About The Book
"A moving, true saga of revolutionary Russia."
"Reminiscent of Dr. Zhivago and The Winds of War."

A Dry Leaf in the Wind
A Saga of Pre-War Russia
by
Wolf Goodman

A division of Shapolsky Publishers, Inc.
S.P.I. BOOKS
A division of Shapolsky Publishers, Inc. Copyright © 1992 by Shapolsky Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan American Copyright Conventions. Published in the U.S.A. by Shapolsky Publishers, Inc. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of Shapolsky Publishers, Inc., except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For any additional information, contact: S.P.I. Books/Shapolsky Publishers, Inc. 136 West 22nd Street New York, NY 10011 (212) 633-2022 FAX (212) 633-2123 10 987654321 ISBN: 1-56171-070-9
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Manufactured in the United States of America

I
Going Home
     It was an unusually warm October evening in Petrograd. The horse in front of the drozhka went clip-clopping along the cobblestones of the Nevskii Prospect. I enjoyed the wind in my face while riding in the drozhka with the cover down. The wide, treelined boulevards were rolling by, busy with pedestrians, horsedrawn carriages, and occasionally a noisy, smoky automobile. A few street lights that had somehow survived the revolution lit up the teaming life of this magnificent city. My mother Reveka, or Rivka as she was usually called, was taking me home from the hospital in Petrograd, called the Petrogradskii Khirurgicheskii Institute, which was under the direction of the great Professor Polenov.
     Professor Polenov was nice. He would always stop, pinch me on the cheek, and pat me on the head. "You'll walk, Vulia," he would say, "You'll walk, when we make the leg brace for you. For the time being, you'll have to walk on crutches." Maria Serge Yevna, his wife, was nice too. She made underpants for Vanka and me. She said that boys should wear long underpants under their shirts and hospital robes.
     Vanka was my friend ... I missed him. They brought Vanka into my hospital room a long time ago after Grishka died. He died during the night. I was asleep and missed all the commotion. When I had awakened, I saw that Grishka's head was covered with his blanket. I rushed over to uncover his head so that he would not suffocate. Horrors! I will never forget the stare of those bulging eyes, the frozen grin on that parchment-yellow, emaciated face. All his teeth were showing. I must have screamed, because General Avenavious and Anufri jumped from their beds. "Leave him alone!" they shouted; "He is dead!" Grishka's head looked like a skull draped over with a thin skin, The mouth was wide open in a terrible grin, his open eyes stared right at me. This was the first dead man I had ever seen in my eight years of life, I had seen a dead bird, a dead mouse, and grandpa's dead horse. Nothing compared to the horrible sight of Grishka's dead face. This image still stays with me up to the present. It still haunts me when I am alone in the dark. . .
     It felt good to have my mother's arm around me. I pressed closer to her so as to be one with her. Gone were the continuous pangs of hunger, the always-present thoughts and schemes of how to snatch an extra bit of food by begging a few crumbs from patients who received parcels from home or fighting with other boys in the hospital over scraps in the garbage. I was the smallest one and crippled, so that I usually came out with a lump on my head instead of food. . . .
     Mama paid off the driver when we arrived at the station. She took her suitcase and my small bundle of clothes off the drozhka, lifted me gently and put me down on the ground. I was dressed in a long overcoat and a lambskin hat with ear flaps that could be lowered over the my ears in cold, windy weather. I had new shoes and a new brace on my right, paralyzed, leg. Mama led me slowly by the hand toward the steps. Walking was difficult in the new stiff shoes and brace. I could feel that Mama was resisting the temptation to pick me up and carry me over the steps as she used to do. We both remembered Professor Polenov's advice:
     "Reveka Abramovna, if you want your boy to grow up as a self-sufficient human being, you must suppress your motherly desires to help your son when he has physical difficulties. He must walk by himself, unaided. Do not help him get up when he falls, as he will be falling many times. Do not bring him anything even if he asks for it. Let him get it himself. No pity! Remember, no pity, no tears, no show of sympathy or compassion. You must also teach the rest of the family to behave in the same manner. At the same time you must not show that his behavior is other than normal. Don't cry, Reveka Abramovna, you are lucky that the boy is healthy and has a good mind. Remember, the best thing you can do for him is to let him do things for himself, and he will manage to solve his own problems."
