MARRIAGE AT FIFTEEN
Then came the Russo-Japanese War. And with it, Siberia, from Tomsk to
Manchuria, teemed with a new life. It reached even our street, hitherto
so lifeless and uneventful. Two officers, the brothers Lazov, one of
them married, rented the quarters opposite Nastasia Leontievna’s shop.
The young Madame Lazov knew nothing of housekeeping. She observed, me
at work in the shop, and offered me work in her home at seven roubles a
month.
Seven roubles a month was so attractive a sum that I immediately
accepted the offer. What could not one do with so much money? Why,
that would leave four roubles for me, after the payment of my mother’s
rent. Four roubles! Enough to buy a new dress, a coat, or a pair of
fashionable shoes. Besides, it gave me an opportunity to release myself
from the bondage of Nastasia Leontievna.
I took entire charge of the housekeeping at the Lazovs. They were kind
and courteous, and took an interest in me. They taught me how to behave
at table and in society, and took care that I appeared neat and clean.
The younger Lazov, Lieutenant Vasili, began to notice me, and one
evening invited me to take a walk with him. In time Vasili’s interest
in me deepened. We went out together many times. He made love to me,
caressing and kissing me. Did I realize clearly the meaning of it all?
Hardly. It was all so new, so wonderful, so attractive. It made my
pulse throb at his approach. It made my cheeks flame with the heat of
my young blood.
Vasili said he loved me. Did I love him? If I did, it was more because
of the marvellous world into which he was to lead me, than on account
of himself. He promised to marry me. Did I particularly want to marry
him? Scarcely. The prospect of marriage was more enticing to me because
of the end it would put to my life of drudgery and misery than on
account of anything else. To become free, independent, possessed of
means, was the attractive prospect that marriage held for me.
I was fifteen and a half when Vasili seduced me by the promise of
marriage. We lived together for a short while, when orders came to the
Lazovs to leave for a different post. Vasili informed me of the order.
“Then we shall have to get married quickly, before you go,” I declared.
But Vasili did not think so.
“That’s quite impossible, Marusia,” he said.
“Why?” I inquired sharply, something rising in my throat, like a tide,
with suffocating force.
“Because I am an officer, and you are only a plain _moujitchka_. You
understand, yourself, that at present we can’t marry. Marusenka, I love
you just as much as ever. Come, I’ll take you home with me; you’ll stay
with my parents. I’ll give you an education, then we will get married.”
I became hysterical, and throwing myself at him like a ferocious
animal, I screamed at the top of my voice:
“You villain. You deceived me. You never did love me. You are a
scoundrel. May God curse you.”
Vasili tried to calm me. He tried to approach me, but I repulsed him.
He cried, he begged, he implored me to believe that he loved me, and
that he would marry me. But I would not listen to him. I trembled with
rage, seized by a fit of uncontrollable temper. He left me in tears.
I did not see Vasili for two days. Neither did his brother nor
sister-in-law. He had disappeared. When he returned, he presented a
pitiable sight. His haggard face, the appearance of his clothes, and
the odour of vodka told the story of his two-days’ debauch.
“Ah, Marusia, Marusia,” he lamented, gripping my arms. “What have
you done, what have you done? I loved you so much. And you would not
understand me. You have ruined my life and your own.”
My heart was wrung with pity for Vasili. Life to me then was a
labyrinth of blind alleys, tangled, bewildering. It is now clear to me
that Vasili did love me genuinely, and that he had indulged in the wild
orgy to forget himself and drown the pain I had caused him. But I did
not understand it then. Had I loved him truly, it might all have been
different. But a single thought dominated my mind. “He had promised to
marry me and failed.” Marriage had become to me the symbol of a life of
independence and freedom.
The Lazovs left. They gave me money and gifts. But my heart was like
a deserted ruin in the winter, echoing with the howls of wild beasts.
Instead of a life of freedom, my parents’ basement awaited me. And deep
in my bosom lurked a dread of the unknown....
I returned home. My sisters had already noticed a different air about
me. Perhaps they had seen me with Vasili at one time or another.
Whatever the cause, they had their suspicions, and did not fail to
communicate them to my mother. It required little scrutiny for her to
observe that from a shy little girl I had blossomed forth into a young
woman. And then there began days and nights of torture for me.
