The Painted Bird - Jerzy Kosinski [85]
The screams of raped women were heard in all the houses. One girl somehow managed to escape and ran out half naked, with blood streaming down her thighs, howling like a whipped dog. Two half-naked soldiers ran after her, laughing. They chased her around the square amidst the laughter and jokes of their comrades. Finally they caught up with her. Weeping children looked on.
New victims were being caught all the time. The drunken Kalmuks became more and more aroused. A few of them copulated with each other, then competed in raping women in odd ways: two or three men to one girl, several men in rapid succession. The younger and more desirable girls were nearly torn apart, and some quarrels broke out among the soldiers. The women sobbed and prayed aloud. Their husbands and fathers, sons and brothers, who were now locked in the houses, recognized their voices and responded with maddened shrieks.
In the middle of the square some Kalmuks displayed their skill in raping women on horseback. One of them stripped off his uniform, leaving only his boots on his hairy legs. He rode his horse in circles and then neatly lifted off the ground a naked woman brought to him by the others. He made her sit astride the horse in front of him, and facing him. The horse broke into a faster trot, the rider pulled the woman closer making her lean her back against the horse’s mane. At every lunge of the horse he penetrated her afresh, shouting triumphantly each time. The others greeted his performance with applause. The rider then deftly turned the woman around so that she faced forward. He lifted her slightly and repeated his feat from the back while clutching her breasts.
Encouraged by the others, another Kalmuk jumped on the same horse, behind the woman and with his back to the horse’s mane. The horse groaned under the load and slowed down, while the two soldiers raped the fainting woman simultaneously.
Other feats followed. Helpless women were passed from one trotting horse to another. One of the Kalmuks tried to couple with a mare; others aroused a stallion and tried to push a girl under it, holding her up by her legs.
I crept deeper into the bushes, overwhelmed by dread and disgust. Now I understood everything. I realized why God would not listen to my prayers, why I was hung from hooks, why Garbos beat me, why I lost my speech. I was black. My hair and eyes were as black as these Kalmuks’. Evidently I belonged with them in another world. There could be no mercy for such as me. A dreadful fate had sentenced me to have black hair and eyes in common with this horde of savages.
Suddenly a tall white-haired old man came out of one of the barns. The peasants called him “The Saint” and perhaps he thought of himself as such. He held with both hands a heavy wooden cross and he wore on his white head a wreath of yellowed oak leaves. His sightless eyes were lifted to the sky. His bare feet, deformed by age and disease, sought a path. The words of a psalm came in a mournful dirge from his toothless mouth. He was pointing the cross at his unseen enemies.
The soldiers sobered for a moment. Even the drunken ones eyed him uneasily, visibly disturbed. Then one of them ran up to the old man and tripped him. He fell down and lost his grip on the cross. The Kalmuks jeered and waited. The old man tried with stiff movements to raise himself, groping for the cross. His bony, gnarled hands searched the ground patiently while the soldier flipped the cross away with his foot as he got close to it. The old man crawled around babbling and moaning softly. Finally he was exhausted and breathed heavily with a hoarse wheeze. The Kalmuk lifted the heavy cross and stood it upright. It balanced for a second, and then toppled onto the prone figure. The old man moaned and ceased to move.
A soldier threw a knife at one of the girls who was trying to crawl away. She was left bleeding