Wave of Terror (43 page)

Kulik smiled. “I was a handful, I have to admit. I climbed the highest trees and destroyed crows’ nests.”

“Did you get into fights?”

“All the time. I fought everybody and anybody, big or small. There wasn’t a day I didn’t have a black eye or a bloody nose. The neighbors all agreed I would either grow up to be a criminal or a great man. But as you can see, I’ve become neither. I’m simply a Soviet civil servant of the lowest rank.”

“Were you ever in love?”

“I don’t know—love is so fleeting. And besides, love today has taken on a whole new meaning, it’s become burdensome and painful. It’s lost its appeal. Is there a point to falling in love, to getting married, when they can knock on your door at any time, even on your wedding day? … But let’s not talk about depressing things. Better to think of something pleasant and enjoy the moment.”

Marusia who had turned towards him, felt she had not had a good look at him before. His straight black hair was combed back neatly, his handsome face was clean-shaven. There was something definitely appealing about him, something she had not really noticed until now. Kulik could feel his pulse throb, and impulsively, he leaned toward her, put his arms around her and kissed her on the mouth. She responded.

Then suddenly she tensed and pushed him away. Her demeanor changed completely and she gasped. “What are you trying to do to me? You men are all alike, all of you! Leave me alone!”

No sooner had she pulled herself away, when there came a tapping on the window. It lasted only a few seconds. Rushing to the window, she pulled the curtains slightly apart, peered outside, and whispered nervously, “Ivan, I think there’s someone out there.”

The two stood in silence and listened. When they looked out again, they saw only the branch of an elderberry bush brushing up against the lower pane.

“I’ll go outside and take a better look.” Kulik started for the door, but Marusia grasped his arm.

“No, don’t go. It was probably nothing.”

It occurred to her that it was around this time that Sobakin left for the Zovty Prison. She quickly concluded that her worst nightmare had come true: it was Sobakin at the window! Looking frantically at Kulik, she could feel her heart begin to pound faster and faster. Taking his hand in hers and squeezing it tightly, looking deep into his eyes, she knew she could never forgive herself if anything were to happen to him.

I
t was well past nine o’clock when outside the Bohdanovich house there were a series of ear-piercing screams, followed by shouts. Marusia instantly recognized the voices of her mother and father. Turning on the lights, she ran outside to find her parents stumbling about in the darkness.

“I’ll catch that damn thief if it’s the last thing I do,” Efrosinia was yelling. “I’ll break his legs in two, I swear!”

Seeing her daughter, she called out, “Marusia, did you hear anything from the house? There was someone prowling around out here, trying to get in through one of the windows. Oh, if only I got a better look at him.” Then catching sight of Kulik by the door, “And you, what a fine product of a man you are! You should have gone outside right away, grabbed him by the collar, and called the police. The police would have known exactly what to do with the likes of him!”

Efrosinia rushed into the house to see if anything was missing. She held up her long black frock so she wouldn’t trip on it. When everything appeared in order, she went into the living room and plopped herself down on the sofa. Brushing a few loose strands of gray hair from her face, she drew a deep breath. Then she fixed her gaze upon Kulik, standing by the doorway.

Kulik winced. He knew that he was not exactly her favorite person, and it was just a matter of time before she would start berating him. But for some reason she ignored him. Her face worked and from her mouth came a series of strange, broken sounds; she seemed to be trying to say her son’s name. Weeping, she repeated these sounds several times.

A tremendous feeling of grief and sadness overcame Kulik. The old woman had such a huge burden to bear, as she sat there on the sofa alone and powerless, a mere bundle. But she started to recover herself. A smile came to her lips. And indeed, when she spoke, to Kulik’s surprise she did so quite easily, even matter-of-factly. For some reason she began to recount the events of her day. She looked straight at him, and seemed to be addressing him directly, but she didn’t seem to see him.

