“Seryoza!” Marusia stamped her foot. “How can you be so rude?” Then apologetically to Nikolai, “Forgive Seryoza. As you can see he’s had too much to drink.”
At the sound of the word Seryoza, Nikolai froze on the spot and his eyes widened. He was shocked that Marusia had addressed Sergei in the diminutive, Seryoza, suggesting to him the two were more than the casual acquaintances he had assumed them to be. It was plain and simple: Marusia Valentynovna was associating with moujiks! “Excuse me, Marusia Valentynovna,” he said quickly, hoping that no one had noticed that he was with these people, “I must be off. Give my regards to your father and mother. And how’s Lonia? Is he still in Lvov? Well, goodbye.”
The band began the rhumba. Kulik found himself mouthing the lyrics in Polish. Again he was alone. Sergei had gone off somewhere with Marusia. Kulik focused on trying to find a partner. He looked along the wall, around the podium, by the entranceway, but all the women seemed to be taken. His eyes strayed across the floor. Yeliseyenko caught his attention again. He was still dancing with the same woman. Kulik could now see her more clearly. She was very pretty, with big black eyes and a long, slender neck. There was something unusual about her and curiously familiar. Where had he seen her before? He watched her move across the floor. She was an excellent dancer, light on her feet, whirling and twirling gracefully, in a soft velvet dress that clung to her shapely body. It was almost as if she was oblivious to her partner and was dancing alone.
When finally the music stopped, Kulik, almost involuntarily, found himself drifting toward her. Who was this girl? As he moved closer, Yeliseyenko noticed him, and frowned. “You! I remember you from the conference. What do you want? Do you intend to ask this young lady to dance?”
Kulik hesitated a moment, then, ignoring Yeliseyenko, said to the girl, “Would you do me the honor?”
She smiled, nodded to Yeliseyenko, gave Kulik her arm and walked with him to the middle of the floor. She was as tall as Kulik, and when they danced, their eyes met. Where had he seen this unusual, lovely creature before, with eyes as black as the night? Suddenly he was seized by a wave of excitement. It was she, he realized, the girl from St. Barbara’s Church! She drew back, startled. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Well, because … because, well, it’s all quite odd. You’re not from around here, are you?”
“What if I’m not?”
“You’re not a teacher either.”
“No.” She looked steadily at him. “Do you always interrogate your dancing partners like this?”
“I’m terribly sorry. It was impolite of me. What’s your name?”
“Zena. And yours?”
Kulik was surprised she did not give her patronymic, and even more surprised that she spoke in Ukrainian. “My name is Ivan, Ivan Kulik … You look familiar to me. I’ve seen you someplace before.”
She was amused. “Is that what you say to all the girls?”
A Strauss waltz began. The floor filled with dancers, young and full of energy. Everyone was intoxicated, carried away by the significance of the night. They were not only celebrating the coming of the New Year, but the coming of a new era. History was in the making.
When at last the music slowed, Zena became surprisingly chatty, even affable, going on about the band, the music, the dancers, but when she mentioned the colorful decorations and the pictures of Stalin on the walls, their eyes locked. It seemed to Kulik that something odd had passed between them, as if they both harbored the same dark secret. He longed to ask questions, to speak, to exchange confidences, but did not dare. She looked away from him and seemed to become distant. Why, Kulik asked himself, had this young woman gone into the offices of the Oblispolkom? Could she possibly be a Soviet spy or an agent of some sort? He said casually, “On our way here we passed the Oblispolkom. Surely you know where that is? It used to be Father Mendiuk’s house. One day party officials came and booted him out into the streets. Now he’s no more than a beggar.”
Zena broke free of his embrace and said quickly, “It was very nice to meet you, Ivan Kulik. Thank you for the dance. I’d better be off and find Yeliseyenko before he thinks I’ve abandoned him. Good-bye.”
Before Kulik could say another word, she was gone. Why, he asked himself, had he gone and opened his big mouth? Why had he tried to corner her and in such an obvious way? Now he was left alone. He decided to return to the bar for another drink. As he was about to place his order, Dounia Avdeevna emerged from the crowd.
