As the young men moved toward the sofa, Efrosinia stepped in front of them. “Don’t sit there, the whole thing will go crashing if you do. The front leg is loose.” Then swinging around, she shouted through an open door and up the staircase, “Marusia! Can you come down please! We have guests! And bring some chairs with you!”
Throwing her husband a hostile glance, she grasped Kulik’s arm, and looked him in the face as if she had something she wanted to say. “Young man, you seem level-headed enough to me. May I ask you a simple question? When something, say, a door or a window gets broken, what would you do about it? Or if a chair gets damaged, or a table becomes wobbly, or if the foot of a sofa becomes loose? What would you do?”
“Well,” Kulik shrugged awkwardly and took a step back. “I suppose I would try and fix whatever needed repair.”
“Aha!” Efrosinia clapped her hands. “There you have it! Did you hear that, old man? Did you hear what he just said?” Pushing Kulik toward her husband, she breathed deeply. “What you say makes perfect sense, young man, and I agree with you totally. If something breaks, then it ought to get fixed. It’s as simple as that. If I say to the old man ‘Fix the sofa, it’s broken,’ he always says, ‘Aha, hm, well, um …’ And then he walks off into another room and shuts the door behind him. A hammer and a nail, a couple of bangs, and the problem would be solved!”
Valentyn, who usually paid little attention to his wife, suddenly pricked up his ears. “A hammer and nail? Hah! Old woman, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you think fixing a sofa is as simple as that? To do it properly takes time, you need a chisel, a drill, and some glue—and not just any ordinary glue, but good carpenter’s glue! Hammer and nail, hah!”
Efrosinia glared at him. Choice words were at the tip of her tongue and in another second, she would shower him with abuse. But by a stroke of luck, at that very moment Marusia entered the room, dragging two rather large chairs behind her. She seemed to be bored by the chore. Sergei hurried to help her. Her demeanor was cool and aloof, radiating a sort of frigid insolence. Although she greeted her cousin with real affection and even kissed him on the cheek, she seemed quite indifferent to Kulik. When she started back toward the kitchen, Sergei called out, “Marusia, don’t go! I would like to introduce you to my good friend, Ivan Kulik.”
A strained pause followed, and in an attempt to break the ice, Kulik said, “Marusia, finally I get to meet you. I’ve heard some very nice things about you.”
The girl smiled a little and blushed. “Oh, that Seryoza.” Marusia was always careful to use Sergei’s diminutive. “I don’t really deserve half the credit he gives me.”
“Well, perhaps you’re right, perhaps you don’t.” Kulik could not believe what had just come out of his mouth. Why was he being so rude and to someone he had just met? Shifting uncomfortably, for a brief moment he reproached himself for his insolence, but when he saw the haughty expression on her face, he decided to press on. “I believe the more beautiful a woman is the more dangerous she becomes.”
Marusia, though clearly annoyed at first by his words, burst suddenly into a fit of laughter, and cried, “Now I get it! Oh, now I understand you! I understand you perfectly! This is going to be great fun!”
Kulik raised his brows, puzzled. “I don’t get it. What’s so funny? Maybe you misunderstood what I said. It wasn’t meant as a joke.”
Efrosinia joined in her daughter’s laughter. She hastened to explain. “It’s not what you said, young man, that’s so funny, but how you said it. The truth of the matter is you are an aberration, a true aberration, and it’s all so unexpected. You look like a sophisticated city dweller, but when you open your mouth, you talk like a moujik. We all assumed you would go on in Russian, but what did you go and do? You spoke in Ukrainian.”
Then scrutinizing him more closely, she looked bewildered. “It’s strange, even though you speak in Ukrainian, somehow your words sound unusually smooth, they sound, rather, well, rather nice, even cultured. It’s almost as if you weren’t talking Ukrainian at all. Why, you could have almost been speaking Russian! You’re a very odd young man, and pardon my frankness, but a bit on the stubborn side.”