     Mama was putting it into practice. She did not look at me. I held on to her hand and straggled up the many steps to the top. The expanse of the station hall was staggering. The place was busy and noisy. Civilians and soldiers with their packs were scurrying in all directions.
     "Ai! I lost ail my papers! I had them in one bundle in my bag," Mama exclaimed. "I'll have to find the driver; I could have lost them in the drozhka, or on the road. I may have to retrace my steps. Or I might have left them in the hotel. Vulenka, sit here with the suitcase and your bundle. I have to find the papers."
     "Yes, Mama, don't worry. I'll be all right."
     I was by myself, sitting on top of my bundle on top of the suitcase, which was on top of a massively built wooden bench. It was quite a long way down to the floor. All I could do was to wait and observe the goings-on around me,
     A tall militiaman came by with a red armband on his sleeve and a rifle slung over his shoulder,
     "You all by yourself, boy?"
     "No. Mama lost her papers and wait to find them."
     "You going somewhere?"
     "To Varklian,"
     "Where is that?"
     "Near Rezhitza."
     "Never heard of that place either."
     "They speak Latvian there."
     "Dvinsk?"
     "Yes."
     "What's your name?"
     "Vulia."
     "Vulia what?"
     "Vulia Gutman."
     "What were you doing here in Petrograd?"
     "I was in a hospital here for a long time, in the Petrogradskii Khirurgicheskii Institute. I had infantile paralysis when I was eleven months old, and they were trying to straighten out my paralyzed leg so I could walk."
     "Did they?"
     "Yes. I can walk better now. And Professor Polenov said I'll walk even better when I break-in my new shoes and brace."
     "That's good, kid. I'll walk around and keep an eye on you. Don't be afraid, I'll watch over you. If anybody wants to steal your things, you just scream 'KIRIL, KIRIL!', that's my name, and I'll be there to help you."
     "Thank you, you are very nice." I said to him as he was walking away. He turned around, smiled, and winked at me. I smiled in return. We were friends. His tall, lean figure retreated and mixed with the crowd. I could only follow his sheepskin 'papakha' which towered above everybody else. It made me feel real good inside to have found a friend. Yes, he was a friend. His light blue eyes shone with warmth; his deep low voice had both strength and tenderness.
     Kiril reminded me of Nikolai Ivanovich, except Kiril had a blond beard and mustache and Nikolai was cleanshaven. Nikolai Ivanovich was my idol in the hospital. He was in the military ward, which I used to frequent. Afterwards they transferred me from a semi-private room to another building, in the women's ward. I remembered when they brought him in in a wooden wheel chair. He was injured in both knees. We became friends right then. I kept him company and guarded his foot locker till the nurses readied his bed.
     "My name is Nikolai Ivanovich", he said, "What is yours, my young friend?"
     "My name is Vulia. I have been here a long time. I have a paralyzed leg from infantile paralysis." I got it all out like a well-rehearsed lesson. I had done it so many times.
     "Vulia, what kind of name is that?"
     "I don't know. I am Jewish."
     "I'll call you Volodia. How do you like that?"
     "But everybody calls me Vulia."
     "Alright, Vulia. Now if you open my locker, you'll find a little paper sack right on top. Inside there is candy. You take one and give me one."
     The sight was dazzling. I stood there in front of the open foot locker and couldn't take my eyes off the many medals with colored ribbons lying in disarray in one of the top compartments of the box. All I could do was exclaim "Ahhh!" sucking in my breath.
     "I was a dragoon officer in the cavalry, a good officer. My best medals are these." He slapped his casts on both legs with a flash of anger and sarcasm. The fire in his eyes disappeared and a smile softened his unshaven face again.
     "How about the candy, my little admirer?"
     There was a smalt sack full of hard candy. We both had one each, aad started sacking on it noisily.
     "Do they feed you well here?"
