The atmosphere in the room suddenly fell silent.
It was like when everyone jokingly decided to tell a serious ghost story before bed. They were all playing childish tricks like "there's someone behind you," or telling jokes they had heard online or from others with a bit of horror mixed in—then someone earnestly told a ghost story that sent chills down everyone's spine.
More terrifying than the ghost story itself was the fact that the other person seemed unable to understand the meaning of this polite social invitation. The warm or lively atmosphere that had only just been built up returned to square one, and whoever had started the topic had to take responsibility.
Ivan pursed his lips, leaned forward, pressed his palms together, and said, "You should know that Russia has a high rate of domestic violence. Husbands beat wives, fathers beat sons, or drunks go on drunken rampages at home."
"That damned cold weather and extreme conditions of survival force people to remain in a constant state of agitation. Originally, it was a way to release that agitation while fighting nature—either through sex, violence, or both."
"Some people choose to vent that agitation by abusing their partners when heavy snow seals them indoors, creating countless cases of domestic violence and marital rape. There are also quite a few negligent homicide cases where someone accidentally kills another person."
Ivan's voice was deep. Whenever he used long sentences to describe the state of things, his Russian accent, mixed into his English, was like a blade plowing deep furrows through a language with relatively simple modes of expression, evoking snowmelt, rust, and alcohol.
"But the killer I saw that day wasn't like that. He hadn't been drinking, I'm sure of it. When the police took him away, we passed right by