Theodore Odrach - Wave of Terror

Finally the cart reached Market Square, and Kulik, jumping down, pulled his small traveling bag from behind the seat. He thanked Chikaniuk for the ride and crossed the square, to Neberezna Street.

It felt good to mingle with the bustling crowds, to walk past blocks of buildings and busy roadways. But when he came to the middle of a crossroads, trying to decide which way to go, he was gripped by a rush of alarm. He couldn’t get Chikaniuk out of his mind. Even though he was sure Chikaniuk was being straight with him, the man still posed a measurable threat. If the authorities grabbed him and took him to the Zovty Prison for interrogation, he would undoubtedly break after the first round, and that would spell the end for Kulik.

There was no freedom anywhere anymore, and one wrong move could cost you your life. Even silence could bring disaster. Kulik knew that the only way he could protect himself completely would be to go immediately to Sobakin and report everything Chikaniuk had said. But that was out of the question. He could never be an informer. Never. The mere idea of such betrayal made his blood run cold.

By the time Kulik arrived at the Oblispolkom and knocked on Yeliseyenko’s door, it was already ten o’clock. As usual the superintendent sat behind his desk buried in paperwork. He looked troubled, as if he had too much on his mind. He said quickly and rather distractedly, “Comrade Ivan, what brings you to Pinsk?”

Kulik handed him the sheet of paper with the teachers’ names. Yeliseyenko studied the list carefully. After several minutes, he mumbled something under his breath, picked up his pen, and signed the paper. “I suggest you go to the Gosbank immediately. There’s probably a considerable queue already. But you just might be lucky and get your money today.”

Kulik hesitated. “Uh … if I don’t get the money today, what do you suggest I do?”

“Well, then, you’ll have to stay until tomorrow and go to the bank first thing. That won’t be a problem. I’ll issue you a pass stating that you’re here on official government business.”

Kulik thanked Yeliseyenko and started for the door. When he heard someone come in from Zena’s office, he turned and was surprised to see Marusia standing there, holding some papers. She flushed, and a couple of sheets slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor. Kulik hurried to scoop them up.

“Marusia?” he said. “Do you work here at the Oblispolkom ?”

“Yes, indeed she does!” Yeliseyenko said. “I have an excellent worker on my hands. I don’t know how I ever managed without her.” Then to Kulik, “You’d better be on your way. I believe you’ve got a lot to do.”

As Kulik turned to leave, Marusia gave him a faint smile, which he returned. Her profile was even more beautiful than he remembered, and today her hair was brushed neatly away from her face and piled on top of her head. Her expression was different; no longer cold and challenging. She actually seemed friendly.

“My God, how beautiful she is,” he said aloud to himself, out on the street. “Her job has transformed her. She looks so different, so elegant, so mature. I almost didn’t recognize her.” He couldn’t get her out of his mind.

After walking for about ten minutes, he came to the Gosbank. The queue was longer than he expected, extending over several blocks, and ending only steps away from Market Square. He took his place behind a corpulent woman in a worn dress with a flimsy scarf over her head. She hardly moved, but from time to time she emitted long, drawn-out sighs. The line advanced very slowly, it barely moved at all; the people stared ahead blankly, and did not talk to one another. They were mainly government workers: teachers, postmen, factory workers, firemen, laborers, district committee members and so on, all holding cheques or certificates of some sort. Hour after hour passed while the line inched forward. An endless chain had formed behind Kulik; it spilled onto Market Square and looped around the far end. The people behind him were as passive as those in front of him.

It was now three o’clock. Four hours had passed and Kulik guessed it would probably take that many more before he got his money. He kept thinking about Marusia, about how stunning she was, and how changed she seemed. “She was so different today, and so different toward me. What’s come over her?”

A long time later a voice erupted from a megaphone near the bank doors. “Attention people! Attention! There’s no more money left in the bank! Come back tomorrow!”

There was some grumbling, but for the most part the queue started to break up as silently as it had formed. Within minutes there was not a soul left in sight.

It was a quarter to five. Kulik, walking down Karalyna Street, remembered that the Oblispolkom closed at five, so Marusia should be getting ready to leave for the day. He knew that to get home, she had to go down Karalyna; he slackened his pace, looking over his shoulder to see if she was coming. And sure enough, there she was, crossing over to the other side, walking briskly, a small brown purse under her arm. He turned and started toward her.

“Ivan, is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” he answered, pleased to see her in a friendly mood.

“Did you get your money?”

“Unfortunately, no, I have to go back tomorrow.”

She smiled. “So, you’re still going to be here tomorrow? Zena and I were talking about you the other day. She thinks you’re a rather decent fellow. I think she might even like you.”

Kulik laughed, embarrassed. He felt a twinge of guilt: he couldn’t deny that he had strong feelings for both women. At Luninetska Street, Marusia said cheerfully, “You must come to the house and say hello to my parents. Father will be delighted to see you. He’s so terribly fond of you.”

Opening the front door, she called out, “Father! I’ve brought a visitor with me. You’ll be pleased.”

As they entered the living room, Valentyn pulled himself up off the sofa, and came toward Kulik with open arms. “Young man, how nice that you’ve come for a visit! A pleasure, always a pleasure to see you. And you, Marusia, are you done with work already? Excellent. There’s nothing I want more than to see the two of you together.”

“Oh, Father, stop it,” Marusia said crossly; a touch of pink came to her cheeks.

While Valentyn and his daughter exchanged words, Kulik walked to the window and pulled back the curtains. All at once a dreadful chill took hold of him. “What have I done?” he murmured. “What have I done? It was a mistake my coming here today. I’m putting my life on the line.”

Marusia heard him. “Putting your life on the line? What on earth are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Sobakin. He lives in the house next door. He’s always watching.”

Valentyn did not hesitate to jump in. “Yes, in the house next door. He’s settled there, in rooms on the top floor. He’s like a poisonous snake and he wants my daughter. He even got her to …”

“Father! Please! Stay out of it!”

Father and daughter went at each other again and Kulik regretted having stirred things up. He noticed the old man had shaved off his beard. Efrosinia had finally got her way. He tried to change the subject. “By the way, have you heard from Lonia?”

Valentyn shook his head grimly. “Lonia. Lonia. In his letters he promises to come home for the summer. So many letters arrive, one after the other, but no Lonia.”

“Where’s your wife?”

“Efrosinia’s at the train station. She’s there almost every day. She’s convinced herself that Lonia is coming home, and when he does she’ll be there to greet him with open arms, like when he was a little boy. Every day at five-forty-five the train arrives from Lvov, but never with our Lonia. Efrosinia just waits for the next train. But it’s always the same, no Lonia. My wife’s no longer able to perceive reality in the normal way and it frightens me. Yes, I believe she’s losing her mind.”