As the cart rolled and bumped along, Chikaniuk remarked, “The rye over by Krive Selo has been completely drowned out by rain this year.” He pointed toward a cluster of modest wooden houses with tin roofs, surrounded by towering willows. “Well-to-do farmers live in Krive Selo. Why, one could call them more landowners than farmers. Take Yuri Karral, for instance. He owns a fine big house, with over fifty acres of fertile fields, not to mention thick green forests and pasture lands. As you can imagine, life has been good to him. And now with all his wealth he’s more miserable than anyone. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes for all the money in the world.”
“How so?”
Chikaniuk gave him an ironic glance. “Do you think the Soviet Regime is about to come around and shake his hand and congratulate him for his accomplishments? Of course not! He’s been branded a bourgeois, a kulak. In other words, an enemy of the people. His days are numbered.”
The men fell silent. The sun had just come up over the horizon; Kulik could feel its warmth on his back. The rumbling of the cart made him drowsy and his lids grew heavy. Chikaniuk started up again at some length.
“You’re an educated man, Director, so tell me, what do you think, is there a God or isn’t there? I realize I don’t have much schooling, but I’m not stupid either. I don’t understand it. Leyzarov says that there is no God, that God is just a fabrication. But during the days of the Czar, lawyers and judges believed in God, and when a witness appeared in court, for example, he had to swear on the Bible. Things are so unclear now, I don’t know what to think. Under the Poles, we had priests and churches and we went to mass every Sunday, but now everything has been turned inside out. Does God exist or not? I think maybe Leyzarov’s right, that maybe God doesn’t exist, because if He did, He’d show His face from behind the clouds once in a while. What do you think?”
Kulik forced a smile. “So many deep thoughts for so early in the morning.” He hoped that this chatterbox would be quiet.
But Chikaniuk went on. “I have so many unanswered questions. My head is just brimming. Take life, for example. It’s so short, and I would really like to know what it’s like when we die. Do we just stop existing or are we reincarnated? And then there’s Hrisko Suchok …” His voice dropped to an uneasy whisper. “I saw Hrisko Suchok murdered. That bullet, why, it took the last breath right out of him; he let out a little yelp, spread his arms out wide, then he fell down. It was all over, just like that. One minute he was there and then he was gone.”
“I understand you saw it all happen.”
“Yes, I saw the whole thing. Hrisko was like a rabbit … the rabbit flees and the hunter … bang! and it’s over. Hrisko didn’t break any laws, he didn’t commit a crime. He got killed for nothing. And even if he did break the law, he shouldn’t have been gunned down the way he was. Every civilized system has its laws and the accused is always innocent until proven guilty. But there’s no such laws here; there’s no law, where a man gets run down like an animal.”
“I heard that the NKVD man who shot him was only trying to scare him — he aimed above his head, but it was an accident that somehow the bullet hit the back of his neck instead.”
Chikaniuk’s lips twitched. “That’s not the way it happened. And it wasn’t just any NKVD man that shot Hrisko, it was Sobakin. I saw him standing at the corner of Hrisko’s house. I saw him aim and pull the trigger. One shot was all it took. Hrisko dropped to the ground, dead. And there wasn’t any investigation, nobody questioned the witnesses afterward, there weren’t any murder charges. And Sobakin just goes on as if nothing’s happened — preaching about this happy, new life of ours under the Soviet sun.”
The more Chikaniuk talked, the more tense Kulik felt. Why was Chikaniuk saying all this; why was he being so reckless and open about everything? Kulik began to suspect that he might be an informer. But then he noticed that Chikaniuk was nervous and uncomfortable. And when he began to stammer, Kulik felt sure he was being straight with him.
“I … I … I … shouldn’t have said the things I just said, somehow they just came pouring out of my mouth. Please, Director, I beg you, don’t take my words to the authorities because if you do, I’m as good as dead.”
“To the authorities?” Kulik turned to look Chikaniuk in the eye. “Don’t worry about me. Kokoshin hasn’t approached me about becoming an informer and I hope it stays that way.”
Chikaniuk gave a sigh of relief. “That’s a good thing you’re on to Kokoshin. He listens in on people. He stands by the door of every house and pricks up his ears like a dog. He’s made Buhai into an informer and told him to spy on Kovzalo. And he’s told Kovzalo to spy on Buhai. It’s like being caught in a spider’s web. Everyone is spying on everyone else. We hear Paraska’s been told to spy on you.”
“Paraska?” Kulik’s heart thumped. “To spy on me?”
“Yes, but not to worry, so far nothing’s come of it. Paraska doesn’t have it in her, she’s too simple-hearted, if you know what I mean. ‘To keep an eye on the director?’ she would say. ‘ Tell me what it is exactly I have to look for.’ I heard Kokoshin wanted to recruit me too, but it hasn’t happened yet.”
As the cart rumbled forward, they came to the small village of Plishny, and onto a narrow dirt road that led to a bridge over the Strumien River.
“They’re preparing the kolkhoz.” Chikaniuk pointed to the left. “Just yesterday Leyzarov inspected all the buildings on the old Olivinski estate. He said the land was so big it could easily take care of a hundred heads of cattle, and he said there’s also more than enough room for horses, geese and pigs. It seems that now everything is for the kolkhoz. There’s already a waiting list to get in: Buhai, Kovzalo and a couple of fellows from other villages have signed up. It’s just a matter of time before it swings into full gear. I hear the garden there is enormous and the orchard is filled with fruit trees. Leyzarov says there’s more than enough of everything for everyone; we’re going to build a paradise.”
Chikaniuk said that recently, while Leyzarov was giving a speech to some peasants, out of nowhere a raven swooped down from the sky toward Leyzarov and almost struck him in the head. The bird circled the crowd several times, cawing, and finally perched on a tree branch. “Some say that the raven is bad luck, that it means war.”
Kulik looked at Chikaniuk and said quietly, “I don’t think it’s come that far just yet.”
“You don’t think there will be war? Then why are the Bolsheviks preparing dugouts by the Bug River? Why are trucks traveling there nonstop full of lumber? And why did they widen and deepen the Bugsy-Dnieprovsky canal? The answer is simple: to transport ammunition to the Front. I know this for a fact. I served in the army myself and I know what things are for. If the Russians are making dugouts, it means the Germans are getting ready to advance, and if the Germans advance there will be war. I tell you, war is in the air.”