Wave of Terror (31 page)

“Oh, what a wonder you are.” Dounia lavished a seductive smile on him, “Are you trying to get rid of me already? Why, I just got here.” She winked at him. “Does it make you nervous being alone with a woman in the middle of the night? I won’t attack you, I promise.” She took off her cloak, plopped herself into an armchair and threw back her arms. Kulik waited for what would come next. At last she confessed, “The truth is I’m so miserable. I just had to get away from those two bulls back at my place. I’ve grown so tired of them. They don’t excite me any more.” Then, flushing, “I need someone who will bring a new kind of sensation into my life, a new kind of passion, if you know what I mean.”

Kulik saw her point at once; he knew where she wanted to take him. But he said, “You mustn’t talk of Comrades Leyzarov and Kokoshin like that. They’re upstanding members of our national Party. You could find yourself …”

Dounia looked Kulik over, and burst into a fit of laughter. “I must say you’re a strange one. You’re what, twenty-five, thirty? Here you are, a grown man, talking to a hot-blooded woman with desire on her breath and what do you do? You behave like a babe in arms with the taste of your mother’s milk still on your tongue.” Then sardonically, “Tell me, Ivan, how do you manage to stay so chaste, so virtuous?”

Kulik was now terribly exasperated. Dounia’s penetrating scent was permeating everything in the room. He had never found any woman so repulsive. “Wasn’t it mathematics you came here for?”

“Oh, Vanyoushka, Vanyoushka.” Her voice dipped up and down. “You’re a greenhorn, such a greenhorn.” Becoming more and more animated, laughing, slowly she spread out her big, fat thighs. She went on with alarming familiarity, “That’s what I find so intriguing about you. I’m here to make you an offer, a rather delicious one, I might add, one that you won’t be able to refuse.”

Kulik was at the door, fumbling for the knob. He could feel the cool wafts of air seeping through the cracks. Dounia had got out of the chair and was coming at him now with her arms wide open. He said loudly, “Dounia, this is not a good idea. I’m the school headmaster and I have responsibilities. If the villagers caught wind of any kind of indiscretion on my part I’d be ruined. No, no, you must leave immediately.”

Dounia withdrew several paces. Rejection did not sit well with her; she took great offense at what he had just said. She was determined to get back at him. With her hands on her hips she said maliciously, “Oh, I see how it goes. You’re saving yourself for that green-eyed girl, Marusia. Poor Vanya. Poor, stupid, little Vanya. You pine after her night and day, you put her up on a pedestal, and while you do all this what does she go and do? She goes out till all hours of the night with Sobakin. Where to? To smoke-filled taverns and dingy hotel rooms. Yes, your pretty little princess has fallen from grace. Her parents dreamed of a big church wedding, flowers, bridesmaids, guests from the entire region, but as it turns out your little innocent prefers the taste of vodka. It’s no secret Sobakin’s got lucky with her. Now you know—she’s just as bad as the rest of us.”

Dounia fell silent a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was completely changed. “Ivan, what I am about to say to you is for your own good. Don’t trust women, especially pretty ones like Marusia. They’ll always prove unfaithful. Just throw an expensive coat over their shoulders or place jewels on their fingers and within minutes they’ll turn into whores.”

Kulik was stunned. “Marusia … you say … with Sobakin … ?” She was such a strong and independent girl with pride, dignity and character, not to mention intelligence. She would never allow herself to be victimized like that. Kulik refused to believe it. It had to be a vicious lie. Dounia was a disgusting conniver who enjoyed upsetting people. He wanted to grab her by her stringy hair and hurl her out the door, and was moving toward her when to his great horror, he read it all in her face: her small squinting eyes, the faint wrinkles on her forehead, her twisted, mocking grin,
everything about her demonstrated a kind of smugness. It was possible that this detestable and repulsive woman before him was telling the truth. He felt a horrible chill.

Throwing herself back down in the armchair, flinging one leg over the other, Dounia straightened her skirt and smoothed her hair. She said with sparkling eyes, “Oh, Ivan, how nice and cozy it is in here. I could use a drink about now. I’m terribly thirsty. How about it? We could drink to our new-found friendship. Well, what are you waiting for?” Then reprovingly, “And don’t look so glum. That green-eyed hussy isn’t worth your time. You’ll be over her before you know it. Besides, she’s not the only girl around. If you haven’t noticed, I’m ready to throw myself at you.”

