikaniuk went on. “I have so many unanswered questions. My head is just brimming. Take life, for example. It’s so short, and I would really like to know what it’s like when we die. Do we just stop existing or are we reincarnated? And then there’s Hrisko Suchok …” His voice dropped to an uneasy whisper. “I saw Hrisko Suchok murdered. That bullet, why, it took the last breath right out of him; he let out a little yelp, spread his arms out wide, then he fell down. It was all over, just like that. One minute he was there and then he was gone.”

“I understand you saw it all happen.”

“Yes, I saw the whole thing. Hrisko was like a rabbit … the rabbit flees and the hunter … bang! and it’s over. Hrisko didn’t break any laws, he didn’t commit a crime. He got killed for nothing. And even if he did break the law, he shouldn’t have been gunned down the way he was. Every civilized system has its laws and the accused is always innocent until proven guilty. But there’s no such laws here; there’s no law, where a man gets run down like an animal.”

“I heard that the NKVD man who shot him was only trying to scare him—he aimed above his head, but it was an accident that somehow the bullet hit the back of his neck instead.”

Chikaniuk’s lips twitched. “That’s not the way it happened. And it wasn’t just any NKVD man that shot Hrisko, it was Sobakin. I saw him standing at the corner of Hrisko’s house. I saw him aim and pull the trigger. One shot was all it took. Hrisko dropped to the ground, dead. And there wasn’t any investigation, nobody questioned the witnesses afterward, there weren’t any murder charges. And Sobakin just goes on as if nothing’s happened—preaching about this happy, new life of ours under the Soviet sun.”

The more Chikaniuk talked, the more tense Kulik felt. Why was Chikaniuk saying all this; why was he being so reckless and open about everything? Kulik began to suspect that he might be an informer. But then he noticed that Chikaniuk was nervous and uncomfortable. And when he began to stammer, Kulik felt sure he was being straight with him.

“I … I … I … shouldn’t have said the things I just said, somehow they just came pouring out of my mouth. Please, Director, I beg you, don’t take my words to the authorities because if you do, I’m as good as dead.”

“To the authorities?” Kulik turned to look Chikaniuk in the eye. “Don’t worry about me. Kokoshin hasn’t approached me about becoming an informer and I hope it stays that way.”

Chikaniuk gave a sigh of relief. “That’s a good thing you’re on to Kokoshin. He listens in on people. He stands by the door of every house and pricks up his ears like a dog. He’s made Buhai into an
informer and told him to spy on Kovzalo. And he’s told Kovzalo to spy on Buhai. It’s like being caught in a spider’s web. Everyone is spying on everyone else. We hear Paraska’s been told to spy on you.”

“Paraska?” Kulik’s heart thumped. “To spy on me?”

“Yes, but not to worry, so far nothing’s come of it. Paraska doesn’t have it in her, she’s too simple-hearted, if you know what I mean. ‘To keep an eye on the director?’ she would say. ‘ Tell me what it is exactly I have to look for.’ I heard Kokoshin wanted to recruit me too, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

As the cart rumbled forward, they came to the small village of Plishny, and onto a narrow dirt road that led to a bridge over the Strumien River.

“They’re preparing the
kolkhoz
.” Chikaniuk pointed to the left. “Just yesterday Leyzarov inspected all the buildings on the old Olivinski estate. He said the land was so big it could easily take care of a hundred heads of cattle, and he said there’s also more than enough room for horses, geese and pigs. It seems that now everything is for the
kolkhoz
. There’s already a waiting list to get in: Buhai, Kovzalo and a couple of fellows from other villages have signed up. It’s just a matter of time before it swings into full gear. I hear the garden there is enormous and the orchard is filled with fruit trees. Leyzarov says there’s more than enough of everything for everyone; we’re going to build a paradise.”

Chikaniuk said that recently, while Leyzarov was giving a speech to some peasants, out of nowhere a raven swooped down from the sky toward Leyzarov and almost struck him in the head. The bird circled the crowd several times, cawing, and finally perched on a tree branch. “Some say that the raven is bad luck, that it means war.”

Kulik looked at Chikaniuk and said quietly, “I don’t think it’s come that far just yet.”

