Theodore Odrach - Wave of Terror

“Planners and directors?” echoed Kulik, looking around. “What do you mean?” He was greatly troubled by what she had just said and he could feel her moving in on him. A slip of the tongue and she could finish him off, just like that.

Then unexpectedly, her face changed. She looked helpless and miserable and her mouth twitched with nervous tension. He saw her once again as an ordinary, harmless girl who had simply come to People’s Commissariat of Education to find work as a secretary. Was she really unveiling herself before him and risking everything? If only he could open up to her in the same way she was opening up to him. He wanted to believe in her, more than anything he craved sincerity, but sincerity, he very well knew, was a thing of the past. One wrong move and everything could be over. He understood how difficult it must be for her to reveal her feelings, to take such a chance, if that’s what she was doing.

Suddenly he became convinced of her honesty, and in that split second he resolved to reveal himself too. As he opened his mouth to speak, to disclose his innermost thoughts, he stopped short. No! he could almost hear himself shouting, I will not fall into her trap, not at any price! He saw before him again, not the pretty young secretary with an office in the People’s Commissariat of Education, but a formidable force to be reckoned with. Her show of courage, her vulnerability, were all too obvious — it was just a great act.

He had to recognize how attractive and young she really was, twenty-five at the outside. He was determined not to allow himself to be drawn in by her. An oppressive silence hung in the air. He studied the room. Although the walls were a dingy yellow and there were water stains on the ceiling, her office was clean and well-organized. He said at last, “I must say, you seem quite contented here. Your office is bright and comfortable, even inviting. You appear to have it all, a good salary, an enviable position in the government.” Then, deliberately, to get a reaction from her, “It certainly doesn’t seem to be the kind of place where hard-nosed inspectors are sent out to harass and intimidate poor, unsuspecting village teachers.”

Zena shifted uneasily. “I take it you are referring to Inspector Paspelov? From what I understand, he’s no longer in our employ. Apparently someone in your village cut his career short. Sobakin recommended him highly, and then the next thing I know he’s been terminated. I hear he’s been resettled somewhere in the interior.”

Kulik felt a sense of overwhelming danger. He thought, So that’s it! This tidy little office is more than just an office; it’s much more like a workshop, where, as Zena just pointed out, planners and directors work together to make or break people.

There were faint lines under her eyes and her smile seemed forced and contrived. She was obviously disturbed by something. “Ivan, there are no listening devices here and I’m not two-faced. I want you to believe that. Oh, you don’t know me, you don’t know a thing about me, because if you did, you wouldn’t …” At that point Kulik changed his mind again. This attractive young creature could not be an informer as he had suspected, she was direct and trustworthy. He decided to open his heart to her. She would never betray him, he was sure of that now.

“Zena,” he said, “our lives are empty and our minds are dead. Only a few months have gone by and what a strain on the nerves it’s been. You go out and don’t know if you’ll make it back home, you stay at home and don’t know if late at night you’ll be dragged out of bed with a rifle at your back. You’re afraid to meet with friends and family, you’re even afraid of the sound of a car coming. We’ve been robbed of good humor and our dreams are nightmares. Zena, your eyes are on fire, they’re like magic. I’ve decided to take a chance. You’re free to report me if that’s what you want. I can’t go on living in silence.”

Zena said, without looking up, “You have nothing to be afraid of, Ivan. I’ll never betray you. As the old saying goes, a healthy oak should not fear the storm.”

Kulik smiled. “Your analogy is a thin one, Zena, and doesn’t really offer me much consolation. True, a healthy oak may weather a storm, but how does it protect itself from an axe or a saw? And what if this axe or saw is handled by a lunatic or a buffoon? Then all the trees may fall, and they may fall senselessly and randomly, one after the other, including your oak. Everything and everyone has a breaking point. Even you, Zena.”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Now you’re talking nonsense. I think we’ve both said enough for one day.”

She wrapped her bread in brown paper and put it in a drawer. Then she got up and walked to the window. The warm rays of a magnificent mid-afternoon sun touched her face. The air smelled sweet with the freshness of spring.

Kulik watched her tall, lean form throw an elongated shadow across the floor.

He thought, My God, she’s beautiful! Why hadn’t he seen it before? Her golden silky skin, her full raspberry mouth, her slightly aquiline nose — so young and tender. But her features showed strength and determination. This was no ordinary girl!

Zena walked back to her desk, frowning. She said, “You study me like a book. The slightest change in my expression makes you hesitate. You dissect me into the smallest of pieces, like a scientist, and you can’t bring yourself to trust me. Why can’t you accept me for who I am?”

Kulik did not know how to respond. This lovely dark-haired girl was a stranger to him. Who was she really? He said to her, “The first time I ever saw you … was over on Sovietskaya … you were going into St. Barbara’s Church …”

Zena said ironically, “ Thank you for being so honest. And do you think that I didn’t know you saw me? Well, I saw you watching me, but did you see me watching you?” She lowered her voice. “I see you’re not yet acquainted with the new order of things. You have a lot to learn. To keep one’s physical and mental balance, one must exercise extreme caution at all times. The road ahead is very wet and slippery.”

Folding her hands on her desk and leaning slightly toward him, she whispered barely audibly, “Allow me to give you a word of advice. About your request for a replacement for Haya Fifkina— don’t ask for one. The Party could very possibly send you a new teacher who is an informer. And are you sure there isn’t an informer in your school as we speak? They’re everywhere, they listen to everything, and they fill out reports. You must learn not only to avoid danger but also to identify it. It could be your doctor, a farmer, a fellow-teacher, even a pupil. It could be anyone.”

Kulik listened with growing apprehension. He stood up and, gazing at the floor, his shoulders hunched, he muttered half to himself, “Something dark and ominous is moving in on me. I can feel it with all my heart … it’s just a matter of time before …”

As he struggled to finish his sentence, Zena walked over to him and took his hands in hers. “Ivan, you mustn’t lose control of your senses. I’ll never push you off a high cliff, you’ve got to trust me. You must find the strength somehow to fight back. You’ll find your way, I know you will. I can see it in your eyes, my heart tells me. Perhaps we’ll see each other again somewhere soon.”

Her eyes welling with tears, she embraced him and kissed his lips. “Yes, we’ll definitely meet again and soon, but far away from this horrible place. And now you’d better go. Yeliseyenko is due back any minute. Stay away from him, stay away from the entire Commissariat.”

Pushing him from her, she quickly opened the door and said goodbye. Kulik hurried down the corridor and into the street. The sun seemed unusually bright for this time of year, the end of March, and the last snow had nearly melted. Overcome with a feverish passion, all he could think of was taking Zena into his arms and showering her with kisses. He feared for her life more than for his own. How much longer would it be before she gave herself away? Would they arrest her before they took him? It was Zena who mattered most to him now.