Easter (2) The nightmare continued. Lying on a heap of straw and bound hand and foot, Ivan could hear the loud sounds of merry revelry that reached his ears through the wooden wall. The Last Supper, or a mere carouse, as Ivan had called it (which had caused his confinement in the dark shed), came to the apogee. Only two hours ago, after the arrival of Bartholomew, Simon, James the son of Alphaeus and Judas the son of James, the number of the apostles had become eleven (the twelfth one, Judas Iscariot, was at his post on Golgotha). The kernel of the saints' discussion was the details of the court that should take place the following morning with the object of condemning Ivan Petrov, alias Jesus Christ, to crucifixion. "Those drunkards will really kill me, if I don't do something about it," Ivan pronounced aloud, his head half-buried in the prickly straw. His eyes, accustomed to the gloom by that time, were searching through the messy interior of his cell. It did not take him long to make out the one thing that was in every peasant's shed. The dim contours betrayed a scythe hanging on two pegs near the ceiling, its handle parallel to the ground. Ivan managed to get up and hopped over to the spot beneath the tool. He seized the blunt edge of the blade with his teeth and pulled it aside. In a moment they both, Ivan and the scythe, flopped down onto the floor. A few movements along the blade and the ropes on his hands were severed. The next job - to release the feet - needed even less contrivance. Ivan threw himself at the door to find it locked. Several chops with the axe found somewhere in the dark, opened it. Outside he came across one more impediment. An enormous dog's head watchfully looked out of its kennel. "Take it easy, guy. I won't do anything bad to you," whispered Ivan as he sneaked along the shed wall away from the formidable animal. "Hush, hush; please be so kind as not to bother your masters. Let them enjoy the party. I'll just leave this place and that's it." But the dog, not heeding Ivan's exhortation, shot out of its kennel and, with a loud bark, rushed at the runaway. The length of the chain pulled the dog up short just at the very moment that Ivan flew over the fence. A few hundred meters of headlong racing through the scratching spruce branches of the nocturnal wood, brought him to a country track. Two luminous dots, rattling and skipping, were slowly nearing him from the distance. "Stop, stop!" Shouting and waving his hands, Ivan ran towards the vehicle, which turned out to be a wheeled tractor dragging a trailer loaded with dung. "What's up?" cried the driver leaning out of the cab, after the tractor pulled up before the restless figure. Ivan threw himself at the vehicle, tugged the right door of the cab and opened it wide. "I need the police immediately! Please drive me to the police station!" "Okay, I guess there's one cop on duty not far from here," the driver responded unhurriedly. Ivan leapt into the cab and slammed the door. "Only one?" "It ain't New York or anything like that. No need to have crowds of cops. Our residents are very quiet people. The worst crime they ever commit is a scuffle in a drunken crowd." "Well, no good wasting time, lets go," pleaded Ivan. "Look, what's actually going on?" asked the driver after the tractor started off. "And by the way, my name's Pavel." "Mine's Ivan. I think it's not necessary to tell you what's happened. It's very private but, believe me, I'm in real danger and I do need help from the authorities." "Alright, I see you ain't disposed to chat in a friendly way. But I guess it ain't a bad thing to know who you're helping." "Could we move a little bit faster, I just hate this dung smell," Ivan wrinkled his nose. "Nope; if we try to, we may never reach the place. As my son says, machines don't live so long as this old dude." "In that case you'd better get another one." "Everything costs money in this world, but you can't buy love. I'm fond of this machine, of its every nut and bolt. I fell in love with my future wife when I was giving her a ride in this tractor. And I loved her even more when I was taking her in this cab to the maternity house to have a baby, our first son. It used to belong to Kolhoz, but three years ago I bought it and now, as I've got my own farm, my old iron friend helps me a lot. Oh, it's my whole life, I just can't forsake this piece of metal." The following half an hour was spent in silence. The tractor had entered a big village and passed about a score of sleeping houses, when Pavel braked to stop in front of a two-storied building with a lighted window on the ground floor. "Here we are. This is our police station and post office in one. And remember, there's