As Kulik was crossing the square, a broad-shouldered peasant with a face shaped like a potato, hurried toward him, and flashed open his oversized coat to expose huge pockets sewn into the lining from scraps of fabric. Each pocket held various items: in one there were perhaps six eggs, in another a slab of salt pork, and in still another a chunk of stale black bread.
“How about some eggs today?” the man asked eagerly. “I’ll give you a good price, they’re fresh this morning.”
Kulik politely declined and continued on his way. After a while another man came up behind him, rolling a small makeshift handcart on wheels.
“Good morning to you, sir,” he called out, tipping his cap. “May I interest you in some finery today?” Turning his cart to face Kulik, he showed remnants of coarse fabric and various nondescript odds and ends, including some cheap jewelry. “Maybe you’d like to trade your watch for some fine linen?” The peddler pulled out several pieces of cloth and held them up. “A little something for the wife, perhaps?”
Kulik walked on. The morning was bright and cheerful and the air sweet with the fragrance of spring. As he was about to turn down one of the side lanes, he heard a man and a woman arguing loudly about something.
“I’ll give you five rubles,” the man shouted.
“Five rubles! Hah!” the woman shot back. “That’s not nearly enough.”
“Well, then here’s six!”
“Six? Not on your life! You can keep your six, I want ten!”
Kulik stopped. It was Valentyn, shaking his head and gesticulating at a middle-aged peasant woman.
“Ten rubles!” he yelled at her. “For what? A handful of half-rotten garlic?”
“Citizen Bohdanovich!” Kulik hastened toward the old man. “How goes it?”
Valentyn’s eyes lit up. “Ivan! Ivan Kulik! Good to see you, young man! What brings you to our fair town?” Then, frowning, “I hope you’re not looking to buy some garlic. This woman here wants ten rubles for three heads. It’s nothing short of highway robbery!” He shrugged. “As you’ve probably noticed, there’s not much to buy in the market these days. Everything is empty and locked up. Such are the times we live in now.”
Delighted to find a familiar friendly face, Kulik invited the old man to have a drink with him. He knew a tavern nearby where they could have a comfortable chat. But. when they stopped before the shabby two-story building, Kulik’s smile faded. The place was padlocked. They looked at each other gloomily. Kulik was quick to make another suggestion. “There’s a rather pleasant spot just a few minutes from here. When I came to Pinsk for the teachers’ conference, I went there several times. I could use a bite to eat. What do you say?”
They walked to the stone building with its grimy façade. Kulik glanced through the paned windows and was relieved to see that the place was filled with people. They were huddled around long wooden tables covered with white tablecloths, talking, laughing, eating and drinking. The air was thick with tobacco smoke. The atmosphere seemed different from the way it had been when Kulik had visited it several weeks earlier. When they entered, a stocky woman in a uniform with epaulettes came up and blocked their way. She wanted to know whether they had trade union passes. Kulik was astonished by the request.
“Sorry.” She shook her head. “This tavern is for trade union workers only. You’ll have to take your business elsewhere.”
They walked through dirty puddles of melted snow, past several ramshackle hotels and a string of dusky shops, all boarded up. Before long they tried another tavern, but there too they were required to show passes to prove they were workers from the railroad or shipbuilding yards.
Kulik thought, “A new hierarchy has been established, and in the world’s first classless society!”
Old Valentyn, as if picking up on Kulik’s thoughts, grumbled under his breath, “Before the war all you needed to go to a tavern was money. Why, you could practically drink together with a general!”
At last they were able to enter a small building called People’s Tavern, where they ordered a bottle of wine and some black bread and sausages. The only other patrons were several men and a woman sitting in the far corner sharing a pot of beer, talking quietly. When the food and drinks arrived, Kulik asked, “Well, my good friend, tell me, how are things with Lonia? Has he come home yet?”
“Lonia, Lonia.” Valentyn’s face clouded and he sighed deeply. “It’s a complete mystery to us. He writes often enough, but he still hasn’t found his way home. My old lady is beside herself with worry. Even I’m starting to believe there’s something wrong. And to make matters worse, Marusia insists his letters are forgeries.”
Kulik was genuinely surprised by the news. “When I got your letter with my money, I assumed everything was going well and that Lonia was finally on his way home.”
Valentyn finished his glass of wine, and quickly started on another. He became bitterly sarcastic.
“My two women have involved themselves with a knight in shining armor. And some knight in shining armor he’s turned out to be! He’s like a hawk after a hen; the hen flaps her wings and tries to get away, and the hawk swoops down and grabs her by the neck. One second and ‘snap!’ it’s all over.”
Kulik refilled the glasses. “Is it serious between Marusia and Sobakin? I understand they’re quite the pair. I thought there would be a wedding by now, that you’d have yourself a Russian son-in-law.”
“No, God forbid!” The old man’s eyes flashed. “Sobakin will never get his hands on my daughter, not if I have anything to do with it. Besides, there can never be a wedding.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“Because the son-of-a-bitch is married. He has a wife and children, two boys and a girl, in Moscow. Marusia found this out from a friend of hers.” He drained his glass. “Sobakin’s a swine. First he promised to bring Lonia home to us, but those were just empty words; he was trying to worm his way into Marusia’s heart. He gave her expensive gifts, God knows where he got them — a bottle of French perfume, a fur coat, a skirt, and then … time for Marusia to pay him back. Lucky thing she got away from him unharmed, if you know what I mean, but just by the skin of her teeth. From the very start Sobakin had something terrible in mind for her.” He shook his head. “My Marusia should have known better. How long it took her before she got wise to him, and what a price she had to pay!”
A long silence followed. Valentyn rested his elbows on the table, and stared at his drink. “We haven’t heard the last of Sobakin, not by a long shot. And on top of it, he rents rooms in the house next door to ours. Every night he returns from the Zovty Prison with blood on his hands. The tortures our people endure in there! Sobakin is the Devil personified.” Then looking at Kulik, with regret, “I told Marusia over and over, from the very start, that you would have made a better suitor. But unfortunately every time I mentioned your name, she just rolled her eyes and laughed. I don’t know what’s wrong with that girl. She never listens to a thing I say.”
Kulik winced. Trying to maintain his composure, he shrugged and said, “I’m really not interested in your daughter. She wanted a Muscovite and that’s what she got. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for her; though. Naturally, I wish her the best.”
Eventually the conversation took on a lighter tone. Kulik went on about life in the village, while Valentyn complained about his wife. After about an hour, they shook hands and parted company.
It was now almost one o’clock. Kulik had only a few hours left to settle his school matters before catching his ride back to the village. He headed for the People’s Commissariat of Education and was delighted to find Zena in Yeliseyenko’s offices. She was seated at her desk, writing something with one hand and holding buttered bread in the other.