Kulik took a deep breath. He couldn’t hide his anger. “On the stubborn side?” he burst out. “Why? Because I speak Ukrainian and not Russian? Because I haven’t sold out to the occupiers the way you have? Is that what’s so funny?” Then, deliberately insulting her, “And you, Pani Bohdanovich, with your broken Russian, where do you come from? Moscow, perhaps?”
After he said this, he felt ashamed of himself for having lost his temper. But he did not apologize; he went on being sarcastic. “In what language do you propose I speak? German? Sehr gut, dann können wir deutsch sprechen.”
“You speak German?” Marusia’s eyes widened; she was completely taken aback. She had never before heard a moujik speak anything but Ukrainian. Now she decided this young man was worth further investigation. Who was he? And how strange that he spoke German, and so well! She tried to figure him out, but without much luck. He seemed, at least in a general way, amiable enough and well-disposed, and he wasn’t bad-looking either: she rather liked his deep-set gray eyes and his mop of thick black hair. But still there was an impudence about him that really irritated her. She sat on the edge of the sofa and looked quizzically at him.
“I know some German myself,” she said. “Why, just last year in school we studied German literature, you know, Nietzsche, Goethe, Anzangruber … It was most absorbing and stimulating. Later we studied French. Of course, Russian is absolutely the best …”
“Enough about language already!” Sergei stamped his foot. He had no intention of letting things get out of hand again. Trying to lighten the situation, he said, “About language, I’ve got the perfect solution. Why don’t we just start communicating in sign language?”
Everybody laughed, and the atmosphere became more friendly. They chatted into the late evening hours. Kulik spoke only Ukrainian, while Marusia went on in Russian, though poorly. Efrosinia spoke predominantly Russian, throwing in Ukrainian words and phrases and sometimes even Polish ones; Valentyn for the most part kept to Ukrainian, now and then using odd Russian expressions for added emphasis; Sergei too spoke only Ukrainian, and did not mix it with Russian or Polish, in both of which he was fluent.
When Efrosinia disappeared into the kitchen to put on tea and prepare a snack, Kulik turned to the girl, resolved to set her off again.
“May I call you Marika?”
“Marika?” She leaned back. The sofa let out a screech.
“Yes, Marika is a lovely name, more appealing than Marusia, wouldn’t you agree?”
Marusia stared at him. “I don’t agree with you at all,” she said. “Marika is not a nicer name than Marusia. In fact, I find it rather plain, too commonplace.” Then with her eyes narrowing, “Uh … what did you say your name was again, Ivan was it?”
“Yes, Ivan. Ivan Kulik.”
“Ivan?” The girl rolled her eyes and grimaced.
“Yes, it’s a very ordinary name, I agree, but there’s not much I can do about it.”
Marusia wanted to even the score. “Well, actually there is. Why don’t you use your Russian diminutive? Vanya. There, that sounds much better.”
Kulik gave her a harsh look. He felt like scolding her, but held himself back, and came at her from another angle. “I would say that your newly adopted language has somehow lost its power to form diminutives, Vanya included.”
As he spoke, he found it increasingly difficult to focus on what he was saying. Her mouth had an extraordinary fullness, and there was an unexpected tenderness in her eyes that affected him deeply. Still, he felt compelled to strike back at her. “The Russians take Ivan and make Vanya out of it, that’s the same as taking Maria and forming Marusia. In Ukrainian, which you’ve clearly denounced, everything has a natural order. Maria becomes Marika, Ivan becomes Ivasik, Vasil becomes Vasilik. We don’t take Ivan and transform it into Vanya, or Vladimi
r into Vova.”
The girl threw back her head and laughed. She found the point he was trying to make exaggerated and unreasonable. In the end it had no effect on her at all.
Busy in the kitchen, Efrosinia strained to listen to what the young people were saying. But her daughter went on too rapidly and excitedly, and Kulik spoke so softly, she had trouble catching even the slightest word. And, save for a few monosyllables here and there, it was as if Sergei wasn’t in the room at all.