     "Not too well now. At first, we used to get dried, salted 'vobli' (a Caspian roach fish) in the evening and meat on Sunday. Now it is only hot tea in the morning, cabbage soup, without meat and hardly any cabbage, in the afternoon. In the evening, the grown-ups get one pound of bread, while the children get only half a pound of bread, and more cabbage soup. No sugar, no salt, no milk."
     "Are you getting some parcels from home?"
     "Not for a long time."
     "Why not?"
     "I don't know. Maybe somebody steals them."
     "That is tough, my boy."
     "Your bed is ready, Nikolai Ivanovich," Gerta Pet-rovna, the head nurse, said, coming over and wheeling my friend away.
     "Thief!, thief! Catch that thief!" a woman was shouting.
     That brought me back to the reality of the train station, A young man was running, clutching a basket. A militiaman tripped him aad he fell, losing the basket. The militiaman picked up the basket and the man off the floor. He pushed him toward the screaming woman, who did not dare leave her place in the line for a departing train.
     "Thank you, comrade militiaman," she said receiving the basket. "All I own is in this basket. I hope they punish this thief."
     "I'll punish him right now." With this the militiaman slapped the frightened thief on the face, slap, slap, on both cheeks with the open palm of his hand. Blood started trickling from his nose and lips onto his torn clothes.
     "There is no room for thieves in our new proletarian society. Let's go." The crowd in the line murmured approval as the thief was led away.
     Kiril came by. "Your mamasha must have trouble finding her papers. Don't worry, my boy, you'll be safe. I am keeping an eye on you. Here have a sukhar to gnaw on. That will keep you busy for a while."
     "Thank you, Uncle Kiril." It visibly pleased him to be called uncle. He gave me a loving hug and left. It felt good. I was wise for my eight years of life, in the art of currying favors from other people. Much of my childhood had been spent in hospitals. First it was in Riga. I must have been only three years old then. I vaguely remember a doctor Tillo, who operated on me. Then came Dorpat, or Yuryev, as the Russians called it. This was during the German occupation. Mama heard that there was a famous surgeon in Dorpat by the name of Zoege Von Manteufel. He too operated on me. I must have been five years old then. A year later it was Moskva, or Moskow, to visit the famous Professor Korsakov. No surgery then. And now it was Petrograd and Professor Polenov. Being often left in the hands of strangers, I had learned early that an extra smile, flattery here, a few tears there, would bring me attention. Demands, tantrums, and anger could only produce frustration and turn people away from you. I also learned to read the fine nuances of expressions oa people's faces. I needed and somehow got an extra smile, a pat on the head, a hug, a kiss. I was a "good boy." The sukhar didn't last long. I could have eaten three or four of those.
     Food had been scarce since I was brought here to Petrograd in the hospital. I remembered how mama and I were led by a nurse to my room for the first time. This was in early Spring. There were four beds in the room. Grishka and General Avenavious occupied the beds near the window, and Anufri and I the ones near the door.
     Mama asked the general to look after me and gave him some money to buy things for me when I needed something. He stood up to his full height of over six feet and clicked his heels, only there was no click given off by his soft slippers, He bent down and kissed Mama's hand.
     "Don't worry, Reveka Abramovna. I will look after the boy," he said in a pleasant baritone, with his jowls, just empty skin bags, shaking as he spoke. "I will also teach him schooling as though he were my own son,"
     "Oh? You are very kind, General Avenavius," Mama replied in parting, I am very glad that Vulia will have such a distinguished gentleman looking after him." That was it. Mama was gone for the next eight months, tilt now.
     Uncle Avenavious, as I called him, was a nice, kind old gentleman. He told me how he got hurt. He was riding one day in his private carriage, one of the last vestiges of luxury left to him. They encountered a demonstration of workers carrying red flags and singing revolutionary songs. His driver did not turn off to a side street soon enough. It enraged the people to see someone in a general's tzarist uniform. They attacked, turning over the carriage, and spilling the general and his driver. The horse got frightened and ran out of control, dragging the overturned vehicle and running over the general. The general suffered some broken bones and torn innards. It took many months and many operations to bring him to a point where he could walk with one crutch. He still could not control his bowels sometime. This was often the cause of arguments with the nurses.