“Yoo hoo! Comrade Ivan!” she called. “So, we meet again … You’re all alone? My, my! … First a blonde, then a brunette. Quite the Casanova. But how sad, now you’re all alone, you poor dear thing.” She lowered her voice. “May I give you a word of advice? Never trust beautiful women. You’re better off looking for one with stamina and character, not unlike myself.”
Kulik smiled. “What’s become of your sailor?”
“Sailors! They’re a reckless bunch. I’m interested now in the more stable professions like engineering, medicine, teaching …” She brushed up against him, “Yes, teachers in particular are very dependable.”
Kulik stumbled back against the wall. He wanted to get out of there. Dounia Avdeevna, offended, threw herself back into the crowd.
Sergei came by, looking irritated. “Marusia just up and left. I don’t know what came over her, but something obviously set her off. I offered to walk her home, but she wouldn’t have it. She’s so unpredictable and headstrong. What’ll we do now?”
They were in no mood to participate in the festivities. Outside, the snow was now coming down heavily, so heavily that almost everything became invisible to them—the lamp posts, the buildings, the parked trucks. It was colder than ever. Kulik pulled his cap down over his ears and Sergei fumbled in his pockets for his gloves. They could hear the distant sound of cheers and applause. “Five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!”
They walked on, welcoming the New Year in silence. Nineteen-forty had begun.
CHAPTER 11
For almost an entire week, chaos reigned in the Bohdanovich household. It began when Efrosinia snatched the money given by Kulik and Sergei from her husband’s pocket and placed it under lock and key in the pantry. She had already decided what she was going to do with it: she was not only going to purchase the train ticket for him, but she was even going to take him to the station and place him in his seat.
All the while Valentyn was at a complete loss. He loved his son dearly and wanted to see him come home as much as his wife did, but he felt the demands being made upon him were far too great. True, initially he had agreed to go to Lvov, but was it really such a good idea? After all, he was old, nearing seventy, and he had no business traveling on trains, especially in these troubled times. He could have a heart attack or get mugged or something worse. And what about his arthritis? He racked his brain to try and find a way out, but there didn’t appear to be one. And if he were to simply refuse to go, Efrosinia would go after him with her wooden spoon, something she did all too often. As much as he hated to admit it, everything was working against him.
In the midst of all this confusion, Marusia fell ill. When she returned from the New Year’s Eve dance slightly after midnight, she collapsed on her bed with a throbbing headache. At dawn she woke with a temperature and by mid-afternoon it was higher. Efrosinia and Valentyn dropped all preparations for the trip to Lvov and turned their attention to their daughter. Although Valentyn was deeply worried about her, he was privately relieved that he could postpone his trip to Lvov, at least until she recovered.
Early one evening Efrosinia appeared at her daughter’s bedside with a towel draped over her arm, holding a basin filled with cold water. The room was quiet; strips of light seeping in through the slats in the closed shutters cast faint shadows on the wall. A cold draft from beneath the floorboards chilled the air. With her eyes half open, her hair strewn over her pillow, Marusia lay buried under her eiderdown, unaware of her mother’s presence. Stretching
her arms languidly over her head, she took a deep breath, sighed, and rolled over onto her side.
Efrosinia laid a compress on her daughter’s forehead and looked reprovingly at her. “Well, Marusia, you went to the dance and now look what’s happened to you. You’re white as a ghost.” Then, angrily, “They took you there but they couldn’t bother to bring you back. Moujiks! Just let them try and set foot in my house again!”
“Mother, keep your voice down, please.” The girl massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers to alleviate the pain in her head.
“Don’t you ‘mother’ me. Of course I’m your mother, I’m not your stepmother. If those two come anywhere near this house again, I’ll chase them off like a pair of dogs. And that one, what’s his name, Kulik? To think he even managed to win the old man over!”
At that moment Valentyn came into the room. Stroking his beard, he whispered in his wife’s ear, “Let her rest. How do you expect her to recover if you never leave her alone?” He took the towel and basin from her hands, and setting them on the night table, pulled her out of the room.
