Wave of Terror (9 page)

Kulik, hardly able to answer, said, “No, I’m pretty much a stranger to these parts. I’ve been in Hlaby only a few weeks.”

“Do you know any of the people here?”

“No, in fact, I hardly know anybody, although some I recognize as the parents of my pupils.”

The lieutenant continued in much the same nonchalant manner. “See that woman over there, the one with the two young girls? She’s the widow of a forest guard who worked for the Poles. In other words, she’s from the antagonistic class, a subversive. And her children are no better.” Then, pointing across the room, laughing, “And see that short, stumpy bastard in the corner? He keeps moving around as if he has ants in his pants. It seems he just can’t wait to take to the road. Hah! Hah! Hah!”

As the lieutenant was about to go on, Paraska flew into the room looking more flustered than ever. “Director, Director,” she cried. “You’re being summoned outside. Please, come quickly.”

Excusing himself, Kulik walked out of the school and into the schoolyard. The cold wind whipped at his face and he could feel his hands go numb. There he came upon Kirilo, the former Olivinski farmhand, who was standing in line with about ten other men. They were all lightly dressed with no hats and their hands and feet were bound by thick rope. Kirilo was shivering.

“They came and took everything,” he mumbled. “They took my wife, my children. What does anything matter anymore? They say I’m subverting and weakening the Soviet system because I worked as a farmhand on the Olivinski estate. What does all that mean? Nothing makes sense anymore.” Then shrugging and waving his hand, “If it’s off to a slave labor camp, then it’s off to a slave labor camp. And in slave labor camps they say life is so unbearable that death is a relief. We’ll see. I wanted to say goodbye to you personally. You’re a good man, Director Kulik. May God be with you.”

Kulik didn’t know what to do with himself. His heart was still throbbing. Quickly he made his way to his living quarters, and slamming the door shut, fell onto his bed. He was dizzy and a tide of nausea was rising inside him. There was no escaping the horror; with each passing minute it was moving closer and closer. He tried to keep from thinking of the insanity just steps away. But suddenly he was overcome with uncontrollable rage. If he had a machine gun in his hands he would shoot them all and watch them drop like flies, one after the other. He would sink his boot heels into their faces and wipe off those smug and arrogant smirks once and for all.

A cold damp draft came from the window and penetrated his whole body. He began to shake. Drawing a blanket over himself and burying his head in his pillow, he cried and cried and could not stop. Then he heard noise coming from his office. At first he thought he was imagining it, but when it became louder and more pronounced, he realized there was something going on in there. People were talking, shouting, shoving boxes around, banging drawers, opening and closing doors. Straining his ears to listen, it was not long before he recognized the voices of Sergei and Hrisko Suchok, father of little Ohrimko. Suchok was yelling at the top of his voice; he seemed completely beside himself. “What is there left to do? Nothing can be done, absolutely nothing.”

Kulik got up and walked to his office. He stood in the doorway several minutes in total bewilderment. There was chaos everywhere; the entire room had been turned upside down. When
Sergei saw Kulik, he pointed to a big pile of clothing in the corner. “We’ve managed to collect a few things—a couple of jackets, some boot liners, scarves, mittens, hats, and three wool blankets. We tried to give them to the villagers for their journey, but those bastards won’t allow it. They say it isn’t necessary.”

Suchok asked, “Director, how about you, do you have any suggestions?”

Kulik stood a while in thought. “Hmm … We have to find a way to tame the wild beast. Nothing else will work.”

“And how does one go about taming a beast gone wild beyond control?” Sergei screwed up his mouth ironically. “Maybe we should prepare a feast?”

“A feast!” Kulik repeated. “That’s it, Sergei! What a brilliant idea! We’ll prepare a feast, and maybe that will distract them. Now quickly, we don’t have a moment to lose. Let’s add up what we’ve got. I have two liters of vodka stashed in the bottom of my dresser drawer, and if I’m not mistaken, there are a couple of bottles of wine in the kitchen cabinet.”

Sergei scowled. “And I hope they’re all tainted with arsenic.”

Kulik narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think we’re looking to find ourselves before a firing squad. We won’t be of any use to anybody that way.”

Sergei threw up his hands. “Maybe you’re right. This plan of yours, crazy as it sounds, just might work. I have at least ten eggs and some cheese in the cold cellar. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“And I’ve got a tub of lard,” offered Suchok, “and half a loaf of bread.”

