“Marusia,” he breathed and grunted savagely, “you drive me out of my mind.”
The girl sat stiff and motionless, made sick by the stale smell of his body. She shuddered as she felt his big hands crawl up her back, around her shoulders, onto her breasts. He pulled her to him and held her in a crushing embrace. As he forced her down on her back and climbed on top of her, she felt that her entire body was about to be destroyed. Gasping and writhing, trying to get away, she twisted herself forward, and bending her left arm, with all her strength somehow managed to jab her elbow into his jaw. Sobakin stifled a cry. Blood gushed from his mouth, and moaning, he loosened his grip and took a handkerchief out of his pocket to tend to his wound. Marusia broke free to make a run for the pathway, but he reached out and grabbed her by the neck.
“I’m going to finish you off right now,” he yelled, and dragged her toward a clump of bushes.
Marusia kicked and screamed; her face was on fire. She shouted, “Rape me! Kill me! You disgust me. You have black circles under your eyes because you don’t sleep at night. Murderer! Monster!” Growing more and more enflamed, gasping for breath, she lifted her leg and swung her knee as hard as she could into his groin. He howled from pain. She took to her heels and ran as fast as she could out of the park gates. She raced down the darkened streets for ten or fifteen minutes, to her house, where she burst in and went directly to her room.
This violent episode played on Marusia’s mind over and over and at night she struggled with nightmares. She did not mention it to her parents, who noticed a change in her, but asked no questions. Her mother was distressed to see her daughter so miserable and watched her closely, suspecting the worst. Marusia became a virtual recluse. For the longest time she stayed in the house and didn’t venture even into the garden. She busied herself sweeping, dusting, washing. But Sobakin’s face was always there. The appalling scenes were re-enacted in her mind again and again, and chills rushed up her spine at the thought of his cold fingers upon her flesh. She had no appetite. There was nowhere for her to turn for help, not to her family, not to her friends, and not to the authorities. The thought of Sobakin coming to track her down paralyzed her with fear; she was convinced that in the end he would get her, one way or the other.
It was some time before she dared even to open her bedroom window to let in the cool night air. After almost four weeks she felt her body slowly reviving. Her panic attacks, which had recurred daily, were fading away. She began to enjoy spending her evenings with her parents in the living room, chatting and listening to the radio. With each passing day she grew stronger. She made up her mind not to be beaten by Sobakin.
One evening she had become so thoroughly weary of being a prisoner in her own home that she resolved to go out. Although she had built up considerable confidence, she dared not make a move until she was absolutely certain Sobakin had left for the night. Standing behind the curtains of her living room window, she watched for him to come out of his house. And sure enough around seven in the evening, he hastened down the walkway, undoubtedly on his way to the Zovty Prison. He was wearing his usual loose-fitting white shirt belted at the waist and trousers tucked into high black leather boots. A Nagant pistol protruded from his holster and in his left hand he carried an overstuffed attaché case. The girl watched him stop suddenly, look around, then set his eyes on her house. She jumped back and froze. Sobakin stood there staring at the living room window for a moment or two, then hurried through the gateway and into the street.
Marusia felt intensely relieved as she saw him disappear into the distance. He was gone and would not return until morning. At least for tonight she was free to enjoy and explore the city streets again. Throwing a light shawl over her shoulders, she told her mother and father she was going for a walk, and started for the city center. In her flower-printed cotton dress and low-heeled pumps, her shoulder-length hair blown by the wind, Marusia attracted the notice of passersby. Her brilliant smile lit up her face. Men could not take their eyes off her — she was so shapely, so pretty, so young.
As a pale moon showed itself on the western horizon, Marusia reached the crossroads. Suddenly a stout and buxom woman in her mid-fifties appeared from a row of small run-down cottages. She was poorly dressed with a tattered scarf over her head and bast sandals on her feet. It was Lukeria Philipovna, Sobakin’s landlady. Her husband was the former postmaster. She looked Marusia over, and said contemptuously, “I watched you come out of your house. Are you out searching for Lieutenant Sobakin? You can’t get enough of him, is that it? Before the affair goes any further, maybe you should consider writing his wife in Moscow. You shameless whore!”
Marusia was bewildered and upset. Her neighbor had never acted like this toward her before. Lukeria went on, working herself up, her face red. “And what do you think he does into the late hours of the night in the Zovty Prison? Take a walk over there right now and listen to the screams coming from the basement. And you don’t even care about what they did to your own cousin. Your cousin Sergei—”
Marusia fled, trembling, her pulse beating wildly. She wanted to get as far away from Lukeria Philipovna as she possibly could. As she paused by a lamp post to catch her breath, she was relieved to see her good friend Nadia walking out of a nearby lane. The two girls had graduated together from the gymnasium and had talked about moving to Minsk and studying at the university there. Marusia greeted her friend happily and went to kiss her on both cheeks as was the custom, but Nadia drew back, murmuring nervously and hurriedly, “Uh, I’m in a great rush today, Maria Valentynovna. I can’t talk. Good-bye!” She made off quickly without looking back.
Marusia was so shaken she was scarcely able to move. Her best friend had just shunned her; everything in her life had come crashing down. She was overcome with a bitter loneliness such as she had never felt before. Her head bent, she drifted slowly along the sidewalk until she came to a row of small shops. She stopped before Radion Smushka’s grocery store and peered through the window. Smushka had always had the best selection of rolls and breads and the tempting smell of pickles and smoked sausages always wafted from his doors. But now the shop, like all the others along this stretch, was dark and empty. Smushka had only one daughter, who, Marusia remembered, had been married off during the winter to some minor government official. Shortly after their wedding, the two were arrested one night by the secret police. No one knew whether they were alive or dead. As Marusia stood before the window, she was startled to see a man come out of the shop door. It was Radion Smushka. Looking at her with deep hatred, he spat between his feet, and disappeared into his shop, slamming the door behind him.
Marusia burst into tears. She felt shattered and powerless and in her heart there was indescribable pain. It seemed to her that she was being punished and that this punishment was pressing down upon her and suffocating her. And about Sergei?
Drawing a deep breath, Marusia walked on. The air was warm, but she felt strangely cold and could not get the damp smell of the closed shops out of her nostrils. Before she knew it she came to Market Square, which was filled with people under a sea of red flags. As she edged past a group of Komsomol members shouting to each other in Russian, suddenly a familiar figure emerged from the crowd and started toward her. It was her godmother, Olga Nikolayevna. The girl hadn’t seen her for quite some time and she was delighted to encounter a smiling face.
“Ach, Marusia.” The godmother gave the girl a hearty embrace. “Let me have a good look at you. I can’t believe it, is it really you? How grown up you are! How beautiful! I’m so terribly glad to see you.” She squeezed the girl’s arm painfully hard, her eyes welling with tears. “Marusia, you’ve got to help me, I beg you. My sister and her family have just been arrested. Please, Marusia, you’ve got to do something, I know you have influence. Maybe if you gave him a good word, if you know who I mean, he’d listen to you. Please, Marusia, talk to him. I beg you, for the sake of the children.”