     General Avenavius took very good care of me. He gave me love and attention in abundance, which I needed and returned in kind. We became very close friends, he in his seventies and I eight years old. He used one left crutch and I one right one. We used to walk in the long corridors of the hospital and in the hospital gardens holding hands, greeting people we met and exchanging pleasantries with them in the old Russian manner of the nobility and intelligentsia.
     "How are you, Stepan Andreyevich?"
     "What is the good news today, Anna Petrovna?"
     "Out for a stroll I see, Boris Alexandrovich, so are we." And so it went.
     Our food rations in the hospital were skimpy to start with and got poorer as time went on. About the time mother came for me I was skin and bones. I was so weakened that I started wetting in bed. Vanka and a girl, our age, wet the bed also. We were the only children in the ward. For the first few days after mother came, I gorged myself on anything she brought and never had enough.
     I spied mother in the crowd, approaching rapidly.
     "I found all the papers in the hotel,Vulia," mama told me jubilantly. "The carriage we arrived in was still outside, he didn't have them. Then I walked all the way back, retracing the way we came; they weren't there. Finally, I found them in the hotel room, on a chair, There lay the papers, as big as life, where I put them, so I would not forget them. Were you lonely, dear?"
     "Not too much. A militiaman came by a couple of times and talked to me. His name is Kiril. He is nice. He told me not to be afraid; he'd watch me."
     "That was nice of him."
     Kiril suddenly appeared. "I see your mamasha has come back. Have you found your papers, citizen Gut-man?"
     "Yes. I left them in the hotel. I forgot them as we were rushing to leave."
     "Where are you going?"
     "To Rezhitsa, by way of Velikiye Luki, on track two."
     "The train is already here. They did not open the gate yet. Let me take the boy and your baggage. I will take you in ahead of the crowd so that you won't have to stay in that long line. I will also see that you are assured of a place to rest and where Vulia can lie down."
     "Oh! That will be wonderful."
     "Call me Kiril. Vulia and I have become friends."
     "My name is Reveka Abramovna. It is very kind of you to help us. It is not easy to travel with, uh, a child."
     Mama did not want to hurt my feelings by saying 'crippled', but that is what the 'uh' meant. I was used to these stutters, and it did not bother me. Kiril put me astride his neck, picked up our things, and started out to the gate, with mama following.
     "Make way, comrades, make way," Kiril shouted as he threaded through the crowd. I was holding on to the rifle so as not to slip off my perch. Kiril pushed himself through the line of people waiting for the gate to open. Angry stares from them accompanied us, but nobody spoke up. The authority of the red armband on Kiril's sleeve and the rifle on his shoulder let themselves be felt.
     "Open the gate, comrade," Kiril commanded to the short, stocky gatekeeper. "I have here a mother with her sick boy."
     "I cannot do it, comrade, I have no orders yet to open the gate. Besides you have to take your turn in line. All citizens are equal." The gateman had a satisfied look on his face for defying the militiaman. He exerted his authority in the face of another authority. The crowd in line looked on approvingly.
     "Open the gate," Kiril repeated in a low voice, with menace in it, while pushing mama's suitcase in the gateman's stomach. The gate was opened to let us through. Kiril walked with big strides on the platform, mother could hardly keep up with him. He looked in the dimly lit windows of the cars, and finally stopped at one saying: "This will do. It has compartments and upper berths where Vulia and you can stretch out to rest at night."
     Surprisingly, the car had quite a few people in it already. Kiril was murmuring under his breath something about dishonesty, thievery, bribes, and to undermining the Socialist Order. He opened the sliding door of one of the compartments. Four women occupied the lower seats, one woman was on one of the upper berths, and a man on the other. Kiril turned to the man in a not too friendly manner: "You will have to move to another compartment. We want to reserve this one for women and children only."
     "But I was here first," the man protested.
     "By what right are you here in the first place? The gate hasn't opened yet. You are supposed to stay in line and wait till they open the gate, like every honest citizen does. You gave a bribe to someone to get in, heh? Show me your travel permit."
