Marusia was filled with dread. “What do you mean by him?”
“Why, your lover, of course. Sobakin. You’re my last resort. Please, Marusia, please help me.”
Marusia drew away from her. “My lover? He’s not my lover. We went out only once, but now it’s over. I was wrong about him, I made the biggest mistake of my life. Can’t you understand that? Why can’t anybody understand that? I despise him! He’s nothing to me! Nothing!”
Olga Nikolayevna replied with cold triumphant hatred, “My, my, what a fancy lady you are now, why, one could easily mistake you for a Muscovite. And what have you really become? An NKVD man’s whore.” The woman wanted to say more, but for some reason held her tongue, turned and walked away, all the while muttering venomously under her breath.
Marusia shook; she was helpless against a flood of tears. Completely losing her head, she began to run away from the square. But she could not get away from the emptiness surrounding her. She had made one bad mistake, which she regretted with all her heart, and now because of this, her entire existence was dissolving before her eyes, and she wondered in agony what was to become of her. The simple-hearted geniality of the townspeople was gone for good, and their once forgiving and gentle eyes now crushed her with loathing and contempt. Marusia wanted to bury herself in some deep, dark hole and forget about everything.
CHAPTER 25
A heavy black cloud had fallen over Marusia’s house; she and her parents lived in gloomy solitude. No friends came to visit, neighbors no longer stopped to chat, and passersby pointed their fingers and whispered, “The girl who’s taken up with Sobakin, the crudest and most brutal NKVD man in all of Pinsk, lives in that house. May she rot in Hell!”
Everyone avoided the Bohdanovich house like the plague.
Marusia no longer ventured into the city center or even took walks in her own neighborhood. She stayed in her own back yard, where for hours at a time she sat on a bench under an apple tree, reading or writing in her journal. At least there she found a haven.
One evening when the sun was setting, she decided to go out into the garden and catch a breath of air. She sat on a bench and noticed that along the low fence, there was a bed of geraniums that seemed to be drooping and pale. As she looked at them, wondering if she should fetch them some water, suddenly there came a loud, harsh voice from over the fence. It was Sobakin.
“Good evening,” he called out, a strange and contorted smile upon his face. “What a wonderful night. Perfect to just sit and dream.”
Revulsion and contempt surged through her. But for some reason she did not feel afraid. She continued to sit there, unmoving.
“What’s wrong with you today, Marusia? Aren’t you going to chase me off the way you always do?”
Before she could do or say anything, Sobakin stepped over the fence, and sat down beside her. He lit up a makhorka cigarette.
Marusia felt a spasm in her chest. There was only one thing on her mind and she could not contain herself. Even her parents had heard that people had seen Sergei dragging himself out of the prison. “What did you do to my cousin? Why did you beat him?”
Sobakin shrugged. “Cousin? What cousin?”
“Sergei Stepanovich Viter, the schoolteacher from Hlaby.”
“Sergei Stepanovich? Oh, yes, yes, Sergei. I remember him now. Apparently he was called into the Zovty Prison and interrogated without my knowledge. Yes, that’s how it happened. I must apologize on behalf of my creatures. They’re probably the ones responsible. I had no idea.”
“Creatures?” The girl raised her brows. “What creatures are you talking about?”
“Why, the riffraff of the secret police. They’re all just a bunch of hooligans, low-lifes, if you know what I mean. They give the NKVD a bad name. Unfortunately, I can’t control everything and be everywhere at once. Let me assure you it won’t happen again. Soviet law prohibits beatings of any kind, especially by the police. What happened to your cousin had to be an isolated incident. In any case, I’ll look into it.” Then narrowing his eyes, “Did Sergei complain to you?”
The girl turned pale and bit her lip. “No, he didn’t say a word. I happened … um — to hear from someone who saw him coming out of the prison.”
There was a constrained silence. Finally Sobakin started up again. “As I was saying, Marusia, this is a terrible misfortune and it will not happen again. I give you my word of honor.”
“Your word of honor?” shouted the girl. “And what do you do in the Zovty Prison, Lieutenant? Let me tell you what you do. You arrest innocent people, you throw them into the dungeon, you beat them and torture them, you even kill them!”
“Marusia, Marusia.” Sobakin laughed a little. “You’re working yourself up into a fit. In fact, you’re becoming hysterical. Calm down. I assure you, the Soviet government is doing all it can to establish peace and stability. Naturally, a few people get arrested now and then, but this is completely normal. Our government is merely looking out for the best interests of its citizens. I’m sure you’ll agree, there isn’t a nation on earth that doesn’t take measures to deal with its criminals.”
“Criminals!” Marusia shouted at him. She felt she might kill him. “What crimes did my cousin Sergei ever commit? Is the daughter of Radion Smushka a criminal? And what about her husband? Where are they now? What’s become of them? And what about my godmother’s family — are they criminals too? Even their six-year-old daughter? What are the charges against them? Tell me! Tell me!”
Sobakin began to show signs of annoyance. He said through clenched teeth, “The innocent we set free.”
But Marusia would not stop. “Why don’t you just tell me the truth? You’re a liar! A murderer and a liar!”
Sobakin looked at her coldly. “You’re a very stupid girl, Marusia Valentynovna. If you keep on like this, you’ll find yourself in a pot of boiling water. You don’t understand the first thing about Communism. Allow me to explain it. Actually, it’s very simple: if a farmer wants a good crop, he has to sow only the best seed, but first he must separate it from the chaff. Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin, the greatest architect of socialism, is this country’s ‘farmer’, so to speak — like the farmer, he wants to produce only the best. It’s with his help and only with his help that we’ll build the perfect society. Generations to come will thank us for our work …”
“You freed us from Polish oppression, that’s true. But now the shops have disappeared and the markets are empty… Why is that? What are you doing?”
Sobakin said sharply, “Marusia, you’re young and naïve and you’re walking a very fine line. I suggest you acquaint yourself with the proletariat movement, so you can understand how it works.” He took a long, deep drag on his makhorka. “In the meantime I would watch my tongue if I were you. A word of advice: before you start criticizing something, you should really have a better understanding of what it is you’re criticizing. Believe me, in time when the people get accustomed to the new order, they’ll learn to appreciate everything that’s being done.”
“And what about my brother? You promised to bring my brother from Lvov. Where is he?”