Sashenka

As her children danced along the sandy path, she dialed Benya’s number. The phone rang and rang. No answer. She found herself leaning on the aluminum shield of the telephone box, pressing herself against it, dreamily contemplating the electrical miracle that would carry his voice through the wires to her ear. She stopped herself, shaking her head at her own foolishness.

You’ll have to wait, Benya Golden. I’ll find a way to let you know, she said to herself. I was going to tell you I loved you.

24

At 4:00 p.m., Sashenka was back at the dacha. The white pillars of its façade, the wooden table, the swinging hammocks reminded her of summers at Zemblishino before the Revolution. The children were drowsy and Carolina took them to rest in their rooms.

Vanya sat in the garden in his scarlet-embroidered peasant shirt, boots and baggy trousers. Always the boots.

“Are you all right, Vanya?” she asked. “Any news of Mendel?”

He did not move. Then he stood up slowly, turned toward her and hit her right in the face, knocking her over. The punch was so powerful that she did not quite feel it, although as she lay stunned on the grass she could taste the blood on her tongue.

His impassive face twitching, Vanya stood over her, clenching and wringing, clenching and wringing those puffy hands of his. Sashenka got to her feet and dashed at her husband, her mouth open to scream at him, but he caught her by the wrist and flung her back onto the ground.

“Where have you just been, you disgusting slut?” He was bending right over her. Even in this fight, both were aware of the voices over the fence, the staff in the house, the guards: everyone was listening and reporting. After he had hit her, they were still whispering at each other, not shouting, beneath the buzz of a late spring day.

“We went to swim in the river.”

“To the telephone.”

“Well, I passed the telephone…”

“And you called, did you not?”

“Don’t speak to me like I’m one of your cases. What if I did? I’m not allowed to make a phone call?”

“Who did you call?”

He knew already, she could tell, and it terrified her.

“You called that Jewish writer, didn’t you? Didn’t you? Do you think I haven’t had my chances? Have I been faithful to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, let me tell you, I’ve never touched another woman once in all these years, Sashenka. I worshipped you. I did everything for you. Didn’t I provide for you?” Then he hissed at her: “You met him in our house, you whore! You took my children down the lane and you called that bastard writer!”

What did he know? Sashenka frantically shuffled the facts like a pack of cards: if he knew that she phoned him, what did that prove? If he knew she had commissioned an article, well, why not? If he knew about the hotel, then she was lost!

Vanya stood over her and she thought he would hit her again or kick her with his boots, right there in the garden of their dacha with their children sleeping in the house.

“Have you fucked him?”

“Vanya!”

“It doesn’t matter, Alexandra Samuilovna. Now it doesn’t matter. Now it’s beyond that. You can’t talk to him because he’s not there.”

She was still touching her bleeding lip as the meaning of what her husband said swept over her.

“What are you saying?”

His face was close to hers. He was sweating. “He’s not there, Sashenka! He’s gone now. That’s his prize!”

Sashenka was furious, white-lipped with a wild anger that took her by surprise. “So this is your revenge? This is how Chekists make their wives faithful, is it? You should be ashamed of yourself! I thought you served the Party. And what will you do to him? Beat him up in some cellar with a bludgeon? Is that what you do every day, Vanya?”

“You don’t understand.” Vanya sat down suddenly. He rubbed his face in his hands, rubbed his hair, eyes closed. Then he got up and walked slowly back into the house.

Sashenka stood up shakily. Benya had been arrested! It could not be true. What would happen to him? She could hardly bear to contemplate him suffering. Where was he?

25

“Mamochka!” Carlo was crying. He always woke up in a bad mood.

“Why are you and Papochka talking like that?” said Snowy, dancing into the garden. “Mama, why is your lip bleeding?”

“Oh,” said Sashenka, feeling ashamed for the first time. “I banged it on the door.”