Paraska appeared in the doorway. At first she looked around in utter confusion, then realizing what the men were up to, she was quick to contribute. “I’ve got some boiled
kasha
and a pot of beans. With everything combined, that should be enough to fill the table.” She turned to leave, cursing under her breath. “May those bastards be stricken with cholera and die. May they all rot in hell.”

Several minutes passed. Paraska was the first to return with a basket under her arm, followed almost immediately by Hrisko and
then Sergei. When all the provisions were arranged neatly on the table and the tile stove filled and lit, Kulik headed to the grade one classroom. The lieutenant was sitting behind the teacher’s desk flipping through some papers. Kulik made an effort to strike up a conversation. “I was just outside,” he started, “and it’s freezing out there. I swear it must be at least minus thirty degrees celsius.”

“Minus thirty degrees, is that all?” Without looking up, the lieutenant gave a prolonged laugh. “For two years I was stationed in Arkhangelsk, near the White Sea, and believe me, I know the true meaning of winter! This is like springtime. Hah! Hah! Hah!”

“Is that where these people are being taken? To Arkhangelsk?” Kulik turned white and numb at hearing his own words.

The lieutenant looked up, frowning. “I strongly advise you not to interfere in matters that don’t concern you. Too many questions will only lead to a bad end. Understand?”

Returning to his papers, the lieutenant jotted something down in his ledger book. Noticing Kulik still standing near the desk, he snapped, “Comrade Kulik, do you want something? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Kulik tried to keep his anger out of his voice. “I was simply commenting on the weather. It’s quite nasty out there today. As a matter of fact, I wanted to offer you and your men food and drink before you take to the road. Paraska, our school matron, has taken it upon herself to prepare a feast.”

The lieutenant raised his head and his eyes lit up. He struck the desk with his fist. “A feast, you say? Now that’s what I want to hear!” Rising from his seat, he took Kulik’s hand and shook it vigorously. “You’re very thoughtful, comrade.”

The NKVD men hurried into the kitchen. The table held bowls of borscht with sour cream, and trays filled with scrambled eggs, chunks of backfat, bread, and boiled beef. Kulik poured the vodka.

“Pretty girls and vodka, what more can a man ask for?” The lieutenant settled in one of the chairs and eyed Paraska, who stood quietly by the door. Smacking his lips, he downed his first glass.
When he was drinking his third, he called out, “Come here, Paraska. Come over to me, don’t be shy.”

Stumbling to his feet, he reached out and grabbed hold of her skirt.

Paraska let out a little shriek and jumped back.

“You stupid girl, what are you so scared of? Do you think NKVD men don’t know how to treat a woman? Come here, let me show you.”

All the color drained from Paraska’s face and her heart beat wildly. She couldn’t have found the lieutenant more repulsive.

“Uh, Lieutenant.” Kulik rushed to break things up, not really knowing what to do or say. “You must be patient with Paraska. She’s a bit on the timid side.”

Kuzikov leapt up, swinging a bottle in the air. The drink had gone completely to his head. “Those goddamn capitalist pigs! They don’t give a damn about women or women’s rights. Here in our socialist motherland a woman is equal to a man and she walks with him arm in arm. Why, just look at our construction industry, some of our best bricklayers are women! And it’s the women not the men who are building our cities, making our factories prosper. Where in the world will you find anything like that?”

Kuzikov belched several times, then started in on female emancipation, then went on about equality of the sexes, until at last he lost himself completely.

“Hey, Paraska!” The lieutenant poured more drinks. “Come over here and join me. I’ve drunk too much. Damn the vodka!”

Kulik kept his eyes on the lieutenant. He had to find a way to get Paraska out of there before it was too late. But how? Finally, all he could come up with was, “Paraska, we’re out of water. Would you be so kind as to go to the well and bring us a fresh pitcher?”

Exchanging glances with Kulik, Paraska took to her heels and fled out the door.

The lieutenant was now very drunk and his speech was slurred. He patted Kulik on the back. “You’re a wonderful host, Comrade Director. Obviously you’re from the working class.”

“Yes, I’m the son of poor peasants.”