Dounia’s fat, flabby body, her plump arms, her vast chest repelled him beyond measure. He had to find a way to get rid of her. He considered just telling her to get out, but in the end he did not dare. Then to his own surprise a plan came to him, a plan that was brilliant and fool-proof.

“You say you want a drink?” he asked. “Then a drink it is.”

Grabbing his coat and hat he hurried out the door. “I don’t have drink in my quarters but I know where to get some. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”

“Now you’re talking!” Dounia called after him. “And remember, I like it hard and strong. Make sure it’s at least eighty proof!” Then beaming, very pleased, “I see you know how to entertain a woman after all!”

As the clock on Kulik’s desk ticked away, barely twenty minutes had gone by when he reappeared in the doorway; not with a bottle in his hand, but with Kokoshin at his side.

“Oh, my little dumpling,” Kokoshin rushed at her with open arms. “So this is where you’ve been hiding. Leyzarov and I were wondering what had become of you. Comrade Kulik said you came here with questions about arithmetic, but I know you better than that. You came here looking for a change, for something a little younger perhaps? But as you can see, tonight is not the night. Come back home with me. There’s plenty to drink there.”

When Dounia and Kokoshin finally left, Kulik slammed the door shut and shot the bolt. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself over and over again to make sure that in future all doors were locked the minute school was dismissed. A reenactment of tonight’s events was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

L
uck, it seemed, was on Dounia Avdeevna’s side. It all started with the regional pre-election campaign. Leyzarov and Kokoshin, thinking about Dounia’s late-night rendezvous with the headmaster of School Number Seven, began to fear that she was about to drop them for him. Clearly she already had designs on him, and so whimsical and unpredictable were her mood swings of late, it might be just a matter of time before she would be gone from their lives forever. They couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, she was all that mattered to them: Dounia knew what love should be, and they needed to possess her and to be possessed by her exclusively.

Putting their heads together, they came up with a solution: they would nominate her for candidate for Deputy of the Village Soviet of B.S.S.R. and would make her the only candidate, ensuring her victory in the spring. They were confident that such a demanding and prominent position would leave her little time for anything else, especially for involvement with the handsome young headmaster.

Of course Dounia was thrilled by this nomination, and as the two men had hoped, she could think of nothing else. The prospect of representing the masses of her region enthralled her, and consumed her day and night. Feeling a great sense of pride and honor, she began to devote all her energy to preparing herself for this very important post. News of her nomination spread quickly, and before long everyone came to understand that Dounia Avdeevna was going to be their next Deputy. Not only was she
the
prime
candidate, she was the
only
candidate. Every day, standing on wooden crates in the village square, she gave impassioned speeches, and in the evening she walked from house to house, knocking on doors, swearing allegiance to the most wonderful party on Earth, the Communist Party.

The pre-election campaign went into full swing, and at the end of March, a general meeting was called, which all inhabitants of the region were asked to attend. Young and old alike flocked to Hlaby and crowded the small Clubhouse, eager to witness the unfolding of the democratic process. Villagers had been informed that they, the people, formed the foundation of the greatest working-class revolution in history, and as a result, were now eligible voters, and come spring, would be electing a Deputy of the Village Soviet of B.S.S.R. Gone was the authoritarian Polish government where discrimination reigned; the wealthy Polish landowners had been obliterated by great Mother Russia and the land given back to the people, and these very same people, the proletariat, now had a voice in government. Today they were being called upon to hear the nominee for Deputy of the Village Soviet, and hearing her would enable them to cast their ballots competently and decisively.

Up front, on an elevated platform behind a long rectangular table, sat the two Party representatives, Kokoshin and Leyzarov. They were dressed appropriately in drab high-collared army jackets and trousers tucked into black leather boots, but their faces were puffy and they appeared rather unsteady. Their breath smelled of drink.