When she returned to the living room and set the tray of food on a side table by the sofa, she had lost interest in the young people’s chatter. She seemed to be distracted by something, and looked a little distressed. Her head bent and her eyes welling with tears, she settled next to Kulik, and said to him, “What do you say, young man, will I see my Lonia again? Sergei’s probably mentioned him to you.”
“That’s your son, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll see him again, and soon.”
“Yes, soon.” She wrung her hands. “He’s my only son. So, you really think I’ll see him again?”
Valentyn, who stood by the window smoking a pipe, remarked, “Lonia is studying engineering in Lvov. But now that war’s broken out … there’s so much uncertainty everywhere … We’ve been waiting to hear from him … But …”
His voice suddenly broke off and he began to examine his hands; first looking at his thumbs, then his index fingers, then his palms. “My hands,” he said, “how would we ever have got by without them? They’ve done everything. If not for these hands, Lonia would never have gone to university. Marusia would not have had tutors. That’s how precious my hands are!”
“My old man’s a cabinet maker,” Efrosinia volunteered. “His hands are truly made of gold, or at least they used to be. Now, as you can see, they’re gnarled and arthritic. They’re certainly not what they used to be.” Then working herself up again, “He can’t even repair the sofa. And now, to make matters worse, he’s gone deaf. He doesn’t hear a word I say.”
“Oh, Mother, please!” Marusia cut in. “What a thing to say, and in front of guests!”
“Tell me, Pan Bohdanovich.” Kulik quickly turned to the old man to ward off another scene. “What sort of things did you build?”
“A little bit of this, a little bit of that. But mostly coffins.”
As the old man spoke, his eyes twinkled and his chest puffed up. “The summer before the war, business boomed. In that one summer alone, more people died than at any other time, and not just your average citizens, but dignitaries as well. First the representative for urban affairs died, then the assistant to the director of public works, then the district representative. They all dropped like flies. And when our distinguished mayor died, I built him the most exquisite coffin and out of the best ebony I could find. I even made carvings of birds and leaves along the edges, as requested by his widow. I built almost all the coffins in Pinsk. No one in this town is or was capable of building a better coffin than I. And that’s the truth. I selected the finest wood, I measured my corners with the greatest precision, I sanded down the boards until they were as smooth as silk. I also built in elevated headrests to ensure the corpses were propped up for suitable viewing. I must say, the mortician did a fine job on the district representative’s head, but without my headrest, everything would have gone to waste. You see how precious my hands are!”
“Father!” Marusia’s face flushed a deep crimson. “Must you go on?”
Valentyn glared at his daughter. “Are you ashamed of my trade? Didn’t I provide you with all the comforts of life? Would you be wearing that pretty satin dress or those Italian pumps if not for those coffins?”
The girl tightened her lips.
Valentyn went on. “Yes, my hands have created wonders. And the police commissioner who drowned in the Karalyn River, who do you think built his coffin? I made him a palatial resting spot for all eternity, and his widow showed her appreciation by paying me one hundred zlotys. The commissioner looked like a general! No, a king! He had a funeral like no other. Why, practically the whole of Pinsk came. Oh, what wonderful hands I have!”
Efrosinia frowned. “Don’t get too carried away, old man. What was, has already happened. Bragging won’t bring our Lonia back.” She told Kulik, “I write Lonia regularly but he doesn’t answer my letters, and he doesn’t come home either. Day in and day out I sit by the window and watch for him. And now just yesterday I found out that Lonia is ill and in hospital, with consumption. Oh, this is a mother’s curse! What am I to do? What am I to do?” Clutching her head, she burst into tears. “What bitter agony! Is my Lonia suffering? Is he even conscious? My poor baby!”
In her anguish and grief, she was not aware that she had begun speaking Ukrainian, clearly and concisely, without a single Russian word. “How brilliantly he studied at the gymnasium. He even received a medal of excellence for having the highest grade in his final year. Then he left for Lvov to study at the university …” She reached for Kulik’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “He’s about your age and so full of promise. And he’s about your size too, only his hair is fair like Marusia’s and his eyes are blue. Marusia was our second-born. We only have two children.”
