Savage Volga

By Adrián Lorea

Russia, 1774. A decade after the colonization of the Lower Volga, the German villages endure the siege of the barbarians that lurk in the region, as well as the threat of the armies led by Yemelian Pugachev, the rebel Cossack who intends to dethrone the empress Catherine II.
In this turbulent setting, the village of Mariental is attacked by a group of Kyrgyz nomads, who kidnap, among other colonists, the young Katharina. Her brother Georg sets forth on her rescue along with a militia formed by inhabitants from different colonies. Meanwhile, Andrew, her other brother, joins Pugachev's rebellion and takes part in the destructive campaign against the tsarist government.
This is the story of people who had been persecuted and a family who had been driven apart, a story of struggles, yearnings, of loves, and hopes.

To develop in a historical novel, the vicissitudes of a noble and selfless people, who inhabited the Russian steppe for more than a century, honors, with incomparable respect, those beloved ancestors. A true and sincere pleasure for the Wolgadeutsche Argentinian Cultural Center to sponsor such a beautiful work of rescue, preservation, and dissemination of our German Volga culture.
Juan Carlos Scheigel Huck

• Language: English
• Publisher: Editorial Autores de Argentina
• Release date: Jan 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9789878722962

Book preview

I

Wolves. Wolves again.

Those wolves announced their arrival with terrifying howls, sounds Anna had never heard before. They stormed into the village, pounced on its inhabitants and tore them apart.

Then the animals entered the house, surrounded Anna and her children, closing a circle of drooling fangs and eyes of fire. Anna looked desperately around her trying to find a way out, but she found none.

The beasts leaped on them, and Anna saw their gaping jaws flying straight to her face...

She woke up drenched in sweat, her heart racing. This was the second time she had that same dream. In the dark, Anna groped for her rosary. She clung to it and prayed.

Five years had passed since that winter of 1769... Five years since her husband had left on that tragic journey on the sleigh. She would never forget the morning when a group of villagers found his vehicle upside down, the dead horses, shreds of clothing, and bloodstains in the snow.

But Anna knew that the monsters in her nightmares had nothing to do with those who had ended her husband’s life: the darkest images she associated with that horrible night had not haunted her in her dreams in a long time. Whatever was now disturbing her peaceful life was something else. She could sense it.

Walking to the river just to fetch some water was not exactly an enjoyable walk; especially when you had to carry a stick on your shoulders and two buckets hanging from both ends. And that was exactly what Anna and her daughter Katharina did every day. But the sunny and peaceful morning made that task less unpleasant.

As they watched them go down the main street, their neighbors greeted them with a simple and polite nod. Some added a friendly smile for the mother and others some flattering looks for the young girl.

People would look at me like that when I was her age, thought Anna, surprised by a sudden stab of jealousy.

The distance between the last house in Mariental and the bank of the Karaman River was short. In the river, several women were washing clothes as their children played on the tree-lined riverbank. One of the women approached them, greeted them, and said:

This girl will not stop growing, will she?

Don’t call her a girl; she hates it, Anna silently warned her in her head.

And then she addressed the woman:

Margaret, how are you?

Worried. But aren’t we all? Haven’t you heard? A group of savages was seen prowling the village.

Savages?

You know, those from the steppe.

Well, said Anna as she unhooked the buckets off her stick, the Kalmyks come to Mariental all the time….

Those were not Kalmyks, said Margaret as she shook her head.

"They may be homeless. There are hundreds of them in the surroundings. They beg for a while and then they walk away.

Anna and Katharina submerged their buckets into the water and then got them out overflowing. As she remembered her nightmares, Anna said thoughtfully:

There is nothing to worry about.

I hope you’re right, Margaret said. In these times, between the barbarians from the steppes and the vandals who follow that rebel Pugachev… She realized what she had just said the moment Katharina stared right at her. Of course they’re not all vandals, dear, she corrected herself. There are also some decent people among them. Like your son, Andrew, of course.

Don’t worry, Anna replied indulgently. She placed the stick back on her shoulders, said goodbye to her ashamed neighbor, and walked with Katharina back home.

Anna put the food in the oven, turned to her daughter-in-law, and fanning herself with the dish towel, she said:

It is so hot! I know it is not the perfect evening to cook this, but it is one of my big boys’ favorite dishes."

You indulge them every time, said Elisabeth with a smile.

That’s true. I live for them.

Elisabeth nodded. At that moment Anna noticed her gaunt expression. Had she argued with Georg again? The fact that this poor girl couldn’t get pregnant was a permanent conflict in their marriage. Georg could not forgive her: whenever he found the opportunity, he would throw it at her face.