“You don’t think there will be war? Then why are the Bolsheviks preparing dugouts by the Bug River ? Why are trucks traveling there nonstop full of lumber? And why did they widen and deepen the Bugsy-Dnieprovsky canal? The answer is simple: to transport ammunition to the Front. I know this for a fact. I served
in the army myself and I know what things are for. If the Russians are making dugouts, it means the Germans are getting ready to advance, and if the Germans advance there will be war. I tell you, war is in the air.”

After crossing the Strumien River for at least half a kilometer, the two men continued along a bumpy dirt road, past several settlements and farmsteads. At last they came to another bridge, this time made of concrete, which led directly to the outskirts of Pinsk. There were rows of small whitewashed cottages on both sides of the bridge, most in a state of disrepair, with sagging porches and warped shutters; pots of drooping flowers stood on the windowsills. Groups of children played by the roadside, laughing and talking.

Kulik watched them as the cart passed. What about these children? Did they have a future or would it blow up in their faces? He closed his eyes and thought about his own childhood when he played in his grandmother’s yard or with his friends along the banks of the Stryy. Life then seemed so easy, so uncomplicated. Now everything was so incredibly confusing. All at once Kulik looked urgently at Chikanuik.

“What if the authorities find out about our conversation today?”

Chikaniuk flinched. “They won’t.”

“How can you be so sure? When they take you to headquarters, when they rough you up, kick your teeth out, break your arms, then everything will come out.”

“I’ll never talk, and especially when it comes to you, Director. But if worse came to worse, I’d only have the best things to say. I’d say you’re an upstanding citizen and that you have nothing but the greatest respect for the new regime.”

Kulik continued to go at him. “But what if they won’t believe you? And no matter how much you plead and cry, they still won’t believe you. They’ll beat you and they’ll keep beating you until you break. Haven’t you heard the old saying, ‘Moscow does not believe in tears’?”

“Even if they torture me, I still won’t talk. And besides, you’ve got nothing to worry about, you’ve said nothing against the regime, nothing to implicate yourself. As a matter of fact, I’m the one who’s said too much.”

Kulik began to feel afraid, not so much of Chikaniuk but of himself. He was afraid of every word he might utter and of every gesture he might make. Everything and anything could be used against him. Knowing how easy it could be to make that fatal slip, he resolved to play it safe from then on. He started carefully to pay homage to the new government:

“Yes, well, in any case, this is our new regime now and we must learn to live with it and appreciate it. Glory be to our new leaders.”

Chikaniuk looked at Kulik askance and scowled. He said disdainfully, “Yes, we must learn to live with it, even if it has no written law. We must learn to live with it in the same way we would live with typhoid or cholera or cancer.” He sighed. “There’s no way out.”

Finally the cart reached Market Square, and Kulik, jumping down, pulled his small traveling bag from behind the seat. He thanked Chikaniuk for the ride and crossed the square, to Neberezna Street.

It felt good to mingle with the bustling crowds, to walk past blocks of buildings and busy roadways. But when he came to the middle of a crossroads, trying to decide which way to go, he was gripped by a rush of alarm. He couldn’t get Chikaniuk out of his mind. Even though he was sure Chikaniuk was being straight with him, the man still posed a measurable threat. If the authorities grabbed him and took him to the Zovty Prison for interrogation, he would undoubtedly break after the first round, and that would spell the end for Kulik.

There was no freedom anywhere anymore, and one wrong move could cost you your life. Even silence could bring disaster. Kulik knew that the only way he could protect himself completely would be to go immediately to Sobakin and report everything Chikaniuk had said. But that was out of the question. He could
never be an informer. Never. The mere idea of such betrayal made his blood run cold.

By the time Kulik arrived at the
Oblispolkom
and knocked on Yeliseyenko’s door, it was already ten o’clock. As usual the superintendent sat behind his desk buried in paperwork. He looked troubled, as if he had too much on his mind. He said quickly and rather distractedly, “Comrade Ivan, what brings you to Pinsk?”

Kulik handed him the sheet of paper with the teachers’ names. Yeliseyenko studied the list carefully. After several minutes, he mumbled something under his breath, picked up his pen, and signed the paper. “I suggest you go to the Gosbank immediately. There’s probably a considerable queue already. But you just might be lucky and get your money today.”

Kulik hesitated. “Uh … if I don’t get the money today, what do you suggest I do?”

“Well, then, you’ll have to stay until tomorrow and go to the bank first thing. That won’t be a problem. I’ll issue you a pass stating that you’re here on official government business.”