Chapter1
On one of those early September mornings, when autumn has not yet come into its own and the day promises to be as warm as summer, Vasyl stopped the car outside his house, walked into the yard, past the flowerbed that delighted the eye with its variety of blooms, and pushed the front door. Locked... Something is wrong, it shouldn’t be locked, Katia doesn’t teach until third period today...
He turned the key carefully so the lock wouldn’t click and crept down the hallway along the runner rug.
Nobody in the kitchen. Nobody in the bedroom opposite either. At the end of the hallway, left and right, the children’s rooms; straight ahead, the big room with the television, the table and the sofa. The door to it, always open, was for some reason closed, and Vasyl no longer doubted it was closed for a reason, that behind it lay the bad, alarming thing he had actually come home from work for; he was already picturing an armed burglar who had broken into the house and was rummaging through their things, and Katia, poor thing, lying tied up and gagged, or unconscious, or even dead! His heart clenched at the terrible thought.
He came closer and listened. From the room came barely audible panting and a stifled moan. He quietly opened the door a crack and froze: Kateryna, his beloved and faithful wife, was lying on the floor between the table and the sofa, her bare legs spread, and between those bare legs, rhythmically and eagerly, bounced the firm white backside of their neighbour Mykola. Vasyl stared, petrified, at the familiar close-cropped back of the head, the muscular torso, the pink female heels swaying in the air in time with the male buttocks, and couldn’t believe his eyes. Is this really happening? he thought, detached. How can it... it can’t be, I’m imagining it!.. He caught Kateryna’s frightened gaze, and for an endless moment they looked each other in the eye. And suddenly it came over Vasyl, rolled over him, struck him in the temples, the back of the head, so that everything went dark; he quietly closed the door, walked out of the house on cotton-wool legs, grabbed the gate and stood still, barely overcoming the urge to go back, to stop it, to tear apart those naked bodies seized by the lust for pleasure, and he clearly understood: pointless... Pointless and too late, it would achieve nothing, it would neither save nor fix anything; and how he wanted to believe it was all a hallucination, but he knew for sure it wasn’t, that it was still going on right now, at this very moment, in his house, while he stood here dumbstruck, not knowing what to do, or what people do in such cases at all, and he felt bitter vexation at being so utterly unprepared for something so... so... for such filth!..
He drove with clenched teeth, breathing deeply to calm his heart, which was leaping in his chest; he almost groaned with despair, with a feeling of dirt in his soul and on his body, as if someone had poured a bucket of slops over his head; because nothing would ever be the same, because his bright, happy and secure world had shattered to pieces; and he feverishly tried to think up some way, some line of behaviour that simply had to exist, because he was surely not the first this had happened to!.. to endure it all and find the strength to go on living, and how can anyone go on living after something so... so... oh God!.. and he was afraid he would have to talk to Kateryna and relive those terrible seconds, and he couldn’t imagine what he would say to Katia or what she would say in reply, and maybe this was already the end... and he felt frightened, and for some reason ashamed...
That morning had been no different from any other. As always, he was at work by seven, said hello to the watchman, they chatted about this and that... He went into the office with the sign “Director” and his name on the door, “Okhrimenko Vasyl Petrovych”, looked through yesterday’s mail, opened his planner, reread the plan for the day and made a few notes.
As always, at nine sharp Olia, the young secretary, knocked, poked her curly red head round the door and greeted him cheerfully. He held the usual short meeting, walked round the plant, came back, made a few business calls, and then Olha came in, agitated about something, and said:
“Vasyl Petrovych, you ought to go home.”
“Why?” he was surprised.
“You need to.”
He realised Olia knew something but didn’t want to tell him, so he didn’t press her; he told his deputy and drove off, recalling Olha’s worried eyes, running through the possibilities and growing more and more uneasy.
Chapter2
Mykola spilled his seed onto Kateryna’s belly and lay still, breathing heavily. Katia didn’t move either. Having caught his breath, Mykola got up and, naked as he was, went to the bathroom, rinsed his genitals over the sink, dried them with the towel hanging on the hook and came back into the room. Katia, already dressed, was standing at the window, gloomily looking out at the garden. Mykola took her by the shoulders, turned her towards him, hugged her and pressed his strong body against her.
“Thanks, babe,” he said softly, kissing her temple.
Katia was silent.
“What’s wrong, Katia?”
“Nothing. Just go,” she said sullenly.
Something wasn’t right. Not the way he was used to. For a long, long time Mykola had tried to seduce Kateryna, flattered her, courted her, until at last she gave in, yielded, invited him over, chose a time when no one would be home. She wouldn’t let him into the bed, no, no, that was her husband’s place, nor onto the sofa; here, on the rug, that was allowed.