“I went to the train station today and waited for the train from Lvov. I expected Lonia to be on the five-thirty-five, but he wasn’t. I waited three hours for the next train. Hundreds of people got off, carrying all kinds of bundles and parcels. They were all bumping into each other and squeezing through the gates. I searched for Lonia, but again he was nowhere to be seen. Then my old man showed up and tried to get me to go home. But I made up my mind to stay on and wait for the express train to arrive in an hour and a half because I was sure Lonia would be on board. Valentyn said he would stay and wait with me, but that was only because he didn’t want a scene. Then the train came and there was no Lonia. I wanted to wait for the next one, coming in at dawn. I was ready to spend the night on one of the benches. Then my old man came up with a very good point. ‘What if Lonia decides to come by truck? There are a lot of trucks on the road these days traveling back and forth carrying supplies. He might easily hitch a ride with one of them.’ So I finally agreed to come home. But, as you can see, I didn’t find my Lonia waiting for me here. No, all I found was a thief trying to break in through the living room window—and you.”

When Efrosinia finished she stared before her as if she hadn’t said anything at all. She seemed oblivious to everything around her. Then she turned to Kulik. “Well, young man, tell me, what’s brought you to Pinsk?”

Kulik sat down on the sofa. He was about to answer, when suddenly from beneath him came an incredibly loud squeak. The squeak was so loud that even Valentyn, who had just sauntered into the room, gave a start.

Efrosinia turned on her husband. “Did you just hear that, old man? It was the sofa again! Are you ever going to fix it?” Then to Kulik, “Look at him, he doesn’t care about anything. And he calls himself man of the house! Man of the house, hah! What do you think, young man, is he a man like all other men?” She shook her head. “If this is a man like all other men, then God help the species!”

Valentyn’s face reddened with anger. “This time you’ve really outdone yourself, old woman.”

“Outdone myself? Does the truth hurt? The only good thing you’ve done lately is shave off that ugly beard of yours. And how long did that take you? Three months!”

She stopped short. Her mouth quivered and she buried her head in her hands, shaking with sobs and muttering to herself, her lips barely moving. Clasping her hands, she cried, “Oh, Lonia, my poor Lonia.” Then again she seemed to rally. Seizing Kulik’s arm, she stared into his eyes. “What do you think, young man, did my Lonia really get married? Yes, he did! He got married, I know he did.” In a sort of trance, she smiled strangely. “I was there, at the wedding, and it was the most beautiful one I have ever seen. The church bells rang for the whole town to hear. My Lonia looked very handsome, all dressed in black. And I saw his bride too. How lovely she is, so tall and strong and self-reliant.”

Marusia rushed at her and shook her, “Mother, stop it! Stop it right now! What are you saying? You’ve got to pull yourself together. You’re letting your imagination run away with you again.” She whispered to Kulik, “Forgive Mother, she hasn’t been herself lately. As you can see she’s become so disoriented by everything. And she’s been having such terrible mood swings. I’m so afraid something inside of her may be snapping.”

She tried to get her mother to go up and lie down, but Efrosinia resisted her.

Kulik could see the old woman was being torn apart. He had never felt so sorry for anyone as he did for her. No sooner did he feel this way, when Efrosinia seemed to change again, and this time there was a gleam in her eye. Looking at Kulik, she said
cheerfully, “Ivan, how nice of you to come and visit us. Come on, get up, take Marusia by the hand and let me take a good look at you. What a pair! Your hair is black as coal and my daughter’s is soft like cotton batting. Go on, walk across the room. Let me take a good look.”

“Oh, Mother, please!” The girl flushed. “Don’t you know when to stop?”

But Efrosinia concentrated on Kulik, measuring him carefully. “Just look at him, Marusia. My, my, what a fine young man he is,
moujik
or no
moujik
. How is it that I didn’t see this before? He has such a proud walk, like a true gentleman. So tall and robust, not to mention handsome and educated.” She threw a contemptuous glance at her husband. “He’s nothing like you, you old goat. You clawed me like an animal. And if you had been let loose in some fine home, you would have broken all the furniture. Take a good look at him, it’s never too late to learn a thing or two.”

Valentyn snarled, “Don’t you think you’ve said enough for one night, old woman? Why don’t you just go and lock yourself up in your room and give us some peace and quiet for a change.”

“You want to get rid of me? Why? So you can entertain our young visitor and drink your vodka? Is that your plan? Well, I assure you, I’m far from finished.”

From the window the almost-full moon threw pale streaks of light upon the four walls. A warm breeze rustled the curtains.

