Theodore Odrach - Wave of Terror

Kulik was now terribly exasperated. Dounia’s penetrating scent was permeating everything in the room. He had never found any woman so repulsive. “Wasn’t it mathematics you came here for?”

“Oh, Vanyoushka, Vanyoushka.” Her voice dipped up and down. “You’re a greenhorn, such a greenhorn.” Becoming more and more animated, laughing, slowly she spread out her big, fat thighs. She went on with alarming familiarity, “That’s what I find so intriguing about you. I’m here to make you an offer, a rather delicious one, I might add, one that you won’t be able to refuse.”

Kulik was at the door, fumbling for the knob. He could feel the cool wafts of air seeping through the cracks. Dounia had got out of the chair and was coming at him now with her arms wide open. He said loudly, “Dounia, this is not a good idea. I’m the school headmaster and I have responsibilities. If the villagers caught wind of any kind of indiscretion on my part I’d be ruined. No, no, you must leave immediately.”

Dounia withdrew several paces. Rejection did not sit well with her; she took great offense at what he had just said. She was determined to get back at him. With her hands on her hips she said maliciously, “Oh, I see how it goes. You’re saving yourself for that green-eyed girl, Marusia. Poor Vanya. Poor, stupid, little Vanya. You pine after her night and day, you put her up on a pedestal, and while you do all this what does she go and do? She goes out till all hours of the night with Sobakin. Where to? To smoke-filled taverns and dingy hotel rooms. Yes, your pretty little princess has fallen from grace. Her parents dreamed of a big church wedding, flowers, bridesmaids, guests from the entire region, but as it turns out your little innocent prefers the taste of vodka. It’s no secret Sobakin’s got lucky with her. Now you know — she’s just as bad as the rest of us.”

Dounia fell silent a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was completely changed. “Ivan, what I am about to say to you is for your own good. Don’t trust women, especially pretty ones like Marusia. They’ll always prove unfaithful. Just throw an expensive coat over their shoulders or place jewels on their fingers and within minutes they’ll turn into whores.”

Kulik was stunned. “Marusia … you say … with Sobakin …?” She was such a strong and independent girl with pride, dignity and character, not to mention intelligence. She would never allow herself to be victimized like that. Kulik refused to believe it. It had to be a vicious lie. Dounia was a disgusting conniver who enjoyed upsetting people. He wanted to grab her by her stringy hair and hurl her out the door, and was moving toward her when to his great horror, he read it all in her face: her small squinting eyes, the faint wrinkles on her forehead, her twisted, mocking grin, everything about her demonstrated a kind of smugness. It was possible that this detestable and repulsive woman before him was telling the truth. He felt a horrible chill.

Throwing herself back down in the armchair, flinging one leg over the other, Dounia straightened her skirt and smoothed her hair. She said with sparkling eyes, “Oh, Ivan, how nice and cozy it is in here. I could use a drink about now. I’m terribly thirsty. How about it? We could drink to our new-found friendship. Well, what are you waiting for?” Then reprovingly, “And don’t look so glum. That green-eyed hussy isn’t worth your time. You’ll be over her before you know it. Besides, she’s not the only girl around. If you haven’t noticed, I’m ready to throw myself at you.”

Dounia’s fat, flabby body, her plump arms, her vast chest repelled him beyond measure. He had to find a way to get rid of her. He considered just telling her to get out, but in the end he did not dare. Then to his own surprise a plan came to him, a plan that was brilliant and fool-proof.

“You say you want a drink?” he asked. “Then a drink it is.”

Grabbing his coat and hat he hurried out the door. “I don’t have drink in my quarters but I know where to get some. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”

“Now you’re talking!” Dounia called after him. “And remember, I like it hard and strong. Make sure it’s at least eighty proof!” Then beaming, very pleased, “I see you know how to entertain a woman after all!”

As the clock on Kulik’s desk ticked away, barely twenty minutes had gone by when he reappeared in the doorway; not with a bottle in his hand, but with Kokoshin at his side.

“Oh, my little dumpling,” Kokoshin rushed at her with open arms. “So this is where you’ve been hiding. Leyzarov and I were wondering what had become of you. Comrade Kulik said you came here with questions about arithmetic, but I know you better than that. You came here looking for a change, for something a little younger perhaps? But as you can see, tonight is not the night. Come back home with me. There’s plenty to drink there.”

When Dounia and Kokoshin finally left, Kulik slammed the door shut and shot the bolt. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself over and over again to make sure that in future all doors were locked the minute school was dismissed. A reenactment of tonight’s events was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

Luck, it seemed, was on Dounia Avdeevna’s side. It all started with the regional pre-election campaign. Leyzarov and Kokoshin, thinking about Dounia’s late-night rendezvous with the headmaster of School Number Seven, began to fear that she was about to drop them for him. Clearly she already had designs on him, and so whimsical and unpredictable were her mood swings of late, it might be just a matter of time before she would be gone from their lives forever. They couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, she was all that mattered to them: Dounia knew what love should be, and they needed to possess her and to be possessed by her exclusively.

Putting their heads together, they came up with a solution: they would nominate her for candidate for Deputy of the Village Soviet of B.S.S.R. and would make her the only candidate, ensuring her victory in the spring. They were confident that such a demanding and prominent position would leave her little time for anything else, especially for involvement with the handsome young headmaster.

Of course Dounia was thrilled by this nomination, and as the two men had hoped, she could think of nothing else. The prospect of representing the masses of her region enthralled her, and consumed her day and night. Feeling a great sense of pride and honor, she began to devote all her energy to preparing herself for this very important post. News of her nomination spread quickly, and before long everyone came to understand that Dounia Avdeevna was going to be their next Deputy. Not only was she the prime candidate, she was the only candidate. Every day, standing on wooden crates in the village square, she gave impassioned speeches, and in the evening she walked from house to house, knocking on doors, swearing allegiance to the most wonderful party on Earth, the Communist Party.

The pre-election campaign went into full swing, and at the end of March, a general meeting was called, which all inhabitants of the region were asked to attend. Young and old alike flocked to Hlaby and crowded the small Clubhouse, eager to witness the unfolding of the democratic process. Villagers had been informed that they, the people, formed the foundation of the greatest working-class revolution in history, and as a result, were now eligible voters, and come spring, would be electing a Deputy of the Village Soviet of B.S.S.R. Gone was the authoritarian Polish government where discrimination reigned; the wealthy Polish landowners had been obliterated by great Mother Russia and the land given back to the people, and these very same people, the proletariat, now had a voice in government. Today they were being called upon to hear the nominee for Deputy of the Village Soviet, and hearing her would enable them to cast their ballots competently and decisively.