nothing more important than love. You must love life, every human being, every living creature and not dislike any smell they produce. But you should hate only one odour - the stink of a rotting corpse, 'cause this smell means the end, the end of everything. Good luck, Ivan." "Faugh.., the fellow obviously had a good drink tonight," pronounced Ivan after he jumped off the tractor. When the dung-loaded machine proceeded on its way, rumbling away along the dark village street, Ivan walked over to the building and pushed the doorbell at the entrance. The door was opened by a stout man in a uniform with a holster on his belt. "Sergeant Ozerov," he introduced himself, "what can I do for you?" "I need your help." "Please come in and tell me everything." Ivan stepped over the threshold and closed the door. "My name's Ivan Petrov." "Very nice, Ivan. I guess we'd better move into the room." The door with a sign "OFFICER ON DUTY" on it swung open and the small room, more like the chamber of a peasant's house than a police office, welcomed them with the lively hissing of an electric kettle. "Take a seat, please," the sergeant pointed at one of the three stools standing along the wooden table that, together with a decrepit closet and a low desk set with the kettle and two telephones, made up the scanty interior. "Thanks, but I think it's not the proper time to sit." "Maybe some tea?" offered Ozerov as he unplugged the kettle. "It helps me to while away the tedious nights when I'm on duty." "This night ain't so tedious and what's more we've no time for tea at all 'cause I'm in for big trouble." "Don't be so mysterious," the cop lowered his massive body onto a stool, "just tell me what happened." "I was in Petersburg for a couple of days on business and yesterday I was going to take a flight back home to Moscow. But unfortunately I was captured by a group of people and brought over here to a nearby wood." "Do you know them?" "No. They called themselves apostles and their chief was Pontius Pilate." "Pontius Pilate? Who's that?" "The actual person with such a name lived two thousand years ago and was the man who crucified Jesus Christ. They told me that I'm their Christ and they are going to crucify me. In other words, simply murder me." "What for?" "They said I'd resurrect in three days like Christ and as a result of that everybody would be given everlasting life and no man would suffer any longer." "Hmm..., apostles, Jesus Christ and that guy, what did you call him?...Pompilus; all that sounds funny. And you, of course, refused their offer." "Yeah, I managed to run away while they were drinking in their house." "It's a pity," the sergeant sighed. "What do you mean by 'it's a pity'?" "Just imagine how grand it'd be, if somebody gave me everlasting life and delivered me from all the problems my life's full of." "Even if there's a necessity to kill an innocent man?" "Why not, if he resurrects later?" "If so, why don't you sacrifice yourself for the sake of universal happiness?" "Alright, let's get serious. I'm not that good at religious topics. What kind of help do you need from me?" "I want you to arrest them all without delay, for those people are maniacs and dangerous not only to me but the whole of society. Who knows what crazy idea they'll hit upon next time?" "Well, how many people were there?" "Twelve apostles and Pilate." "So thirteen altogether; are they armed?" "I saw no weapon but a few knives." "Okay, so one against a long dozen; the odds are somewhat unequal." "Can't you call reinforcements?" "First I must go to the spot and judge the situation for myself. Only after that will I make a decision about what's to be done next. D'you remember the way?" "Roughly, but I guess it won't be difficult to recollect it. Do you have any transport?" "Transport? I've got the best means of transport there is. Let's go." After they left the building, Ozerov locked the door and headed for the nearby garage. Soon the yard resounded with an engine roar and a throbbing motorbike, mounted by the cop, rolled up to Ivan. "Jump in here," the sergeant motioned him to the sidecar. While Ivan was settling himself, Ozerov shut the garage doors and remounted the saddle. "Show me the way!" the cop cried out and the bike drove off, spearing the midnight dark with its headlight beam. After forty minutes of driving along country roads, Ozerov stopped his vehicle before the gates that Ivan had first entered only 12 hours ago. The engine switched off, the sergeant dismounted. "So it's here?" "Yeah, they must be inside that hut," Ivan waved his hand towards the house, whose open, lighted windows occasionally filled the wood's hush with sounds of prolonged feasting. "It