Wave of Terror (14 page)

Hobbling to the buffet cabinet, Valentyn opened a bottom drawer and brought out a corkscrew and three glasses. He went to the pantry and returned with half a kilo of backfat, cucumbers, and a loaf of rye bread. Setting the food on the table, he filled up the glasses and made a toast: “To 1940! To health and fortune! To the future!” Then, smacking his lips and scrunching up his face, “One thing about our new liberators, they sure know how to make a good vodka, one that puts a hole right through the stomach.”

When they started on their second round, Valentyn somewhat tipsy, propped himself on his elbow, and said, “My old lady should be back any minute now. She’s going to make a scene, I just know it. Brace yourselves for the worst, gentlemen. If only she would take a swig herself now and then—but the matter is hopeless, she won’t touch the stuff.”

The clock over the cabinet ticked steadily away. It was now nine forty-five. Valentyn could feel the vodka going to his head. He turned curiously to Kulik. “Ivan, uh, didn’t you say that’s what your name was? My Marusia was rather impressed by you the other night. She’d never met a
moujik
who was so knowledgeable and able to express himself with such ease and precision. Why, it might as well have been Russian you were speaking, she said after you left. Yes, you made quite an impression on her. And for Marusia to say something like that is very exceptional, she’s quite critical, she has a mind of her own.”

He got up and tottering across the floor, almost falling over, he opened the door a crack and peeked outside. He was looking for his wife. Since she was nowhere in sight, he turned his attention back to Kulik. Giving him a wink, he said, “Who knows, young man, maybe you’ll find yourself my son-in-law one of these days. You’re a teacher you say, hmm … not bad, things could be worse.”

No sooner had he spoken these words, when he shook his head, as if he were having second thoughts. “No, no. Pardon my saying so, but it would never work out. My Marusia could never stand to live with a
moujik
. She couldn’t bear it. Hmm … but then on the other hand … maybe if you started being more receptive to Russian ways, maybe then she’d come around.”

He fell silent for several minutes, tugging at his beard. Then he frowned, as a new thought occurred to him. “Good God! What if she were to go off and marry one of our new liberators!” He poured himself another drink, and swallowed it in one gulp. In a matter of minutes he forgot everything and went off in another direction, speaking loudly and with great insight.

“To live with women is a very difficult thing. You two are young, you don’t know what awaits you. Marusia is still more or less manageable, but it’s only a matter of time before she becomes like her mother. Efrosinia nags me from morning till night. First it’s my beard and why don’t I shave it off, then it’s I sleep too long. Lately, as you’ve already heard, it’s why don’t I fix the sofa? I would just like to take an axe to it and smash it to pieces. The springs are so old and rusted there’s nothing left to fix. My Efrosinia just can’t seem to understand that. And now it’s Lonia, and to make matters worse, Marusia has jumped in to help her. ‘Go to Lvov,’ they tell me. ‘Go and bring Lonia home.’ I would be happy to go, but it’s not that simple. If I go to the train station and say, ‘Please, I’d like to buy a ticket to Lvov,’ the ticketmaster will tell me, ‘One way is one hundred rubles, return is two hundred.’ I realize it’s not a phenomenal sum, but how am I supposed to cough it up? Money doesn’t grow on trees.”

Burying his head in his hands, he fell silent for the longest time. A new overwhelming sensation overcame him, one that he could no longer control. His voice quavered and broke. “Lonia, Lonia, my dear son, what I wouldn’t do for you, if only I could. My son—my pride and joy, an engineering student, the top of his class. Tall, handsome, intelligent and—consumptive. That’s the tragedy that has befallen my family—my father, my mother, two
brothers, one sister. I managed to survive somehow and you see how it goes—it’s been passed down to my children. It’s a blessing Marusia is healthy.”

Kulik felt genuine sympathy for Valentyn, whose face reflected such pain and suffering. He wanted to give him some hope and solace. Impulsively, he offered, “What if Sergei and I were to lend you the money? You could buy yourself a ticket and go to Lvov as soon as tomorrow.”

Sergei jumped in. “What a good idea! I’ve got a hundred rubles in my pocket. I can give it to you right here and now.”

“And I’ve got a hundred and fifty.” Kulik reached for his pocket-book. “I’ve got another fifty in my room.”

“Uncle, that’ll be enough for Lonia to return home with you. And don’t worry about repaying us, it can wait.”