My father quickly got wind of what had happened at the Lazovs. He was
merciless and threw himself upon me with a whip, nearly lashing me to
death, accompanying each blow with epithets that burned into me more
than the lashes of the whip. He also beat my mother when she attempted
to intervene on my behalf.
My father would come home drunk almost every day, and immediately take
to lashing me. Often he would drive me and my mother barefoot out of
the house, and sometimes we shivered for hours in the snow, hugging the
icy walls.
Life became an actual inferno. Day and night I prayed to God that I
might fall ill and die. But God remained deaf. And still I felt that
only illness could save me from the daily punishment. “I must get ill,”
I said to myself. And so I lay on the oven at night to heat my body,
and then went out and rolled in the snow. I did it several times, but
without avail. I could not fall ill.
Amid these insufferable conditions, I met the new year of 1905. My
married sister had invited me to take part in a masquerade. My father
would not hear, at first, of my going out for an evening, but consented
after repeated entreaties. I dressed as a boy, this being the first
time I ever wore a man’s clothes. After the dancing we visited some
friends of my sister’s, where I met a soldier, just returned from the
front. He was a common moujik, of rough appearance and vulgar speech,
and at least ten years older than myself. He immediately began to
court me. His name was Afanasi Botchkarev.
It was not long afterwards that I met Botchkarev again in the house
of a married sister of his. He invited me to go out for a walk, and
then suddenly proposed that I should marry him. It came to me so
unexpectedly that I had no time for consideration. Anything seemed
preferable to the daily torments of home. If I had sought death to
escape my father, why not marry this boorish moujik? And I consented
without further thought.
My father objected to my marrying since I was not yet sixteen, but
without avail. As Botchkarev was penniless, and I had no money, we
decided to work together and save. Our marriage was a hasty affair. The
only impression of it that remains with me is my feeling of relief at
escaping from my father’s brutal hands. Alas! Little did I then suspect
that I was exchanging one form of torture for another.
On the day following our marriage, which took place in the early
spring, Afanasi and I went down to the river to hire ourselves as day
labourers. We helped to load and unload lumber barges. Hard work never
daunted me, and I would have been satisfied, had it only been possible
for me to get along with Afanasi otherwise. But he also drank, while
I did not, and intoxication invariably brutalized him. He knew of my
affair with Lazov, and would use it as a pretext for punishing me.
“That officer is still in your head,” he would shout. “Wait, I’ll knock
him out of it.” And he would proceed to do so.
Summer came. Afanasi and I found work with an asphalte business. We
made floors at the prison, university and other public buildings. We
paved some streets with asphalte. Our work with the firm lasted about
two years. Both of us started at seventy kopeks (about 1_s._ 5¹⁄₂_d._)
a day, but I rose to the position of assistant foreman in a few months,
receiving a rouble and fifty kopeks (about 3_s._ 2_d._) a day. Afanasi
continued as a common labourer. My duties required considerable
knowledge in the mixing of the various elements in the making of
concrete and asphalte.
Afanasi’s low intelligence was a sufficient trial. But his heavy
drinking was a greater source of suffering to me. He made a habit of
beating me, and grew to be unendurable. I was less than eighteen years
old, and nothing but misery seemed to be in store for me. The thought
of escape dug itself deeper and deeper into my mind. I finally resolved
to run away from Afanasi.
My married sister had moved to Barnaul, where she and her husband
worked as servants on a river steamer. I saved some twenty roubles,
and determined to go to my sister, but I needed a passport. Without a
passport one could not move in Russia, so I took my mother’s.
On the way, at a small railway station, I was held up by a police
officer.
“Where are you going, girl?” he asked brusquely, eyeing me with
suspicion.
“To Barnaul,” I replied, with a sinking heart.
“Have you a passport?” he demanded.
“Yes,” I said, drawing it out of my bag.
“What’s your name?” was the next question.
“Maria Botchkareva.”
In my confusion I had forgotten that the passport was my mother’s, and
that it bore the name of Olga Frolkova. When the officer unfolded it
and glanced at the name, he turned on me fiercely:
“Botchkareva, ah, so that is your name?”