seems they don't know yet that I've bolted. Hope they didn't hear the bike's noise." "Let's steal closer and try watching them." The cop's corpulence did not hinder his deft jump over the fence. Ivan followed him. They were halfway to the house, when the portable wireless, hanging on the cop's shoulder belt, emitted a harsh oracle. "Roger, Ozerov, roger, damn you! Sergeant Ozerov, where the hell are you?" the radio yelled hoarsely. "D'you copy me? Colonel Stepanov's speaking." "Colonel, I read," Ozerov replied into the microphone. "Great, sergeant. Now listen to me carefully. Two hours ago a prisoner escaped from jail. The criminal has stolen a car and is now driving in the direction of Novgorod. He's armed and very dangerous. Very possibly he's trying to pass through your section. I order you to go on the highway to Novgorod and take up a position in hiding there. After that just wait for further commands, but be ready to act on your own." "Yes, sir. I'm off right away, over," Ozerov switched off the radio and turned to Ivan; "I'm very sorry but there are more serious problems than that crucifixion of yours. I can't take you with me 'cause it might be very dangerous." "I see." "But before going I'd like to give a little bit of advice. If those people really wanna kill you, just keep as far away from this place as possible. Goodbye for now, maybe see you some time later." Within two minutes the sound of the cop's bike died away somewhere in the depth of the woods. "Shit," Ivan cursed, standing where Ozerov had left him. A sudden door squeak made him quiver. He turned around to see a figure on the porch. In a few seconds he was on the other side of the fence, sprinting at top speed towards the only thing he could see - the moonlit waters of the seething river. Gripped by fear, he was not immediately aware that the steady, even earth under his feet had changed into the slippery granite of the rapids. He kept jumping from one rock to another until the distance to the next boulder was too great even for his fear-induced strength. The cold, swift current caught up his floundering, snorting body and carried it away from the loud cries of the apostles that could be heard behind him. ::: The plane gradually gathered speed and became airborne. Ivan let his head rest on the back of his seat and closed his eyes. Everything was behind him now. He had managed to get out of the river. Wet and chilly, he'd strode through the woods and come upon a small railway station. There he'd caught the first train, which took him back to St Petersburg. Then he'd phoned his wife, set her at ease and promised to explain everything when he saw her. Now at last he was flying home. Apart from his night-time adventure with Ozerov, he had not reported anything to the police. Maybe he would do it later, in Moscow. Maybe. But at the moment he did not want to think about what had happened to him. His only wish was to sleep as soon as possible. A light touch on his shoulder broke his oblivion. He opened his eyes to see a smiling stewardess. "Excuse me, sir, are you Mr Petrov?" "Yes, I am." "Here's a note for you," she handed him a piece of paper folded in four and disappeared. He unfolded the sheet and started reading. "Dear Ivan, I told you once that nothing can prevent me from crucifying you, but you didn't believe me. And, what's more, you made an attempt to evade your lot. You also tried to get the police involved in the matter. The truth is that you are not the one who needs someone's assistance, but we all need your help. Do you know what happened to sergeant Ozerov? He was shot by the fugitive outlaw. The cop was just trying to protect society from that scum, but luck wasn't on his side. He used to be a good policeman who never failed to discharge his duty and he perished like a hero. He was always ready to succour people when they were in trouble and he sincerely wanted to help you when you came to him. Now a wife has lost her loving husband and three kids will never see their caring father again. Who can help them? Only you! Nobody but you can change this world for the better. Now one more act of violence is going to befall us. There are terrorists on board. Pretty soon they will try to seize the craft. There will be hostages, some of them are going to be killed. They are all innocent people and their fate is entirely in your hands. Just help those poor things! Only you can stop all the insanity the earth can no longer bear. I and three apostles - Andrew, Peter and James - are sitting four rows behind you. We've got a collapsible cross in a trunk. I'm glad to inform you that we've decided to crucify you right here - on board the airplane. Just think of that! Crucifixion