Downstairs, in the hallway, he fidgeted, feeling compelled to approach her about something. Efrosinia watched him intently, guessing his intention. And just as she had expected, at last he came out with it.
“Efrosinia, let’s be sensible about all this. Somehow it just doesn’t seem right. It’s about my trip to Lvov. How am I supposed to travel back home with Lonia on a crowded train? He might need medical attention. He’ll be extremely uncomfortable and his condition might even get worse. And what if there are no seats available? Furthermore, the doctors might even refuse to discharge him from the hospital.”
Folding her arms over her chest, Efrosinia narrowed her eyes and tapped her foot. She allowed him to go on.
“Uh, as I was saying, what I’m suggesting is that Lonia get better first, and then let him come home when he’s fit to travel. Yes, that would make the most sense. I can certainly go tomorrow, but that might not be the best idea, uh, for Lonia, that is. And besides, Lonia is almost an engineer, it’s just a matter of months before he gets his diploma …”
At that point, Efrosinia lost her patience and flew at him. “I see where you’re going with this, old man. Talking in circles, as always. You have the money to buy your ticket and still you drag your feet! Marusia develops a slight fever and out of nowhere you feel obligated to nurse her back to health.” Clutching his arm, she became more exasperated. “I’m going to get you on that train if it’s the last thing I do. And shave off that ridiculous beard of yours and make yourself presentable! You can’t be looking like that in Lvov!”
It was not long before a full-blown fight erupted. The shouting and screaming became so heated that the house seemed to shake. Marusia, unable to endure it any longer, got out of bed, stumbled to the top of the staircase and shouted for her mother. Efrosinia hurried out of the room to tend to her daughter.
Left alone, Valentyn went into the kitchen. He was more than grateful for this moment of respite. Spreading himself out on the divan, he put his feet up and fell into a doze. Barely ten minutes had passed when he was awakened by a strange grumbling noise. It was rather loud and raspy and was coming from somewhere in his body, beneath his chest. Before long he realized it was his stomach. It occurred to him that he had not eaten anything all day. Efrosinia had not only not prepared lunch for him but she hadn’t made supper either, and now it appeared he was expected to go to bed without any food. Efrosinia had even neglected to light the stove, something she did dutifully every evening.
Valentyn grew more and more gloomy. The New Year, without question, was getting off to a bad start. He realized things were going badly for him. Perhaps he should give in to her demands, just get on that train and go to Lvov—at least then he would be left in peace. He pondered a moment. No, her expectations were unreasonable; she was simply unable to grasp the complexity of the situation. The more he thought about it, the more he felt a wrong was being done him. And he knew at that moment that he had to build himself up and stand up to her. But she wouldn’t put up with it and in the end he would lose. No matter how he looked at it there was only one road for him to take, and that was the road to Lvov. Getting up, limping out into the hallway, he resolved to get it over with, to finally give in to her. He called out hoarsely, “Have it your way, old woman. Give me the money and first thing tomorrow I’ll go to the station and buy myself a ticket.”
At the sound of these words, Efrosinia flew down the stairs. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you want the money?”
“How else do you expect me to buy the ticket?”
Efrosinia shook her head. “No, no, no. I won’t give you the money, not in a million years. Do you think for one minute I trust you? No! I’ll go with you tomorrow and I’ll buy the ticket for you. The train leaves at eleven in the morning. I’ve already made up three parcels for you to take with you. Now go get some sleep. You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”
Valentyn’s stomach growled and he felt weak in the knees and exhausted. “You expect me to go to bed on an empty stomach? Oh, Efrosinia, your heart is made of stone. When I’m dead and buried, think of how you treated me.”
“When you’re dead and buried what difference will it make to you?”
It was not long before they started up again. Insults flew back and forth, doors banged, there were threats and shouts.