It dawned upon me then that I had committed a fatal mistake. Visions of
prison, torture and eventual return to Afanasi flashed before me. “I am
lost,” I thought, falling upon my knees before the officer to beg for
mercy, as he ordered me to follow him to headquarters. In an outburst
of tears and sobs, I told him that I had escaped from a brutal husband,
and since I could not possibly obtain a passport of my own, I was
forced to make use of my mother’s. I implored him not to send me back
to Afanasi, for he would certainly kill me.
My simple peasant speech convinced the officer that I was not a
dangerous political, but he would not let me go. He decided that I
should go with him. “Come along, you will stay with me, and to-morrow I
will send you to Barnaul. If you don’t, I’ll have you arrested and sent
by _étape_[2] back to Tomsk.”
[2] Under convoy from prison to prison.
I was as docile as a sheep. This was my first contact with the
authorities, and I dared not protest. If I had any power of will it
must have been dormant. Had I not found the world full of wrong since
my childhood? Was not this one of the ordinary events of life? We
moujiks were created to suffer and endure. They, the officials, were
created to punish and maltreat. And so I was led away by the guardian
of peace and law, and made to suffer shame and humiliation....
I was then free to go to Barnaul, and I resumed my journey. When
I arrived there, my sister quickly found employment for me on the
steamship. The work was comparatively easy, and my life rapidly took
a happier turn. It was an immense relief to be away from my drunken,
brutal husband.
But the relief was short-lived. Afanasi came to my mother after my
disappearance to inquire concerning my whereabouts. She showed surprise
upon hearing of my flight, and denied all knowledge of my destination.
He returned to our house again and again. One day in his presence the
postman delivered a letter from Shura. He seized it, and through it
learned that I was in Barnaul.
One morning, as I was standing on the deck of the ship, which was
anchored in the harbour, my eyes suddenly fell on a figure approaching
the wharf. It was a familiar figure. In another moment I recognized it
as that of Afanasi. My blood froze and my flesh crept as I realized
what was coming.
“Once fallen into his hands my life would be one of continuous
torture,” I thought. “I must save myself.”
But how could I escape? If I were on land I might still have a chance.
Here all avenues are closed. There he is already approaching the gate
to the wharf. He is stopping to ask a question of a guard, who nods
affirmatively. Now, he is walking a little faster. His face wears a
grin that strikes terror into my heart. I am trapped.... But no, just
wait a moment, Afanasi. Don’t be sure of your triumph yet. I rush to
the edge of the deck, cross myself and jump into the deep waters of the
Ob. Ah, how thrilling it is to die! So I have outwitted Afanasi, after
all. It’s cold, the water is cold. And I am going down, down.... I am
glad. I am triumphant. I have escaped from the trap ... into the arms
of death.
I awoke, not in heaven, but in the hospital. I was observed jumping
into the river, dragged out unconscious, and revived.
The authorities questioned me as to the cause of my attempted suicide,
and drew up a protocol. I told them of my husband, of his brutality,
and the utter impossibility of living with him.
Afanasi was waiting in the anteroom, to see me. My attempt at suicide
had seriously upset him. It aroused a sense of shame in him. Touched
by my story, the authorities went out and angrily rebuked him for his
maltreatment of me. He admitted his guilt, and swore that he would be
gentle to me in the future.
He was then admitted to the ward in which I lay. Falling on his knees,
he begged my forgiveness, repeating his oath to me and professing his
love for me in the most affectionate terms. His entreaties were so
moving that I finally consented to return home with him.
For a while Afanasi 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 Afanasi 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. Afanasi 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, Afanasi was at
home. My scheme was discovered and my hopes were dashed to the ground.
Afanasi 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. Afanasi 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. Afanasi 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 5_s._ 7_d._). 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, Afanasi 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 Afanasi.”
“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.
Afanasi 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 blood-sucker!” I screamed.
Afanasi 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. Afanasi was taken to the police-station, while the
police-officer, a very kind-hearted 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 and of my total lack of money. He allowed me to
proceed, and whenever an inspector boarded the train, he would signal
to me to hide under the seat. Sometimes I would spend several hours
at a stretch there, concealed by the legs of some kind passengers.
In this manner I journeyed for four days, finally reaching my
destination--Irkutsk.