And once he had got what he wanted, something changed imperceptibly. He did everything right: caressed Katia skilfully, whispered tender words, and when she was ready, entered her gently... and everything went as usual and was bound to end as usual... when suddenly Katia tensed, went rigid, and Mykola understood that she didn’t want him and that all his efforts would be in vain. That had never happened to him before!..
They and the Okhrimenkos are neighbours. And he and Kateryna are colleagues too, working at the same school. He teaches PE, she teaches Ukrainian language and literature; both are married, Mykola has a son, Katia has two children: Sashko, the elder, and Irynka, a year younger, both at school. Katia looks after herself and at thirty-three looks like a girl; Mykola is in shape too: a muscular, trained body and remarkable male abilities, tested more than once on the local women. Until now his partners had been satisfied and wanted more and more. But not this time!
Well, no time to think about it; Mykola had a lesson in fifteen minutes. He dressed quickly and ran off.
Katia went into the bathroom, stood under the warm stream and washed away the slippery traces of semen and Mykola’s kisses, which had suddenly become unpleasant to her, while in her head thoughts darted about like frightened birds. Had it really happened to her? Had she really dared to betray Vasyl? She looked at her hands, legs, breasts and didn’t recognise them, as if seeing them for the first time, and it seemed to her that her body had become foreign, no longer hers, because she had let a strange man touch it, touch it everywhere, in the forbidden places too... and not only touch it, not only!.. Hadn’t she been disgusted? No, she hadn’t, it had been pleasant, she remembered it had been pleasant... but now she wanted it to have been unpleasant, so that it wouldn’t look like pleasure; she didn’t want to feel guilty, she would rather feel like a victim, even just a little!... or at least deceived, tricked; and now what had happened seemed so unreal and absurd, as if it had happened not to her but to another woman with this alien body... and at the same time, with burning shame, she understood: she was no victim, it had all really happened, to her, of her own will and desire... and she couldn’t understand why she had held out for so long and today had given in to Mykola.
Why, why had she given in, why had she agreed?! She had to find some excuse, any excuse; Vasyl had seen everything and would certainly demand an explanation!.. Oh God, the way he looked at her! Better to sink into the ground with shame!..
What, what could she say to him? How could she explain so that he would understand? What words could she find so that he would forgive her?!
Vasyl knew, of course, everyone knew, that Mykola was good in bed. So what? Could she say, for example, that she had wanted to find out for herself? Or that Mykola had seduced her? Though both were probably the plain truth...
She liked being desired. And what woman doesn’t? She liked Mykola’s persistent, rather crude advances; his lustful looks excited her, stirred indecent thoughts and sometimes an irresistible carnal pull. And she had given in... Given in to his advances with fear, with a chill in her soul, clearly aware that it mustn’t be done, that it was unworthy, sensing that she would regret it, that there would be no going back, that with this act she would destroy something pure, something essential... And she had gone through with it, agreed... why, why?!
She was happy with Vasyl. In bed and in life. They loved each other sincerely and openly, the envy of everyone. Vasia was her first. And her only. That is, he had been her only. Not any more. And she was his first. And his only, she knew that for certain. And now the symmetry was broken. Through her fault. Her own stupid fault...
What on earth had she been missing, the idiot? Spice, some seasoning for a monotonous life? Mystery? Wild, unusual, fantastic sex?..
She had suspected that sexually Mykola would offer her nothing new, and at the same time she had secretly hoped that this encounter would bring her new, thrilling, unforgettable sensations. Until now, everything she wanted Vasyl had given her. He fulfilled her every whim with joy; he really liked how frankly Katia expressed her sexual desires. She was a good lover too, Katia knew it, she liked knowing it, she was proud of it! She and Vasyl had harmony in their intimate life; both felt good in their moments of closeness. And afterwards. And always... A real idyll, she smiled bitterly to herself, and suddenly burst into desperate, womanish sobs, wailing, sniffling and smearing the remains of her mascara across her face.
What will happen now?! Dear God, what will happen now?! How could she have dared to do such a thing?! And above all, why?! Regret and fear filled her, pressed on her chest like a block of ice, bordering on panic when Kateryna pictured Vasyl silently, without looking at her, packing his suitcases, saying goodbye to the children and leaving home for ever.
She cried herself out and felt better. She told herself that not all was lost, that it wasn’t so tragic, that Vasyl would forgive her. Let him shout at her, call her the worst names, yell, even hit her, it didn’t matter, as long as afterwards everything went back to how it was! And she didn’t believe Vasia was capable of shouting at her, let alone hitting her. And she didn’t believe everything would go back to how it was. No, it wouldn’t.
To be continued…