Theodore Odrach - Wave of Terror

They walked to the stone building with its grimy façade. Kulik glanced through the paned windows and was relieved to see that the place was filled with people. They were huddled around long wooden tables covered with white tablecloths, talking, laughing, eating and drinking. The air was thick with tobacco smoke. The atmosphere seemed different from the way it had been when Kulik had visited it several weeks earlier. When they entered, a stocky woman in a uniform with epaulettes came up and blocked their way. She wanted to know whether they had trade union passes. Kulik was astonished by the request.

“Sorry.” She shook her head. “This tavern is for trade union workers only. You’ll have to take your business elsewhere.”

They walked through dirty puddles of melted snow, past several ramshackle hotels and a string of dusky shops, all boarded up. Before long they tried another tavern, but there too they were required to show passes to prove they were workers from the railroad or shipbuilding yards.

Kulik thought, “A new hierarchy has been established, and in the world’s first classless society!”

Old Valentyn, as if picking up on Kulik’s thoughts, grumbled under his breath, “Before the war all you needed to go to a tavern was money. Why, you could practically drink together with a general!”

At last they were able to enter a small building called People’s Tavern, where they ordered a bottle of wine and some black bread and sausages. The only other patrons were several men and a woman sitting in the far corner sharing a pot of beer, talking quietly. When the food and drinks arrived, Kulik asked, “Well, my good friend, tell me, how are things with Lonia? Has he come home yet?”

“Lonia, Lonia.” Valentyn’s face clouded and he sighed deeply. “It’s a complete mystery to us. He writes often enough, but he still hasn’t found his way home. My old lady is beside herself with worry. Even I’m starting to believe there’s something wrong. And to make matters worse, Marusia insists his letters are forgeries.”

Kulik was genuinely surprised by the news. “When I got your letter with my money, I assumed everything was going well and that Lonia was finally on his way home.”

Valentyn finished his glass of wine, and quickly started on another. He became bitterly sarcastic.

“My two women have involved themselves with a knight in shining armor. And some knight in shining armor he’s turned out to be! He’s like a hawk after a hen; the hen flaps her wings and tries to get away, and the hawk swoops down and grabs her by the neck. One second and ‘snap!’ it’s all over.”

Kulik refilled the glasses. “Is it serious between Marusia and Sobakin? I understand they’re quite the pair. I thought there would be a wedding by now, that you’d have yourself a Russian son-in-law.”

“No, God forbid!” The old man’s eyes flashed. “Sobakin will never get his hands on my daughter, not if I have anything to do with it. Besides, there can never be a wedding.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“Because the son-of-a-bitch is married. He has a wife and children, two boys and a girl, in Moscow. Marusia found this out from a friend of hers.” He drained his glass. “Sobakin’s a swine. First he promised to bring Lonia home to us, but those were just empty words; he was trying to worm his way into Marusia’s heart. He gave her expensive gifts, God knows where he got them — a bottle of French perfume, a fur coat, a skirt, and then … time for Marusia to pay him back. Lucky thing she got away from him unharmed, if you know what I mean, but just by the skin of her teeth. From the very start Sobakin had something terrible in mind for her.” He shook his head. “My Marusia should have known better. How long it took her before she got wise to him, and what a price she had to pay!”

A long silence followed. Valentyn rested his elbows on the table, and stared at his drink. “We haven’t heard the last of Sobakin, not by a long shot. And on top of it, he rents rooms in the house next door to ours. Every night he returns from the Zovty Prison with blood on his hands. The tortures our people endure in there! Sobakin is the Devil personified.” Then looking at Kulik, with regret, “I told Marusia over and over, from the very start, that you would have made a better suitor. But unfortunately every time I mentioned your name, she just rolled her eyes and laughed. I don’t know what’s wrong with that girl. She never listens to a thing I say.”

Kulik winced. Trying to maintain his composure, he shrugged and said, “I’m really not interested in your daughter. She wanted a Muscovite and that’s what she got. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for her; though. Naturally, I wish her the best.”

Eventually the conversation took on a lighter tone. Kulik went on about life in the village, while Valentyn complained about his wife. After about an hour, they shook hands and parted company.

It was now almost one o’clock. Kulik had only a few hours left to settle his school matters before catching his ride back to the village. He headed for the People’s Commissariat of Education and was delighted to find Zena in Yeliseyenko’s offices. She was seated at her desk, writing something with one hand and holding buttered bread in the other.

“ Bon appetit !” Kulik called out cheerfully from the doorway.

She looked up smiling. “Why, if it isn’t Ivan Kulik. Good to see you. Please, have a seat. Are you hungry? You’re welcome to some of my bread.”

“No, thank you. Actually, I’ve just come from a tavern.”

Zena laughed. “I assumed that much. I can smell the drink on your breath from here. Why don’t you have some tea, it’ll take off the edge, at least before Yeliseyenko gets back. He left for a meeting about an hour ago, he should be back very soon.”

Zena filled a cup with hot tea from a sealed thermos and handed it to Kulik. “Well, what’s brought you to Pinsk?”

“Oh, nothing much, just a few simple school matters. We need some supplies — ink, slates, copybooks. And I’d like to talk to Yeliseyenko about a replacement for Haya Fifkina. Our school has been short-staffed for some time now.”

Zena looked sharply at him. She said quietly, “Are you looking for trouble?”

Kulik was stunned by her question, and felt an uprush of alarm. He didn’t understand what she meant by it. Why did she speak so directly to him? Why would she speak at all? Her words obviously had a hidden meaning. Was she up to something?. He felt that all at once he could see right through her; he could read it in her face. She wasn’t just a secretary as he had thought, she was a government agent, trying to get him, rattle him, to hook him in some way.

But the more he thought these thoughts the more afraid of them he became, so afraid that in the end he chose not to believe them after all. This lovely young woman with the soft, dark eyes and the warm, engaging smile could not possibly be a spy for the Kremlin. But he remained on his guard and watched her carefully.

She put her elbows on her desk and ran her fingers through her hair. “Ivan, how you’ve changed since I last saw you. You’ve aged so. I can see your heart is heavy and you’re filled with worry. You seem afraid.”

Kulik did not respond. He had to believe that she really was an informer, out to get him. Although her voice was smooth and pleasant, there was definitely something menacing, even underhanded about it. And she seemed to be deriving a bitter enjoyment from deceiving him. He was on to her now, and he waited for her to start up one of her cat-and-mouse games. And sure enough, she didn’t waste a second. Drawing her chair a little closer to him, she whispered softly, “Theatrics and secret negotiations. They’re all around us. The stage is out there in the streets, and inside here are the planners and directors.”