第 14 页

"Ah, Korchagin," Mendel was reassured. "I know him —used to live in the same house. Yes, you can see the Korchagins. Go, Seryozha, and bring back an answer as soon as you can."

Sergei shot out into the street.

The pogrom began on the third day after the pitched battle between the Pavlyuk detachment and Golub's men.

Pavlyuk, routed and driven out of Shepetovka, had cleared out of the neighbourhood and seized a small town nearby. The night encounter in Shepetovka had cost him a score of men. Golub had lost as many.

The dead were hastily carted off to the cemetery and buried the same day without much ceremony,for there was nothing to boast about in the whole affair. The two Atamans had flown at each other's throats like two stray curs, and to make a fuss over the funeral would have been unseemly.

True, Palyanytsya had wanted to make a big thing of it and declare Pavlyuk a Red bandit, but the Socialist-Revolutionaries headed by the priest Vasili objected.

The skirmish evoked some grumbling in Golub's regiment, especially among his bodyguard which had sustained the heaviest losses, and to put an end to the dissatisfaction and bolster up spirits, Palyanytsya proposed staging a pogrom—to provide "a little diversion" for the men, was the cynical way he broached the subject to Golub. He argued that this was essential in view of the grumbling in the unit. And although the Colonel was loth to disturb the peace in the town on the eve of his marriage to the barkeeper's daughter, he finally gave in.

Pan the Colonel had another reason for objecting to the operation: his recent admission into the S.R. Party. His enemies might stir up trouble again by branding him a pogrom-monger, and without doubt would slander him to the "Chief Ataman". So far, however, Golub was not greatly dependent on the "Chief", since he foraged for himself. Besides, the "Chief" knew very well what riffraff he had serving under him, and himself had time and again demanded money for the Directory's needs from the so-called requisitions; as for the reputation of a pogrom-monger, Golub already had quite a record in that respect. There was very little that he could add to it now.

The pogrom began early in the morning.

The town was still wrapped in the grey mist of dawn. The narrow streets which wound themselves like strips of wet linen around the haphazardly built blocks of the Jewish quarter were deserted and dead. The windows were heavily curtained and shuttered.

Outwardly the quarter appeared to be immersed in sound early-morning slumber, but inside the houses there was no sleep. Entire families, fully dressed, huddled together in one room, preparing themselves for the impending disaster. Only children, too young to realise what was happening, slept peacefully in their mothers' arms.

Salomyga, the chief of Golub's bodyguard, a dark fellow with the swarthy complexion of a Gypsy and a livid sabre scar across his cheek, worked hard that morning to wake up Golub's aide. It was a painful awakening for Palyanytsya—he could not shake himself loose from the nightmare that had beset him all night; the grimacing, hunchbacked devil was still clawing at his throat. At last he raised his splitting head and saw Salomyga bending over him.

"Get up, you souse," Salomyga was shaking him by the shoulder. "It's high time to get down to business!"

Palyanytsya, now wide awake, sat up and, his face grimacing with pain, spat out the bitter saliva that filled his mouth.

"What business?" he stared blankly at Salomyga.

"To rip up the sheenies, of course! You haven't forgotten, I hope."

It all came back to Palyanytsya. True enough, he had forgotten about it. The drinking bout at the farm where Pan the Colonel had retired with his fiancée and a handful of boon companions had been a heavy one.

Golub had found it convenient to leave town for the duration of the pogrom, for afterwards he could put it down to a misunderstanding in his absence, and in the meantime Palyanytsya would have ample opportunity to make a thorough job of it. Yes, Palyanytsya was an expert when it came to providing "diversion"! Palyanytsya poured a pail of water over his head and, thus sobered, was soon striding about headquarters issuing orders.

The bodyguard hundred was already in the saddle. To avoid possible complications, the farsighted Palyanytsya ordered pickets posted between the town proper and the workers' quarters and the

station. A machine gun was mounted in the Leszczinski garden facing the road in order to meet the workers with a squall of lead if they took it into their heads to interfere.

When all the preparations were complete, the aide and Salomyga leapt into the saddle.

"Wait, I nearly forgot," Palyanytsya said when they had already set out. "Get two carts to bring back Golub's wedding present. Ha-ha-ha! The first spoils as always to the commander, and the first girl for his aide—and that's me. Got it, you blockhead?"

