Theodore Odrach - Wave of Terror

In the end, although somewhat reluctantly, Marusia and her mother agreed that it would be perfectly acceptable for Marusia to go to the cinema with Simon Stepanovich.

The girl started timidly toward the doorway, and, looking briefly at Sobakin, said, “Please excuse me a moment while I freshen up.” After a short time she returned with her hair pinned up, wearing a brown double-breasted coat belted at the waist and with a knitted shawl over her shoulders.

Simon Stepanovich glanced at her with disapproval. Shaking his head, he said, “No, Marusia Valentynovna, I want you to wear the coat I gave you. Go put it on, please.” She hesitated, but left the room, and returned a moment later wearing the Persian lamb.

Sobakin’s eyes glittered and blood rushed to his neck. “You look absolutely stunning!”

He took her by the arm, said good night to Efrosinia, and led Marusia down the back staircase on their way toward the city center. The snow-covered street was dark and empty, illuminated by the lighted windows of the houses they passed. They walked in silence; the only sound was the crunching of snow beneath their feet. When a cold blast of wind came from the north, the girl lifted her coat collar to keep warm. Just before they reached the first crossroads, they saw a big black car parked on the side of the road. The motor was running and the chauffeur, dressed in NKVD uniform, stood leaning with his back against the driver’s door, smoking a cigarette. When he saw them approaching, he threw down his cigarette and opened the back door.

Simon Stepanovich had made no mention of a car. Marusia hesitated. When she felt his hand at her back, pushing her into the back seat, her heart skipped a beat. She said quickly, “Why don’t we walk, I’d much rather walk. It’s no more than fifteen minutes into the city.”

Sobakin let out a hearty laugh. “You silly girl. Why walk when we have the luxury of a car?”

She settled by the window behind the chauffeur and Simon Stepanovich nestled in beside her. Her pulse beat fast; she was feeling restless and on edge. To her dismay, she noticed that the car had picked up speed and was heading not in the direction of the cinema, but rather, eastward, toward the railway station. Unconsciously squeezing her hands together, she cried out in distress, “Where are you taking me? Why are we traveling in the opposite direction?”

Simon Stepanovich smiled. He brought out a bottle of whiskey from under his seat and took a drink. Then he leaned toward the girl, and stroking her under the chin with his forefinger, whispered quietly, “Why all these questions, my lovely? And why don’t you trust me? You really ought to calm down.” He took another drink. “First I thought we would go the Zalizny Café for a bite to eat, and then later head over to the cinema. There’s no harm in that, is there?”

The girl retreated into her corner. More than anything she was afraid of losing her self-control. Glancing at him, she was horrified to notice how revolting he looked in the dim light. Her heart beat violently. The trap had been set and she could feel herself falling headlong into it.

Finally the car stopped, not in front of the Zalizny Café, as Simon Stepanovich had promised, but before a large dilapidated wooden building with a sign over the main doors: Railway Hotel. Sobakin got out of the car, and after talking with the chauffeur, leaned inside and grabbed her by the arm. Pulling her toward the hotel, he pushed her through the door, into the middle of a spacious foyer, dimly lit by two shale-oil lamps. The walls were covered with a faded yellow wallpaper, and the floor was sooty and damp. The girl was absolutely petrified of Sobakin and of what he might do to her. She wanted to run out the door as fast as her legs could carry her, but she found herself unable to move and stood numbly, in a kind of daze.

Sobakin went up to a small desk against the wall, and called for the concierge. A plump, unkempt, middle-aged woman appeared and nodded to Sobakin to follow her. They climbed a creaky wooden staircase to a darkened corridor lined with doors. The woman pulled a key from her pocket, threw the first door open, and disappeared down the stairs.

The room was small, dingy and poorly lit; two tiny windows with sheer curtains overlooked the street. A dank and musty odor rose from the floorboards; on the roughly plastered walls were patches of mildew. There was a bed at the far end piled with tattered linen and beside it a small table with two rickety chairs. In the center on an old writing desk covered by a clean cloth, was a tray with bread, sausages, fruit compote, boiled eggs — and a bottle of vodka. Marusia felt that the walls were closing in on her; she was completely at Sobakin’s mercy. Stealing a glance at him, she was horrified to see how huge he was. With his clenched fist he could easily knock her down, even knock her unconscious. Not able to move a muscle, deathly pale, she could feel only a kind of sick dread.

“Well, Marusia.” Sobakin picked up the bottle from the table. “Shall we have a drink?”

“I don’t want a drink.”

“You don’t want a drink? You stupid girl.” He burst out laughing. “You think I intend to bite you or something? Now, I’m warning you, don’t give me a hard time. Come here beside me.”

She backed up against the wall. “Stay away from me, Simon Stepanovich. You’re despicable. You’re a monster and a drunk.” Sobakin threw off his overcoat and hurled it across the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, took off his shirt and kicked off his boots. “Very well,” he said, “if you won’t join me, I’ll drink by myself.” In no time he had gulped down three glassesful, and started in on the sausages. Smacking his lips and belching, he poured himself another drink. Marusia, fixed to the spot, knew that he was going to make his move.

“Marusia, come over here.” He patted the bed with his hand. When she didn’t respond, he said more loudly and forcibly, “Come and keep me company. Be a good girl, you don’t want to make me angry, do you?”

Marusia remained unmoving.

Sobakin looked her up and down. “I said come here. Now! You peasant girls are all alike; you pretend to be so fresh and coy, but you’re all just a bunch of whores. Come here and show me a good time.” He waited a moment, then rose angrily from the bed and staggered toward her, grabbing hold of her arm. “You little bitch.”

Marusia saw herself being dragged to her doom right then and there. An awful wail broke from her throat. For a brief moment, she thought she was going to faint, but then an uncontrollable fever seized her. She became violent, her eyes on fire. Ripping her arm out of his grip, she screamed at the top of her voice, “Get away, get away from me!”

Simon Stepanovich was surprised and pleased by her sudden burst of energy. “My, my, the peasant girl has spunk! I like that. It adds to the excitement.” Then crushing her in a horrible embrace, he thrust his lips against hers. She struggled to break free, but Sobakin tightened his grip and pressed her closer to him. He whispered in her ear, “How did an ordinary moujik girl like you ever manage to become so beautiful? You’re just what my Russian blood needs.” Throwing her on the bed, he slipped his hands under her skirt and grabbed at her thighs. She kicked and screamed, but was smothered by his weight. Her battle was being lost. Sobakin raged on. Tugging at her wildly, he ripped her blouse, and pressed his mouth against her neck and her breasts. She was saturated with the smell of drink, and felt as though she had died and gone to Hell.

When Sobakin fumbled to unbutton his trousers, suddenly, with an astonishing show of strength, the girl jerked her small frame forward and started to kick him. Her eyes gleamed; she looked like a woman possessed. At that very moment she thought of something and cried, “You think you’ve won. You think you’ve won, but you’ve really lost. Hah! Hah! Hah!”