Theodore Odrach - Wave of Terror

Kulik forced a smile. “So many deep thoughts for so early in the morning.” He hoped that this chatterbox would be quiet.

But Chikaniuk went on. “I have so many unanswered questions. My head is just brimming. Take life, for example. It’s so short, and I would really like to know what it’s like when we die. Do we just stop existing or are we reincarnated? And then there’s Hrisko Suchok …” His voice dropped to an uneasy whisper. “I saw Hrisko Suchok murdered. That bullet, why, it took the last breath right out of him; he let out a little yelp, spread his arms out wide, then he fell down. It was all over, just like that. One minute he was there and then he was gone.”

“I understand you saw it all happen.”

“Yes, I saw the whole thing. Hrisko was like a rabbit … the rabbit flees and the hunter … bang! and it’s over. Hrisko didn’t break any laws, he didn’t commit a crime. He got killed for nothing. And even if he did break the law, he shouldn’t have been gunned down the way he was. Every civilized system has its laws and the accused is always innocent until proven guilty. But there’s no such laws here; there’s no law, where a man gets run down like an animal.”

“I heard that the NKVD man who shot him was only trying to scare him — he aimed above his head, but it was an accident that somehow the bullet hit the back of his neck instead.”

Chikaniuk’s lips twitched. “That’s not the way it happened. And it wasn’t just any NKVD man that shot Hrisko, it was Sobakin. I saw him standing at the corner of Hrisko’s house. I saw him aim and pull the trigger. One shot was all it took. Hrisko dropped to the ground, dead. And there wasn’t any investigation, nobody questioned the witnesses afterward, there weren’t any murder charges. And Sobakin just goes on as if nothing’s happened — preaching about this happy, new life of ours under the Soviet sun.”

The more Chikaniuk talked, the more tense Kulik felt. Why was Chikaniuk saying all this; why was he being so reckless and open about everything? Kulik began to suspect that he might be an informer. But then he noticed that Chikaniuk was nervous and uncomfortable. And when he began to stammer, Kulik felt sure he was being straight with him.

“I … I … I … shouldn’t have said the things I just said, somehow they just came pouring out of my mouth. Please, Director, I beg you, don’t take my words to the authorities because if you do, I’m as good as dead.”

“To the authorities?” Kulik turned to look Chikaniuk in the eye. “Don’t worry about me. Kokoshin hasn’t approached me about becoming an informer and I hope it stays that way.”

Chikaniuk gave a sigh of relief. “That’s a good thing you’re on to Kokoshin. He listens in on people. He stands by the door of every house and pricks up his ears like a dog. He’s made Buhai into an informer and told him to spy on Kovzalo. And he’s told Kovzalo to spy on Buhai. It’s like being caught in a spider’s web. Everyone is spying on everyone else. We hear Paraska’s been told to spy on you.”

“Paraska?” Kulik’s heart thumped. “To spy on me?”

“Yes, but not to worry, so far nothing’s come of it. Paraska doesn’t have it in her, she’s too simple-hearted, if you know what I mean. ‘To keep an eye on the director?’ she would say. ‘ Tell me what it is exactly I have to look for.’ I heard Kokoshin wanted to recruit me too, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

As the cart rumbled forward, they came to the small village of Plishny, and onto a narrow dirt road that led to a bridge over the Strumien River.

“They’re preparing the kolkhoz .” Chikaniuk pointed to the left. “Just yesterday Leyzarov inspected all the buildings on the old Olivinski estate. He said the land was so big it could easily take care of a hundred heads of cattle, and he said there’s also more than enough room for horses, geese and pigs. It seems that now everything is for the kolkhoz . There’s already a waiting list to get in: Buhai, Kovzalo and a couple of fellows from other villages have signed up. It’s just a matter of time before it swings into full gear. I hear the garden there is enormous and the orchard is filled with fruit trees. Leyzarov says there’s more than enough of everything for everyone; we’re going to build a paradise.”

Chikaniuk said that recently, while Leyzarov was giving a speech to some peasants, out of nowhere a raven swooped down from the sky toward Leyzarov and almost struck him in the head. The bird circled the crowd several times, cawing, and finally perched on a tree branch. “Some say that the raven is bad luck, that it means war.”

Kulik looked at Chikaniuk and said quietly, “I don’t think it’s come that far just yet.”

“You don’t think there will be war? Then why are the Bolsheviks preparing dugouts by the Bug River? Why are trucks traveling there nonstop full of lumber? And why did they widen and deepen the Bugsy-Dnieprovsky canal? The answer is simple: to transport ammunition to the Front. I know this for a fact. I served in the army myself and I know what things are for. If the Russians are making dugouts, it means the Germans are getting ready to advance, and if the Germans advance there will be war. I tell you, war is in the air.”

After crossing the Strumien River for at least half a kilometer, the two men continued along a bumpy dirt road, past several settlements and farmsteads. At last they came to another bridge, this time made of concrete, which led directly to the outskirts of Pinsk. There were rows of small whitewashed cottages on both sides of the bridge, most in a state of disrepair, with sagging porches and warped shutters; pots of drooping flowers stood on the windowsills. Groups of children played by the roadside, laughing and talking.

Kulik watched them as the cart passed. What about these children? Did they have a future or would it blow up in their faces? He closed his eyes and thought about his own childhood when he played in his grandmother’s yard or with his friends along the banks of the Stryy. Life then seemed so easy, so uncomplicated. Now everything was so incredibly confusing. All at once Kulik looked urgently at Chikanuik.

“What if the authorities find out about our conversation today?”

Chikaniuk flinched. “They won’t.”

“How can you be so sure? When they take you to headquarters, when they rough you up, kick your teeth out, break your arms, then everything will come out.”

“I’ll never talk, and especially when it comes to you, Director. But if worse came to worse, I’d only have the best things to say. I’d say you’re an upstanding citizen and that you have nothing but the greatest respect for the new regime.”

Kulik continued to go at him. “But what if they won’t believe you? And no matter how much you plead and cry, they still won’t believe you. They’ll beat you and they’ll keep beating you until you break. Haven’t you heard the old saying, ‘Moscow does not believe in tears’?”

“Even if they torture me, I still won’t talk. And besides, you’ve got nothing to worry about, you’ve said nothing against the regime, nothing to implicate yourself. As a matter of fact, I’m the one who’s said too much.”

Kulik began to feel afraid, not so much of Chikaniuk but of himself. He was afraid of every word he might utter and of every gesture he might make. Everything and anything could be used against him. Knowing how easy it could be to make that fatal slip, he resolved to play it safe from then on. He started carefully to pay homage to the new government:

“Yes, well, in any case, this is our new regime now and we must learn to live with it and appreciate it. Glory be to our new leaders.”

Chikaniuk looked at Kulik askance and scowled. He said disdainfully, “Yes, we must learn to live with it, even if it has no written law. We must learn to live with it in the same way we would live with typhoid or cholera or cancer.” He sighed. “There’s no way out.”