Efrosinia fixed her attention once more on Kulik. “Ivan, when I look at you I think of my Lonia. He’s about your age, big and strong, and his hair is dark like yours, only his eyes are brown, not gray and deep-set.” Then, with hope, “Maybe you could help me. You’re young and full of energy. Maybe you could go to Lvov and find Lonia. You could bring him home to me. Will you? Yes? Bless you, son, bless you.”

Encouraged, Efrosinia managed to calm down. She gave her arm to her daughter who drew her into another room.

Valentyn was more than happy to be rid of his wife. Spreading himself comfortably on the sofa, he would have the rest of the
evening to himself, without her nagging presence. He lit his pipe. “So, young man, tell me, was there ever an independent Ukraine?”

Kulik was not in a talkative mood, but he forced a reply: “Ukraine has never been a sovereign state, except in the time of Bohdan Khmelnytsky. This was in the summer of 1657, before Belorussia and Russia existed.” Feeling increasingly annoyed and impatient, he tried to change the subject. “Why talk about the past when there’s no place for it in our lives anymore? These are new times and we must learn to cope with what lies ahead.”

Just then Marusia came into the room. How radiant she is, Kulik thought, that glowing complexion, those moist lips. He felt a wave of excitement. All he wanted at that moment was for the old man to stop his incessant chattering and go off to bed.

But Valentyn, refilling his pipe, went on more loudly. “All in all, I’d say life under the Czar was better than it is now. In fact, the officers in the Czar’s army don’t even begin to compare to today’s NKVD men. There used to be more respect for the individual, wouldn’t you say?”

Kulik answered, “And what about the
moujiks
? Do you think they also were more respected in the days of the Czar?”

Valentyn gave this question serious consideration. He was delighted to have the undivided attention of such a fine and learned visitor. “
Moujiks
, since the beginning of time, have been destined to live lives of poverty and degradation,” he said. “However, if and when they resettled into the cities and acquainted themselves with the finer things in life they were able to think differently. Take me, for example. I was born in a village—in other words, I was born a
moujik
, and then I became a cabinetmaker. When I lived under the Poles, I took it upon myself to learn Polish, and now that the Russians have taken over I taught myself to speak Russian. And learning Russian was the best thing I could have done for myself and my family. Life became easier. Today when I walk out in the street my neighbors call out: there goes Valentyn Nikodimovich. See how it is, now people always address me by my patronymic, even people I barely know. Villagers live in the dark, they hardly
even know what
patronymic
means! I don’t talk like a
moujik
anymore, no, I talk like a Russian. I’ve become accepted wherever I go, and people look up to me.” He said to Kulik, “You talk of the new times we live in and how we must learn to cope with them, but why do you resist everything that’s going on around you? How do you singlehandedly propose to fight the established new law? You’ll only lose. It’s better to join them than to fight them.”

Having spoken these words, the old man’s manner changed; he appeared troubled and confused. He scratched his chin. “Hmm … about these Russians, I’ve been giving them some extra thought lately. I have to admit, my mind’s not totally made up. They seem to have some very peculiar ways about them. It’s as though they’re not always what they seem. To be honest, it’s becoming harder and harder to make sense of anything. Innocent people are being pulled out of their homes and vanishing to God knows where. I’m not so sure that things will come to a good end.”

Valentyn paused; his own words seemed to cause him uneasiness, even trepidation. “Yes,” he said, “there’s uncertainty everywhere, and there are many things happening that we don’t like or understand, but in the end, as difficult as it may be, it will be for our own good. That’s what we’re being told and that’s what we must accept. I say it’s better to talk in Russian than in a language of a republic, especially in the cities. I say, leave Ukrainian to the
moujiks
! The laws of survival have changed and as painful as it may be, we have no choice but to change with them. As you said earlier, we must learn to cope with what lies ahead.”

To Kulik it was obvious that Valentyn knew quite well everything that was going on around him but chose not to understand it. The words
motherland, nation, patriotism
had lost their meaning for him. He was accepting the fact that the Ukrainian people, their language and culture, were being annihilated before his eyes. Kulik felt alone, fearfully alone, like a solitary tree in the vast steppe.