Valentyn accepted the money gratefully and after counting it twice, stuffed it in his jacket pocket, and said, “It might be a while before I can pay you back. I have to earn it first. And my hands aren’t what they used to be. But don’t worry, I was never in debt to anyone before, at least not for very long.”

Kulik raised his glass, “To Lonia!”

“To Lonia! To our future engineer!” added Sergei.

The three men clinked glasses and the more they drank the merrier they became. Valentyn kissed the side of his glass and filled it up again. “It’s now ten o’clock and, oh, I do think the drink has gone completely to my head. You two are young, you have better resistance. Come on, drink up!”

“No, thank you. I’ve had enough,” Kulik said, in good humor. “Actually, we still plan to do some dancing before the night is over.”

“Ah, but of course, I should have realized.” Valentyn sank back into his seat. “How stupid of me. You didn’t come to call on me. No, you came here to call on Marusia. What would two red-blooded young men want with an old man like me anyway, and on New Year’s Eve? I certainly have no objection to Marusia going to the dance with the two of you.” He leaned toward Kulik. “Pity you’re so stubborn. You and Marusia would make quite the pair.”

He refilled his glass, the drink loosening his tongue. “When I was young I loved to dance. The
quadrille
and the
venherochka
were all the rage back then. The music would play and the floor would go wild. If I may say so myself, I was quite the dancer. You’d have to lift your feet high off the ground and spin your partner in midair. It was such great fun. When I lived in the village I knew all the drinking songs. Sometimes the neighbors would get together and dance while I sang: ‘So very high in the sky the eagles fly …’”

As Valentyn began on the second verse, Kulik and Sergei, pouring more drinks, joined in. The three of them sat on the sofa, filling the room with laughter and song. It was precisely at this moment that Efrosinia walked in.

“What on earth is going on here?” She could hardly believe her eyes. “You’re drunk, all of you! Marusia, quick, pass me that broom over there.” Taking hold of the handle, she rushed at the men.

“Auntie,” Sergei said, “calm yourself, please. It’s New Year’s Eve, after all.”

She glared at him. “Are you the one who brought liquor into my house?”

“Mother!” Marusia cried. “Don’t start up. Not now.”

Valentyn stumbled to his feet. He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out the money and waved it in front of his wife’s nose.

“Efrosinia,” he began, “I have very good news. The boys and I were celebrating—not the New Year, but the return of our Lonia. Yes, it’s true. After tomorrow I’m leaving for Lvov. Here’s the money for the ticket. The boys lent it to me. Now everything will turn out fine. I’ll bring Lonia back and you’ll be able to sleep nights again.”

Efrosinia froze, speechless. Could it really be true that at last she would see her son again? Lonia would be home and in just a few days! Holding her shaking hands against her breast, she fell to her knees and wept and laughed at the same time.

Marusia looked closely at Kulik. “Are you drunk? You didn’t strike me as the drinking type. Is it true, did you lend Father the money?”

“Yes, Marusia, with Sergei.”

“That was very generous of you.” She eyed her cousin with suspicion “Seryoza, why did you two come here tonight? Was it you who suggested this visit?”

“Yes, it was. Marusia, it’s New Year’s Eve, after all. In fact, it’s almost eleven. Why don’t you come with us to the dance? We’ll have a grand time.”

Valentyn went up to his daughter and whispered encouragingly in her ear. “Don’t be so difficult, dear. Go ahead and have yourself some fun. Ivan Demianovich here seems like a decent fellow, a teacher, a historian, not to mention—good marriage material.”

“Father!” Then to Kulik, apologetically, “Please don’t pay any attention to him. He’s had too much to drink. His mind always becomes jumbled when he’s …” Then she caught herself. “Wait a minute, why am I apologizing to you? You’re the one who got him drunk in the first place!”

“I’m not drunk, my little pigeon,” her father called out. “I’m just happy. Go and welcome in the New Year. Dance the night away.”

Rudely, without a further word, the girl rushed across the kitchen and disappeared into the living room. The two friends looked at each other, disappointed. Marusia had left them; they were convinced that she had retired for the night. But to their surprise, after barely fifteen minutes, she reappeared, her hair piled high, wearing a pearl-white evening dress pinched at the waist and low-heeled pumps. The young men were delighted. How beautiful she looked! Kulik had never seen anyone like her. How classic her features were and how soft and silky her complexion. Her beautiful body radiated warmth and tenderness and she looked lovelier than anyone could ever imagine. Kulik could not take his eyes off her. He lost his head completely.