The last remark was addressed to Salomyga, who glared back at him with jaundiced eyes.

"There'll be enough for everybody."

They spurred their horses down the highway, the aide and Salomyga leading the disorderly mob of mounted men.

The mist had lifted when Palyanytsya reined in his horse in front of a two-storey house with a rusty sign reading "Fuchs, Draper".

His thin-shanked grey mare nervously stamped her hoof against the cobblestones.

"Well, with God's help we'll begin here," Palyanytsya said as he jumped to the ground.

"All right, men, dismount," he turned to the men crowding around him. "The show's beginning.

Now I don't want any heads bashed, there'll be a time for that. As for the girls, if you can manage it, hold out until evening."

One of the men bared his strong teeth and protested:

"Now then, Pan Khorunzhy, what if it's by mutual consent?"

There was loud guffawing all around. Palyanytsya eyed the man who had spoken with admiring approbation.

"Well, that's another story—if they're willing, go right ahead, nobody can prohibit that."

Palyanytsya went up to the closed door of the store and kicked at it hard, but the sturdy oaken planks did not so much as tremble.

This was clearly the wrong place to begin. Palyanytsya rounded the corner of the house and headed for the door leading to Fuchs' place, supporting his sabre with his hand as he went.

Salomyga followed.

The people inside the house had heard the clatter of hoofs on the pavement outside and when the sound ceased in front of the shop and the men's voices carried through the walls their hearts

seemed to stop beating and their bodies stiffened with fright.

The wealthy Fuchs had left town the day before with his wife and daughters, leaving his servant Riva, a gentle timid girl of nineteen, to look after his property. Since she was afraid to remain alone in the house, he had suggested that she bring her old father and mother to stay with her until his return.

When Riva had tried meekly to protest, the cunning merchant had assured her that in all probability there would be no pogrom at all, for what could they expect to get from beggars? And he promised to give her a piece of stuff for a dress when he returned.

Now the three waited in fear and trembling, hoping against hope that the men would ride past;perhaps they had been mistaken, perhaps it had only seemed that the horses had stopped in front of their house. But their hopes were dashed by the dull reverberation of a blow at the shop door.

Old, silvery-haired Peisakh stood in the doorway, his blue eyes wide open like a frightened child's,and he whispered a prayer to Almighty Jehovah with all the passion of the fanatical believer. He prayed to God to protect this house from misfortune and for a while the old woman standing beside him could not hear the approaching footsteps for the mumble of his prayer.

Riva had fled to the farthest room where she hid behind the big oaken sideboard.

A shattering blow at the door sent a convulsive tremor through the two old people.

"Open the door!" Another blow, still more violent than the first, descended on the door, followed by furious curses.

But those within, numb with fright, could not lift a hand to unfasten the door.

Outside the rifle butts pounded until the bolts gave way and the splintering door crashed open.

Armed men poured into the house; they searched every corner. A blow from a rifle butt smashed in the door leading into the shop and the front door bolts were drawn from within.

The looting began.

When the carts had been piled high with cloth, shoes and other loot, Salomyga set out with the booty to Golub's quarters. When he returned he heard a shriek of terror issuing from the house.

Palyanytsya, leaving his men to sack the shop, had walked into the proprietor's apartment and found the old folks and the girl standing there. Casting his green lynx-like eyes over them he snapped at the old couple: "Get out of here!" Neither mother nor father stirred.

Palyanytsya took a step forward and slowly drew his sabre.

"Mama!" the girl gave a heart-rending scream. It was this that Salomyga heard.

Palyanytsya turned to his men who had run in at the cry.

"Throw them out!" he barked, pointing at the two old people. When this had been done, he told Salomyga who had now appeared. "You watch here at the door while I have a chat with the wench."

The girl screamed again. Old Peisakh made a rush for the door leading into the room, but a violent blow in the chest sent him reeling back against the wall, gasping with pain. Like a she-wolf fighting for her young, Toiba, the old mother, always so quiet and submissive, now flung herself at Salomyga.

"Let me .in! What are you doing to my girl?" She was struggling to get to the door, and try as he might Salomyga could not break her convulsive grip on his coat.

Peisakh, now recovered from the shock and pain, came to Toiba's assistance.

