For a while Afanasy was truly a different man. In spite of his coarse habits, I was deeply touched by his efforts to be kind. However, that did not last long. We resumed our life of drudging toil. And vodka resumed its grip on him. Once drunk, he became just as brutal again.
Gradually life with Afanasy grew as insufferable as it had been before my escape. That summer I turned nineteen, and I saw ahead of me nothing but a long series of dreary years. Afanasy wanted me to take to drink. I resisted, and that infuriated him. He made it a habit to torment me daily. He would hold a bottle of vodka to my face, and scoffing at me for my efforts to lift myself above my condition, he would endeavour by blows and kicks to force the bitter drink down my throat. One day he even stood over me with a bottle of vodka for three whole hours, pinning me down to the ground so that I was unable to move a muscle. Still I refused to give in.
Winter came. I baked bread for a living. On Sundays I went to church to pray God to release me from my bondage. Again the thought of escaping took root in my mind. The first requisite was, of course, a passport, so I went secretly to a lawyer for advice, and he undertook to obtain one for me legally. But ill-luck attended me. When the police-constable called to deliver the passport to me, Afanasy was at home. My scheme was discovered and my hopes were dashed to the ground. Afanasy hurled himself at me and bound me hand and foot, deaf to my entreaties and cries. I thought my end had come. In silence he carried me out of the house and tied me to a post.
It was cold, very cold. He flogged me, drank, and flogged me again, cursing me in the vilest terms.
“That’s what you get for trying to escape,” he bawled, holding the bottle to my mouth. “You won’t escape any more. You will drink or you will die!”
I was obdurate and implored him to leave me alone. He continued his flogging, however, keeping me for four hours tied to the post, till I finally broke down and drank the vodka. I became intoxicated, staggered out into the street, and fell on the pavement in front of the house. Afanasy ran after me, cursing and kicking me. We were quickly surrounded by a crowd. My neighbours, who knew of his cruelty to me, came to my help. Afanasy was roughly handled, so roughly, indeed, that he left me in peace for some time afterwards.
Christmas was drawing near. I had saved, little by little, fifty roubles (about £5 5s. 7d.). Every kopek of that money had been earned by extra toil during the night. It was all the earthly possession that I had, and I guarded it jealously. Somehow, Afanasy got wind of its hiding-place and stole it. He spent it all on drink.
I was mad with fury upon discovering the loss. What the money meant to me in the circumstances is difficult to describe. It was my blood, my sweat, a year of my youth. And he, the beast, squandered it in one orgy. The least I could do to my torturer was to kill him.
In a frenzy, I ran to my mother, who was struck by the expression of my face.
“Marusia, what ails you?”
“Mother,” I gasped, “let me have an axe. I am going to kill Afanasy.”
“Holy Mother, have mercy!” she exclaimed, raising her hands to Heaven, and falling on her knees, she implored me to come to my senses. But I was too frantic with rage. I seized an axe and ran home.
Afanasy returned, drunk, and began to taunt me with the loss of my precious savings. I was white with wrath and cursed him from the depth of my heart. He gripped a stool and threw it at me. I caught up the axe.
“I will kill you, you bloodsucker!” I screamed.
Afanasy was stupefied. He had not expected that from me. The desire to kill was irresistible. Mentally, I already gloated over his dead body and the freedom that it would bring me. I was ready to swing the axe at him. …
Suddenly the door flew open and my father rushed in. He had been sent by my mother.
“Marusia, what are you doing?” he cried out, gripping my arm. The break was too abrupt, my nerves collapsed, and I fell unconscious to the floor. Upon awakening I found the police in the house, and I told them everything. Afanasy was taken to the police-station, while the police-officer, a very kindhearted man, advised me to leave the town to get away from him.
I got my passport, but my money was gone. I could not afford to buy a ticket to Irkutsk, where Shura had moved from Barnaul. Determined to go at all costs I boarded a train without a ticket. The conductor discovered me on the way, and I cried and begged him to allow me to proceed. He proposed to hide me in the baggage car and take me to Irkutsk, upon his own conditions. Enraged, I pushed him violently from me.
“I will put you off at the next station,” he shouted at me, running out of the car. And he kept his word.
Nearly all the distance to Irkutsk was yet before me, and I wanted to get there without selling myself for the price of a ticket. There could be no thought of going back. I had to get to Irkutsk. I boarded the next train, and stealthily crouched under a seat, as it moved out of the station.
Ultimately I was discovered, but this conductor was an elderly man and yielded to my tears and entreaties. I told him of my experience with the first conductor