E
verywhere one looked, couples were rapidly twirling each other about. The temperature was high and the air thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of cheap perfume. When the trumpets started to blare, the noise became ten times louder and the floor fell into a frenzy.

Kulik was beginning to get into the spirit of things and found himself tapping his foot to the beat of the music. Somewhere deep in the crowd he spotted Marusia with Sergei, dancing to a Tchaikovsky waltz. She was certainly the most striking girl there. He regretted having insisted that Sergei have the first dance with her and he waited impatiently for it to end. He tried to cheer himself up by reminding himself that he never really cared much for Tchaikovsky anyway, especially when the passages became melancholy and alternated with folk music. But Tchaikovsky aside, Kulik would have given anything to be on that floor with Marusia.

There was no slowing down. The dance floor was even more packed than before. Crowds of men and women thronged the doorway, smoking and drinking cold spiked punch, talking and laughing. Kulik was strangely attracted by the hubbub; he even forgot for a moment where he was. He felt a great desire to hear what people were saying, perhaps even to join in a conversation or two, but every time he caught a word, another drowned it out almost instantly. He moved on. A man came spinning his way, rather short, balding, his arms around a woman half a head taller than he. Kulik recognized him at once: it was Yeliseyenko, Chief of Education.

When the band began a slower tune, a voice called out happily from behind Kulik. It was Marusia. “Ivan Demianovich! We were looking all over for you.” Then curiously, “Who are you looking at over there?”

Kulik shrugged, “Oh, just Yeliseyenko, the Chief of Education.” Taking her hands in his, he asked, “May I have the next dance?”

On the stage, the musicians were thundering out “Rebecca,” a popular love song about a Polish Jew in love with a beautiful woman. Although the song was very well received, it seemed out of place and not in keeping with the political mood of the day. It was just a matter of time before it, along with countless other songs, would be banned by the government, deemed petit bourgeois. But tonight no one seemed to care about that.

The drummer, a long-legged youth not much over twenty, whacked at his drums repeatedly, speeding up the tempo, slowing it down, then speeding it up even faster than before. When the saxophones suddenly erupted, the dancers, drunk and dizzy, became deafened by the musical explosion.

In the middle of all of this were Kulik and Marusia. Her eyes were shining; she looked radiant. At every step they took together, Kulik felt thrilled at how slight her form was and how delicate her features. When he took her hand in his and pressed it gently, she made no objection. He felt the warmth of her body next to his, and he knew that he had fallen in love with her. Pulling her toward him, he kissed her softly on her pale cheek. But to his dismay, she gasped and shrieked. Pushing him away, she said, “What was that for? Isn’t it enough that I dance with you?”

Kulik’s heart leaped. He couldn’t believe her words. How mean-spirited, how utterly cruel she was. Why was he allowing this flighty, hypocritical small-town girl to toy with his emotions like this, to trample all over him? It pained him that she should take offence at a perfectly sincere and spontaneous gesture on his part. He felt mortified, ripped into a million pieces.

They danced on in awkward silence. Kulik hesitated to look at her. He thought sadly, “How tragic. So beautiful, so delicate, like a flower
of the marsh, and yet so distant, so foreign.” A chill passed through him; she suddenly felt cold and lifeless, like a porcelain doll.

When the music finally stopped, as he was walking with Marusia across the floor, Kulik was more than relieved to come across Sergei, who was leaning against the wall with a drink of spiked cranberry lemonade. They had just joined him, when, from the doorway, a voice shot out in a squeaky falsetto. It belonged to a slight man with epicene features. “Marusia Valentynovna! Over here!”

“Why, if it isn’t Nikolai Nikitich!” Marusia waved at him excitedly. “How good it is to see you!” Then to her companions, and taking Nikolai by the hand, “May I introduce Nikolai Nikitich, the exceptional and renowned Pinsk poet. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

Nikolai Nikitich looked around briefly and shook his head. “No, no,
nyet nyet
, Marusia Valentynovna. Haven’t you heard? I’ve changed my name to Nikolai Kopitkin.” Then nudging her in the arm almost playfully and winking, “A little Russian flavor’s never been known to hurt a man, if you know what I mean.”