Marusia listened anxiously to her parents. But this time she was not so much disturbed by their arguing as she was by the manner in which they chose to do it. She couldn’t help but hear what was being said, and she cringed at every word. It was the worst possible scene she could have imagined: they were going at each other in Ukrainian! Why couldn’t they do it in Russian? And why did they have to use such dreadful Ukrainian phrases as “May you get cholera and die!” or “You old scarecrow in a pea field!” Pulling the covers over her head, she felt overwhelmingly distressed and embarrassed. She envied her friends whose parents were able to maintain well-balanced arguments in Russian without using even the slightest Ukrainian word. Why couldn’t her parents do the same? She vowed to herself that when she married, all her arguments with her husband would be in Russian and Russian only.
From downstairs there came more expletives, more wailing, knocking, then a heavy thud, as if something went smashing against the wall. When at last the front door slammed, Marusia knew it was her father storming out of the house.
Silence reigned. She closed her eyes, and tried to nod off. Bits and pieces of thoughts floated across her mind; she began to reflect on the New Year’s Eve dance. Why had she run off so suddenly? And who was that tall dark-haired girl dancing with Kulik? Where did she come from? Could she, Marusia, possibly be jealous of her? No! No! Marusia shuddered. “He’s just a moujik. How could I have feelings for a moujik? True, he’s managed to obtain an education and manners of sorts, but that language of his. Good Lord!”
Trying to redirect her thoughts, taking a sip of water from a glass her mother had put on her night table, she heard a vigorous knock on her door. To her surprise Kulik appeared on the threshold.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
“Good evening, Marusia. I’ve only come for a minute. You’re quite pale, if I may say so.”
“I’m sick, can’t you see?” She could not help coughing. She seemed annoyed that he was there. “Why else would I be lying here? Count yourself lucky Mother’s asleep. What do you want?”
“Sergei told me you weren’t well and I thought I would visit you. I hope you’re feeling better.” He handed her a small box of chocolates.
She flushed and drew several long, deep breaths. Then she became even more insulting. “I don’t need any consolations from you. And talk to me properly, not like a moujik. I can’t bear to listen to you.”
Kulik. pretended not to notice. He continued amiably, “What happened to you? Did you catch cold? The weather—”
She cut him off. “Did you come h
ere to make idle chit-chat? Aren’t you supposed to be attending some silly teachers’ conference somewhere?”
Kulik stepped back, deeply affronted. He hadn’t expected this. Forcing a smile, he resolved to leave before he lashed back at her, saying something he might regret. After he bade a quick farewell and turned toward the door, he was startled to find Efrosinia blocking his way. How did the old woman manage to creep in so quietly, like a cat? And how long had she been standing there listening?
“So, it’s you!” She came at him almost instantly, her eyes fixed on him. “I see you chose to pay us another visit. Do you see what that dance of yours did to my daughter! She’s been fighting a fever all week. As if I didn’t have enough problems already.”
“Mother,” the girl groaned, “please, I have a headache.”
Glancing briefly at her daughter, turning back to Kulik, Efrosinia’s face worked with anger. “Why did you come back to this house? Do you have some kind of designs on my daughter? Some suitor you’d make! Hah! Letting a girl go home alone in the dead of night! That’s a moujik for you!” Then a warning. “If I were you I’d leave while I still had the chance.”
“Mother!” Marusia repeated, sitting up. “Please, just this once.” Patting the side of her bed, she said, “Mother, come and sit down here beside me. Let’s talk about Lonia instead.”
“Lonia? What about Lonia?”
“Let’s think about this rationally. It’s about Father. He’s not going to go to Lvov, and you know it. I’ve been thinking it over and maybe it’s not such a good idea after all. It’s such a long trip, and at his age. The train ride alone is bad enough, not to mention all the riffraff on board, especially these days.”
Efrosinia listened with strained attention. She was finding herself inclined to agree, at least to a certain extent. Maybe it was too much to expect of him. The train ride was rather long and the cars, it’s true, were now almost always filled with all sorts of bandits and thieves. Maybe it was best for him to just stay home. But these thoughts lasted only a moment. Stamping her foot, she exclaimed adamantly, “No! The old man is going! True, it may be a rough road, but in the end I don’t think it will do him any serious damage. He’s set to go tomorrow morning and that’s that!”
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