“Bitch,” the young man hissed. “I’ll slit your throat.”
The crowd parted, giving way to the guard. Out of breath, he exhaled, “Citizen Stashock, you are arrested. Arms behind your back and march. You know the way.”
“Why?” The insolent eyes stared into the militia man’s face.
“Drop the act.” They went ahead. The people parted to let them pass. Some nodded in agreement. Some muttered, “It serves him right, the thief.” “Put him behind bars.”
Inside the air-stagnated station building, Ulya found a public phone and, after waiting for some time to be sure nobody was close enough to overhear her, dialed. A voice from the other end said, “NKVD.”
“Comrade Kovalyonok, please.”
“Listening.”
“Hunter reporting. Arrived. Heading to Nikolskaya Street 1.”
There was a slight pause, a sound of papers being leafed through. “Act according to your cover story. We’ll contact you. The password is, ‘Too many wolves in the local woods.’ Your response is, ‘We can get them all quickly eliminated.’ Understood?”
“Understood.” Though she did not. What cover story? Perhaps he meant her work at the orphanage, she concluded.
“End of conversation.”
She exited into the square full of commotion and soon boarded a small bus that smelled of diesel mixed with the stench of stale alcohol hanging around her like a miasma. The remains of sunflower seeds cracked under the passengers’ feet. Belching exhaust gas, the bus took her along the city center, bursting with life, where a tram, screeching at every turn, blocked the way to the cyclists, pedestrians, horse-drawn carts. In about twenty minutes, Ulya climbed down at the last stop. “Back to the station in one hour,” the driver muttered, leaning to the window and pulling his worn-out cap on his face as though shutting himself from the world.
A narrow street stretched to a forested area. The wooden houses, not as imposing as the red stone and stone-and-timber buildings with beautiful lattices and tile roofs in the center of the city, seemed still durable and neat and the small gardens attached to them well cared for. It had the delicate quiet of a suburban street.
“How do I get to Nikolskaya 1?” Ulya asked a girl of about seventeen who scurried past, lashing a young goat in front of her with a long, thin twig.
“Are you looking for Slobodyaniks?”
“Slobodyaniks?”
“Came for the wedding?” She stopped, clamping the goat between her knees. “Oksana is my name.”
“I’m Ulya.”
“Are you from the bride’s side?”
Ulya nodded.
“I’m the groom’s niece.” Flashing her white-toothed smile, she added, “See that tallest conifer tree? See the red roof to the left?” She motioned at a wooden izba, not in any case different from the other houses on the street, only it stood at a hillock bordering the wood, about five hundred meters away. The sequestered position and the garden screening it from the street side offers privacy from praying eyes, Ulya noticed. “Thank you, Oksana. I think I’ll see you again?”
“Yes, sure.” The girl exhaled and ran after the goat, that had managed to escape.
Ulya had not yet set foot on the graveled path leading to the house when Rita flung the door wide open.
“Oh, how great you managed to come.” Hands stretched wide, she embraced Ulya. “Oh, how great,” she repeated.
“So, you are a bride-to-be? And where is the fiancé?”
“Bagdan is in the fields. He is an agriculturist in the local Kolkhoz. You’ll meet him in the evening.” She put her arm around Ulya’s waist. “You are getting thinner and thinner. Now look at me.” She stretched her floral cotton dress over her stomach. “What will happen to me when I expect a child?”
“Do you?”
“Oh, no, no. I must keep up appearances. So, not before I’m married.” Rita burst out laughing. “But maybe in two days.” She tried to wrestle the satchel from Ulya’s hand and after a short and unsuccessful struggle, let it go. “Well, as always, you win, my implacable friend.” She eased into an open smile. “Welcome to the house.” She opened the door into an airy room, which seemed to serve as a kitchen and, at the same time, a good-sized, nicely furnished dining room. A whitewashed stove with a sleeping shelf separated one part from the other, screening what looked like a bedroom behind a heavy curtain. As though reading Ulya’s unspoken question, Rita said, “This house belonged to a Kulak. He was dispossessed of his property and Bagdan got the house when he came back after his studies in Moscow and received the senior agriculturist position.”
“I see. Where did you find your Bagdan?”
“Ah, it was so romantic.” Rita’s blue eyes shone like cobalt. “Imagine. I boarded a train to go to Smolensk, according to my work assignment. I found my compartment and a young man already inside.” She sighed, half-closing her eyes. “We sat in silence till the train stopped at a transit station. He jumped out and ran to the field. I saw him gathering flowers and wondered who the lucky girl might be. Without any warning horn, the train started moving when he was still ten paces away in the field. I saw him run until he was out of sight. A minute later, he appeared in front of me and dropped the wildflowers bouquet on my lap.”
“What a wonder! Men go insane for you, beautiful you are.” Not like me—nothing special. A current of irritation swept through her and disappeared in an instant.
“Wouldn’t you fall in love?” Rita’s laugh sounded like a little bell.
“And?”
“What ‘and’? We wrote letters to each other. Two times he came to visit me in Smolensk. And . . . here I am.”
“So, it was love at first sight?” Her question put a smile on Rita’s face again.
“You’ll see him, you’ll understand.” She hooked her arm through Ulya’s. “How long can you stay?”
“I make my return home in five days.”
“I see. Was it difficult to be excused from work?”
“By some stroke of luck, I’m on my annual vacation. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to come.” After a brief silence, she repeated, “Yes, by some stroke of