"Let us pass! Let us pass! Oh my daughter!"

Between them the old couple managed to push Salomyga away from the door. Enraged, he jerked his revolver from under his belt and brought the steel grip down hard upon the old man's grey head. Peisakh crumpled to the floor.

Inside the room Riva was screaming.

Toiba was dragged out of the house frantic with grief, and the street echoed to her wild shrieks and entreaties for help.

Inside the house everything was quiet.

Palyanytsya came out of the room. Without looking at Salomyga, whose hand was already on the door handle, he said:

"No use going in—she choked when I tried to shut her up with a pillow." As he stepped over Peisakh's body he put his foot into a dark sticky mess.

"Bad beginning," he muttered as he went outside.

The others followed him without a word, leaving behind bloody footprints on the floor and the stairs.

Pillage was in full swing in the town. Brief savage clashes flared up between brigands over the division of the spoils, and here and there sabres flashed. And almost everywhere fists flailed without restraint. From the beer saloon twenty-five gallon kegs were rolled out onto the street.

Then the looters began to break into Jewish homes.

There was no resistance. They went through the rooms, hastily turned every corner upside down, and went away laden with booty, leaving behind disordered heaps of clothing and the fluttering contents of ripped feather beds and pillows. The first day took a toll of only two victims: Riva and

her father; but the oncoming night carried with it the unavoidable menace of death.

By evening the motley crew of scavengers was roaring drunk. The crazed Petlyura men were waiting for the night.

Darkness released them from the last restraint. It is easier to destroy a man in the pit of night; even the jackal prefers the hours of gloom.

Few would ever forget these two terrible nights and three days. How many crushed and mangled lives they left behind, how many youthful heads turned grey in these bloody hours, how many bitter tears were shed! It is hard to tell whether those were the more fortunate who were left to live with souls desolated, in the agony of shame and humiliation, gnawed by indescribable grief for loved ones who would never return. In the narrow alleys lay the lacerated, tormented, broken bodies of young girls with arms thrown back in convulsive gestures of agony.

Only at the very riverfront, in the house where Naum the blacksmith lived, the jackals who fell upon his young wife Sarah got a fierce rebuff. The smith, a man of powerful build in the prime of his twenty-four years and with the steel muscles of one who wielded the sledge-hammer for a living, did not yield his mate.

In a brief but furious clash in the tiny cottage the skulls of two Petlyura men were crushed like rotten melons. With the terrible fury of despair, the smith fought fiercely for two lives, and for a long time the dry crackle of rifle fire could be heard from the river bank where the brigands now rushed, sensing the danger. With only one round of ammunition left, the smith mercifully shot his wife, and himself rushed out to his death, bayonet in hand. He was met by a squall of lead and his powerful body crashed to the ground outside his front door.

Prosperous peasants from nearby villages drove into town in carts drawn by well-fed horses, loaded their waggon boxes with whatever met their fancy, and, escorted by sons and relatives serving in Golub's force, hurried home so as to make another trip or two to town and back.

Seryozha Bruzzhak, who together with his father had hidden half of his printshop comrades in the cellar and attic, was crossing the garden on his way home when he saw a man in a long, patched coat running up the road, violently swinging his arms.

It was an old Jew, and behind the bareheaded, panting man whose features were paralysed with mortal terror, galloped a Petlyura man on a grey horse. The distance between them dwindled fast and the mounted man leaned forward in the saddle to cut down his victim. Hearing the hoofbeats behind him, the old man threw up his hands as if to ward off the blow. At that moment Seryozha leapt onto the road and threw himself in front of the horse.

"Stop, you dog of a bandit!"

The rider, making no effort to stay the descending sabre, brought the flat of the blade down on the fair young head.

雨点劈劈啪啪地敲打着窗户。屋顶上的雨水刷刷地往下流。劲风阵阵，吹得花园里的樱桃树惊慌地东摇西晃，树枝不时撞在窗玻璃上。冬妮亚已多次抬起头来，谛听着是不是有人敲门。她终于明白，这不过是风在捣乱，于是皱起了眉头。风雨声搅得她再也写不下去了，惆怅袭上了心头。她面前的桌子上摊着几张写得满满的信纸。她写完最后一页，裹紧了披巾，拿起刚写好的信，重读了一遍。