Visitors

Flop-flop-flop – the soldiers marched through the slushy streets in their rubber boots as I set down in my cabinet and gazed at their well-composed shifting rows. Their young strong voices performed an enthusiastic military song in unison and the echo spread through the empty street. Their faces were bright and confident and their eyes shone under the red star on their budenovka hats.
“They look so reliant,” – I thought. I did not want to see them and now they were unavoidable.
I took a glance at a stack of papers straggled on my desk. Typescripts and documents were left about and among them it was hard to distinguish a single-sheet stationery of thick yellow paper.
The soldiers moved along the street. They were heading to the center of the city where they would occupy their sentry posts. The song was still in my ears as they disappeared behind a yellow-brick house of a newly built auditorium.
I cast an eye over the single-sheet stationary. A cold feeling of worry touched me on the inside. I slowly rose from my seat as if I tried to suppress it. I moved closer to the door where my overcoat hanged on a copper hook and from where I heard the jingling of the dishes. I took a look at the wall clock – it was 11 AM.
Trying not to hesitate, I grabbed the pile of yellow papers from my desk, seized my overcoat and stepped into the corridor. As I was buttoning up the upper buttons of my overcoat, I felt her breath on my cheek. I turned around. She was standing in her soiled apron with her hands in soap. Her wavy blonde hair showed from under the gray woolen neckerchief which barely covered her shoulders. She was looking at the papers in my hand; I could see slight accusation in her sight. I put my hand under the bosom as if I tried to hide it from her, but she stopped my hand.
- If you find it necessary you can go.
I caught her sight. Now I felt abashed for she discovered the fact that I was trying to hide it from her. I nodded my head and turned the tinged lock. As I stepped across the threshold and went through the narrow landing I felt her eyes following me.
In a couple of minutes I was pacing down the street. I pulled the collar of my coat up in order to prevent the wind from getting under the coat and took a deep breath for recomposing the heartbeat which seemed to redouble after I left the flat. I turned right after passing the parched house of a priest and walked three more blocks to the center of the city until I entered a broad square where cabmen spent their prolonged breaks in barrel houses and where I saw a rickety wooden building with a new “Redaction” signboard. I was now feeling confident and dispassionate for I was absolutely indifferent as I pulled the wooden door with flaked out of color paint. I entered. Odor of dampness and mold stroke my nostrils. A woman of enormously curvy shapes with dark hair that framed her plump face stared at me from under her eyebrows. I put the papers onto the table at which she sat.
- Is this for the redactor? – She asked fixing her eyes on me.
I gave a positive answer. She lubberly took the first sheets from the pile and ran her eyes over the text. I’d sworn I saw a smile touch her lips but I could not tell which disposition it carried.
- Alright. Is there any way I can contact you?
I said that my address was on the last page.
After my visit to the Redaction house I had a mug of cheap beer from a beer-stand which I hoped will warm me up. Throughout my way back I was occupied with thoughts about Natalya – I wondered if I could release a small sum from my future publication in order to take the edge off her domestic problems. She seemed preoccupied with finding a new job without releasing her background, of which she could, however, be proud in the old times.
I finally reached our building and went up the stairs, leaving wet marks on the concrete rungs. The first thing that I noticed as I stepped onto the landing of the second floor was our door – it was opened wide and through it I saw the entire corridor. With one bound I was in our flat. I called out Natalya. Silence. I called her name out again; I heard anxiety in my own voice.
I entered my cabinet. The drawers of my desk were opened and the papers were scattered on the floor. The doors of the filing-cabinet were knocked in; the typewriter was lying on the floor turned upside down; ink from the inkpot was slopped over the carpet and paper. I noticed it was wet and did not penetrate the floor.
My ears caught a sound of numerous footsteps coming from the landing. I looked around in despair, it was too late to panic but I felt my heart was about to jump out my ribcage. In a split second the narrow corridor was crowded with square-built NKVD agents. In another second my arms were twisted behind by back. As I looked back at my apartment for the last time I thought that I knew some day it would happen.