Katharina entered the kitchen and Anna said:

Set the table, dear. Your brothers will be home any time now.

A short time later, the door opened and her boys came in. Georg announced his respectable arrival with an energetic good night, every detail in his attitude proclaiming the supremacy of the firstborn child. Johann followed him behind, but his greeting sounded more like a faint echo.

Georg sat at the head of the table in the middle of the kitchen, on the chair that his father used to sit on. Anna remembered him every time Georg took his seat: the seat of the patriarch.

When Katharina finished setting the table and everyone was seated, Anna took the dinner out of the oven.

"Kraut und brei!" Johann said, clapping his hands at the pan full of mashed potatoes, sauerkraut, bacon, and pork.

Anna smiled at the celebration and gently shook her head. That boy was about to turn twenty years old and he still behaved like a little child.

The church bells rang the Angelus. Anna crossed herself and then proceeded to pray:

"Oh, Lord, You who always provide for us, please bless the food on this table. And we thank you for what you give us every day. Amen.

Amen, answered the others and they all got ready to enjoy the meal.

For a while there was only the clink of silverware on the plates and the murmur of sparkling kwas filling the glasses. Anna truly enjoyed watching those children eat.

Today I heard that Pugachev and his villains have invaded another village, Georg said. The usual thing: they hanged Russian nobles, raped their daughters and wives, and looted the place.

Anna’s face darkened. Katharina, the pan, she said with a hoarse voice.

The problem is, Georg continued, that this rebellion will not stop growing and it will become a threat to our own colonies eventually.

I don’t see why, Katharina said with a shrug. I thought they only attacked Russian nobles.

Indeed, said Georg, but they stock up on their supplies with the looting. And believe me, you don’t want to see those giant beasts knocking on your door.

It is being said that Pugachev has already assembled an army of thirty thousand rebels, Johann commented.

Thirty thousand! repeated Georg, dramatically. That is a good number for a group of bandits.

Anna clenched her fists.

To be honest, said Georg, I don’t understand why Andrew decided to join these ruffians when he grew up in a Christian home.

He has his way of thinking, Anna murmured, not taking her eyes off her plate.

Way of thinking? Georg replied. "Mother, I cannot believe you’re taking this so lightly when he is actually leaving the heimat and his family just to become a disciple of a renegade Cossack. I think Andrew has lost his mind. And it may just be a way of saying… Although we know very well that he could end up losing it for real.

Enough, said Anna, hitting the table with her open hand and piercing Georg with her eyes.

For a long while, they ate in the midst of an overwhelming silence. Anna wondered when Georg had learnt to be so scathing and sly: none of his siblings were like that. And especially not his late father. What if she had spoiled him a bit too much when he was little because he was their first child?

Voices of young people came from the street. They were singing a happy song. Among them, one certainly dissonant voice stood out.

That’s Gottfried Erlenback, said Katharina, flustered.

That’s romantic, exclaimed Elisabeth. A serenade!

I’m afraid so, Georg said as he frowned.

And no one would ever doubt who the lucky lady is, Johann said, winking at his sister.

Katharina made a gesture as if saying ‘don’t be silly.’

When the serenade dissolved into the night, Katharina stood up to wash the pots, in an attempt to flee the mischievous glances coming from every single member of her family.

Georg said to Elisabeth:

Let’s get some rest, my dear. We have no children yet, so we don’t need to stay up late trying to put them to sleep.

Anna watched him go, annoyed. Elisabeth followed him, with her head down. Poor dear. Compared to other times, that piece of irony had been mild. Georg had once called her sterile, just plain. But Elisabeth never responded to these recriminations. She would remain silent, submissive.

Everyone stood up and left, except for Anna. She was in no hurry: a cold bed awaited her, a bed plagued with nightmares. She took a Bible from her bedside table and began to read by the candlelight.

Sudden gusts of wind howled outside the window, and Anna imagined them as a pack of hellish wolves trying to break into her home.

Their slanted eyes narrowed, straining to pierce the last veil of darkness: the Germanic colony was barely visible in the uncertain light of dawn.

In the silence, a neigh. The cavalrymen started off, gripping their spears.

II

Dear mother,

I’m finally able to write to you. It was hard to find the right moment. I want you to know that I am healthy. But I won’t lie to you: my spirit is not the best. As you know, I joined the rebel Cossack’s cause in pursuit of freedom and justice. He faces that who promised us paradise but instead abandoned us in this desert of barbarians.

I sometimes find myself in doubt and wonder whether I chose the right path. There is no single trace of the