“Excellent! Excellent! I believe I forgot to formally introduce myself. My name is Sobakin. Simon Stepanovich Sobakin. Yes, I agree, Sobakin is a most unfortunate name. It’s downright degrading. My great-great-grandfather passed it down to me and there’s not much I can do about it. Some bourgeois bastard back then decided my great-great-grandfather was no better than a dog, so he called him Sobakin. Yes, Sobakin comes from the word
sobaka
, which, of course, as we all know, means dog. And what does a dog do? He barks and slobbers and licks your feet, and to the bourgeoisie that’s what we are, just a pack of dogs. What do you think about that?” Sinking back in his seat, he mumbled, “Yes, Sobakin’s my name. Sobakin it was and Sobakin it remains. Even today, in this great time of revolution, we’re all still living testimony of our oppressive past.”

“Here, here!” The NKVD men raised their glasses in a toast.

“What are you men up to over there?” The lieutenant poured himself another drink. He looked severely at them. “Do you think I look like a dog? That I’m a son-of-a-bitch? Hah, may you all burn in hell!”

Grabbing hold of a wine bottle, he looked to the door and shouted, “Hey, Paraska, why aren’t you back yet? I’m waiting for you!”

Leyzarov sprang from his seat as if suddenly sober. He raised his glass. “Paraska! Let’s give a toast to Paraska, a true woman of our times! She has five children, all still very young. One day they will grow up and become loyal and dedicated proletarians. We need more women like Paraska to guarantee our future generations! Three cheers for Paraska!”

Sobakin looked around. “Paraska, Paraska, where are you?” Then to the men, “She’s quite a woman, I agree. Still young enough and not bad-looking either. Five children, you say? Another toast to Paraska!”

At that moment Sergei hurried to the table with a message. “Uh, excuse me, Lieutenant, sir, but Paraska it appears had to go and feed her children. She apologizes and promises to be back as soon
as she puts her youngest to bed. In the meantime, however, she asks if you might consider doing her a little favor….”

“A favor? For Paraska?” The lieutenant could now barely sit up. His face was flushed and his eyes rolled. “Tell me. For Paraska, anything. Just name it and it’s as good as done.”

“Well, comrade, see that pile of clothing over there? She asks that you distribute it among the villagers before they take to the road.”

“What?” Sobakin’s head swam and he seemed to have trouble understanding what Sergei was saying. He shouted nonetheless, “For Paraska, it’s as good as done. Whatever she wants. Damn that woman!”

Kulik and Sergei hurried to gather up the clothes, and followed the NKVD men into the grade one classroom. The lieutenant somehow managed to stumble to the teacher’s desk, and teetering before the crowd, shouted out to them, “Counterrevolutionaries, renegades, all of you. Listen to what I have to say! The great Soviet regime never makes mistakes. A Bolshevik can spot an enemy of the people even with his eyes closed. I’m not the swine you think I am. I’m a man of honor and great conscience. I’m passing on to you this pile of clothing. Take them, use them as you see fit.”

The people looked on in bewilderment. Those most scantily dressed were the first to bundle up, followed by the children and the elderly. When the pile finally disappeared, the doors were opened wide and everyone was herded outside where the sleighs awaited them. They now understood what was going on. They were being taken away, first to Pinsk, to the train station; from there they would be packed into boxcars and sent straight north to Arkhangelsk. Women and children were loaded up first, followed by the men. They all knew that what was happening to them was terrible and irreversible.

On one of the sleighs sat Timushka with her family. Between her feet were two small bundles containing some personal items she had managed to snatch up before being forced out of her house, including a down pillow and a small embroidered cloth, both of which she had set aside for her daughter’s dowry.
Timushka’s husband sat on her left and waved his cap to the small group of onlookers who had come to bid farewell. He called out to them, “Merry Christmas to you all! Remember us in a good way!”

A whistle hooted. The sleds inched forward and the bells jangled. The teams of horses labored through the deep snow, neighing as if protesting the heavy loads, slowly moving into the distance past the outlying houses, with the falling snow thickening. A dead silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of the wind. Almost half the village was gone.

Paraska stood with her husband Philip and watched the sleds. Philip’s face was pale and thin and a thick white bandage was wrapped around his head. Supported by his wife, he panted and coughed, and every few minutes spat out a thick mucus. He stared fixedly at the road and said nothing.