high in the heavens. It sounds even more sacred than the same thing on Golgotha. At least the result won't be any worse. We'd like everything to be done of your own free will and we permit you to have a few minutes to think it over. But if you don't come voluntarily to us in five minutes, we'll be obliged to use brute force, and no one will be able to stop us. Ivan, don't be selfish. Get the courage to think of others. They really need you. And remember, there's nowhere to run this time. Faithfully yours, Pontius Pilate. Ivan folded the message, put it in the inside pocket of his coat and timidly turned round. Pilate saluted him with an arch expression on his face. Ivan averted his gaze and felt his heart beat faster. After a few seconds of confusion he started scrutinizing his hands stupidly. "Perhaps, it's very painful when your wrists are being pierced with nails," he pronounced aloud. "Excuse me, what did you say?" asked his neighbour, a girl of about twenty. "I'm just thinking." "What of?" "About life, death, love and so on. And you, by the way, do you love?" "Yes," the girl smiled in a fascinating way, "I've got a husband and we've got a baby. She's only ten months old. I love them both." "Yeah, but I think everyone must love himself first and foremost and not let anybody infringe on his own right to live." "Maybe you're right," said the girl and returned to her Cosmopolitan. Ivan took a good look at his neighbour. She was beautiful. Her dress was short and tight enough to show all the grace of her attractive figure and the tempting loveliness of a shapely pair of long legs. She was brunette with wonderfully azure eyes. He had always dreamed of a blue-eyed brunette. It was so charming. He remembered his wife, her ebony eyes and badly dyed hair. What else in the world could be more vulgar than that awful combination? Why the hell did he get married to that clumsy and constantly cackling hen? Why did he, a miserable worm, never dare even accost a woman, if she was even slightly prettier than a pig? Even now, at the moment of imminent peril, he could not help becoming turned on by the dazzling femininity the girl was radiating. His excited gaze slowly shifted from the fragrant, wavy tresses flowing over her shoulders, and slid along her neat neck, lingering on the two seductively formed globes hidden beneath the dress, then proceeded downward, examining the slim waist. He remarked upon the delicate elegance of her fingers busily turning over the pages of the magazine, and rested finally on her legs, whose alluring view, disappearing beneath her dress, thrilled him utterly. "Excuse me," his contemplation of the girl's charm was interrupted by her sweet voice, "may I pass?" She stood up, left the row and walked down the aisle with a gait whose dainty ease complimented her fetching appearance. Ivan realised immediately. It was his last chance. He had no more time for meditation. He arose, took off his coat and threw it on his seat. The girl had not yet shut the door behind her when he burst into the restroom. "What's up?" she screamed, scared at his strange behaviour. "Nothing," he said, locking the door. All that followed took a matter of a few seconds. A strong, strangling grip on the girl's throat allowed Ivan to tear off her clothes with his other hand. The rent dress slipped down, uncovering the perfection of her nude body, and landed at her feet. Her panties went the same way, descending the slender length of her legs. His own pants were hurriedly kicked into the corner. The magnetic proximity of naked and palpable womanhood and the very thought of possessing her, stirred his aroused instincts to the limit and he was unable to wait any longer. She tried to escape. A hard blow on her face made blood gush out of her nose. The next moment he thrust in. Convulsively thrusting his hips and moaning in mad passion, he paid no attention to the red rills that slithered over the white, silky skin and trickled down the curves of his victim's body. The blessed orgasm was not long in coming. Heaving a last sigh of contentment, he let her go. Naked and sobbing, the girl sat down on the toilet burying her bloody nose and face, swollen with tears, in her trembling hands. Ivan picked up his pants, put them, tucked in his bloodstained shirt and leaned against the wall. "Oh, God" he groaned, "I didn't mean it... but now their main requirement is missing - I'm no longer without sin. And I can't help them anymore." He opened the door, left the restroom and staggered over to his seat, paying no attention to the armed men in black masks standing in the aisle and shouting harshly at the passengers.
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