Leyzarov was the first to speak. “Comrades, let the meeting begin! It’s wonderful to see such a fine turnout today. You have come from far and wide, from Lopatinsia, Morozovich, Kriveselo, and Hlaby. Today is the day for the pre-election when all of you, the peasants, the backbone of our great nation, will meet the candidate to best represent you in the Village Soviet of B.S.S.R. This is a wonderful time in Soviet history. The former bourgeois Polish occupiers and landowners elected to parliament their own people, while you were only spat upon. No vote by the working masses was allowed. Now, comrades, you have a voice—a voice that will ring not only
throughout the nation but throughout the world. In the spring there will be elections, and whomever you choose to vote for, will, as representative of your region, take up the honorable position of Deputy of the Village Soviet of B.S.S.R. Today we have one outstanding candidate with us, one who is most deserving and, of course, a natural choice. Her name is Dounia Avdeevna Zemlankova.”

Looking at Dounia, throwing her a warm and affectionate smile, Leyzarov’s blood tingled and he felt a rush of emotion throughout his body. When his eyes locked with hers he saw her mouth quiver and her chest heave. This intimate exchange lasted only a second before Leyzarov once again officiously addressed the crowd.

“In a few minutes I will introduce Dounia Avdeevna to you, but first, you the people, must, in accordance with our democratic process, vote in a presidium. For those of you not familiar with the term, a presidium is a standing committee in the Communist organization that serves as the organ of a larger body. As you can see, behind me are four empty chairs, chairs that must be filled with the most upright citizens, ones who will best represent you today.”

Leyzarov had barely finished when a voice erupted from a front-row seat. It belonged to Cornelius, the Village Chairman. He leapt to his feet, his beady black eyes flashing. “The voice of the common man is finally being heard. I take this opportunity to vote our wonderful new candidate for Deputy of the Village Soviet onto the presidium: Dounia Avdeevna Zemlankova!”

At the sound of her name, Kokoshin rushed in, clapping, much pleased, “Excellent choice! Excellent!” He patted Cornelius on the back. “I commend you for your fine decision, Comrade, you couldn’t have selected anyone more deserving.”

Cornelius smiled sheepishly. He had not only made a favorable impression on both Leyzarov and Kokoshin, but had steered the pre-election meeting in the right direction. He felt quite proud of himself. He resolved to say more, but just as he was about to open his mouth, Kokoshin zoomed in from behind and shoved him back in his seat.

The crowd watched closely.

In the meantime, Dounia had found her way onto the platform and taken one of the center seats. Today was a great day for her. Glancing at her two lovers, she couldn’t have been happier or more contented. She was exceedingly grateful for what they had done for her and vowed that, once elected, she would be the best deputy possible. Tears welled in her eyes and her cheeks flushed a deep red. The two men were enthralled by the success of their plan. The crowd appeared to accept Dounia as their future Deputy and even seemed delighted to have her on the presidium. Yes, the meeting had got off to a good start indeed, and there seemed to be no reason why it shouldn’t continue in much the same way. The men were confident that the remaining seats for the presidium would be filled with equally deserving citizens.

Leyzarov addressed the crowd. “Citizens, I want to congratulate you all, the meeting is moving along splendidly. It is now time to fill the remaining seats of the presidium, the most prestigious seats in the house. And I want you the people to decide who will—”

He was interrupted by laughter and jeers from the back of the hall. Then a lone voice called out: “Marko Tovkach! I vote for Marko Tovkach to sit on the presidium!”

Applause erupted, followed by more laughter. Before long a large, burly man with crooked legs and a scraggly beard, clutching a black skullcap, was pushed onto the platform. He stood gaping at the throng, scratching his head.

Leyzarov watched in horror as Tovkach took a seat on Dounia’s right. “This must be some joke,” he thought, trying to contain himself.

Tovkach was a notorious drunkard. Just the other day at dusk he had been found lying on the edge of Pashensky’s field with an empty vodka bottle. Lucky for him he didn’t freeze to death. And now this bleary-eyed lush was not only on the presidium but seated next to the future Deputy of the Village Soviet. This was an absolute outrage! Leyzarov was speechless.

In that instant someone else shouted, “My vote goes to Marsessa Kunsia!”

The crowd roared even more loudly. Leyzarov was totally beside himself. He turned to Kokoshin for help. The meeting, which had started out in such an organized and civilized manner, was being transformed into a sideshow. Leyzarov looked closely at the faces before him, suspecting sabotage. Rage boiled inside him; his face felt hot.