“We had two others,” Valentyn corrected her, “but sadly they died. One day they were with us and the next day they were gone. A boy and a girl. They died of consumption. As I built their little coffins, I wept and kissed each board.”
Efrosinia snapped at him. “Have you no shame, old man? You even use the death of our children to go on about your damned coffins.” Throwing up her arms and swallowing her tears, she stormed out of the room.
A quiet tension settled over the room. Valentyn turned apologetically to his visitors. “As you can see, my Efrosinia is on the excitable side. It’s now nine-thirty. She always does this sort of thing around this time. In about an hour she’ll settle down and go off to bed. Then at last we’ll have some peace and quiet.”
Looking at his nephew, he said almost cheerfully, “And what about you, Sergei? I understand you’ve become a teacher. Not too long ago you were a pupil yourself and now you teach. A noble profession, I admit, but why don’t you consider something more stimulating, like engineering, like our Lonia?”
“One day I still might, Uncle, but for now I want to teach. Everything has its time and place.”
When the clock struck ten-thirty, Valentyn tiptoed to the door and poked his head into the hallway. “Didn’t I tell you? Just as I predicted, Efrosinia is sound asleep. The more she hollers and screams, the better she sleeps. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll retreat into the kitchen and finish reading my newspaper.”
When Valentyn closed the door behind him, the young people began to chat. All were in high spirits, and even Marusia laughed from time to time.
In the quiet kitchen, Valentyn was finally able to relax. He settled comfortably in an armchair by the tile stove and put his feet up. Taking a deep breath and striking a match to light his pipe, he reflected on the events of the day. How wonderful it was to see his nephew again and how nice that he should bring along a friend. True, his wife had been a nuisance, but now at least she was fast asleep. Why, he thought, he could probably dance the hopak and howl at the top of his lungs and it wouldn’t wake her.
Suddenly he heard a loud thump, then a heavy knock against the wall. Someone was standing on the other side of the door, turning the knob vigorously. The door banged open, and to his horror in flew Efrosinia.
“I see you’ve found the perfect spot for yourself, like a lazy old cat.” She waved her fists, and by the look on her face, it was clear she was really going to let him have it. “There’s a vicious frost outside and all you can do is sit by the fire and warm those brittle old bones of yours. That’s what you do best, sit and relax, day in and day out, not a care in the world. And that unsightly beard of yours, you still haven’t shaved it off! And what about Lonia? Well, I’m here to tell you how it’s going to be. After tossing and turning in bed, I’ve come to a decision. So
mehow I’m going to scrape together the money to buy a train ticket and I’m going to send you off to Lvov. You’ll bring our son home once and for all. And I’m warning you, don’t try and get out of it, because I won’t rest until I see Lonia.”
Valentyn tensed and sat up. “I can’t just pick up and leave, it’s not that simple. Going to Lvov is a very serious matter and we must think it over carefully.” Then, trying to reason with her, “It’s very difficult to come to any sort of agreement with you, Efrosinia. All you ever do is curse and holler, and you even do it in front of company. And as far as Lvov is concerned, do you realize it’s over five hundred kilometers away?”
“Five hundred kilometers!” Efrosinia couldn’t contain herself. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a measly five hundred kilometers!”
The violence of their shouting escalated and the young people in the living room began having trouble hearing each other. With every outburst Kulik found himself more shocked, while Sergei, shrugging and lowering his head in embarrassment, muttered, “After a while one gets used to it.” Marusia seemed not to be affected in the least; she began to fuss with her hair.
As the shouting intensified and became obscene, Kulik found it unbearable. He got up, gathered his things and bade a quick farewell. As he was heading for the door, he heard Valentyn’s voice shoot across the room, “Louder, old woman, why don’t you scream louder. Go on, wake up the entire neighborhood!”
“Why, you old bull!” she shot back. “You moan and groan for half the day and the other half you sleep. What, pray God, did I ever do to deserve a husband like you?”
Then came more outbursts and Efrosinia started to call her husband every foul name she could think of. Dishes went crashing to the floor, there was a heavy thud, then a loud bang.
Wave of Terror Page 9