     "I'll move, comrade, I'll move. Don't be angry."
     "All of you, all of you have not yet lost the bourgeois manners, a bribe here, a twist there. I have no time to take you all to task right now. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Is that what we were fighting for?"
     "And what are you doing throwing your weight around?" one of the women spoke up. "I am helping out a women with a sick child. Don't you think she deserves some kind of consideration?"
     Nobody else had anything to say. Kiril lifted me up on the vacated upper berth. Mother spread out some clothing from my bundle to soften the hard boards of the berth.
     "I wish you a pleasant journey, Citizen Gutman. You can sleep with your boy on this berth. I will order the conductor not to let any men in here so that you women can have some privacy. And you, my friend," Kiril turned to me, "grow up to be an honest man, to be a credit to the revolution." He reached out and hugged me, then kissed me on the forehead.
     "Thank you, Comrade Kiril," Mama and I said in unison.
     "Thank you, comrade militiaman," The other women joined in. Kiril was gone. I saw him again through the window. He turned and gave me a smile of recognition and a wave with his hand when he saw me, then walked away. I followed his tall figure till it was obscured by the window frame.
     I had ridden on many trains before. These rides were full of fascination and excitement, with new people one meets, new places one sees, and new languages and sounds one hears. People and places changed so rapidly, only vague memories and impressions were left. So too it was with Kiril. A chance meeting, friendly relations, pleasant memories, and then he too disappeared from my life, never to be seen or heard from again. I was lying on my stomach looking through the window, a pastime I indulged in every time I was on a train. After a while, people started passing by my window in droves. They must have opened the gate. Noises of dropping suitcases and shuffling feet could be heard outside of our door. Several times the door of our compartment opened. We admitted four more women. Now we were full. Nobody in the compartment talked, each was absorbed in her own thoughts.
     After a long while, we began to hear other noises: huffing, puffing, and whistling of the locomotive, conductors flashing lanterns. Then, suddenly, the train shuddered, and started jerking forward and backward, catching the passengers off guard. It clanked while changing rails, and gradually started moving and gaining speed in jerks. The platform moved, then disappeared. Rails, many rails, glistened in the dim street lights and snaked their way under the car. Semaphores with green lights greeted us at many rail crossings, where people and horses stood waiting behind a railing. Many buildings were flashing by, then they got scarcer and finally we were out in the country. It was hard to see out of the window. Only now and then could I see a silhouette of a tree or a light in a farmhouse window rushing by. By now the train adapted a steady speed with a monotonous, rhythmic clickety-clackety, clickety-clackety sound.
     Mother joined me on the berth. She put her arm around me, drew me close to her and kissed me. It felt warm and good. All the anxieties, worries and excitement dissolved into pleasant nothingness. . . .

II
People on the Train
     Mother's movements behind me woke me up. Daylight was already showing through the window. I could see farm houses, trees and meadows rushing by. The train started slowing down.
     "We are stopping, Vulenka," Mama whispered. "I'll go down to the station, maybe I can get us something to eat and some tea. You must be hungry, I know I am."
     "I really am hungry."
     Mama put on her shoes, combed her hair and made her way down to the floor, carefully, so as not to wake anybody. A tea kettle and tea pot appeared from her suitcase. She put on her coat and made her way noiselessly into the hallway.
     Houses started appearing more frequently in my window. The rails multiplied as though by magic. We slowed down and after a sudden lurch, stopped in front of a small station. I saw mother running across the platform and into the station entrance. People were milling in all directions.
     The women in our compartment were awakened by the abrupt stopping of the train. There was a lot of stretching, scratching, yawning and complaining of the aches and pains caused by the hard benches. Gradually they brought themselves in order: clothes, hair, stockings, shoes. The air was stale. One woman climbed up on the berth to uncover the louvered opening in the ceiling. A stream of fresh cold air rushed in. I wrapped myself in my coat. The door swung open and mama stood there with her steaming tea kettle.
     "Tea everybody?"
     All the women looked up at her in disbelief.
     "My dear," one woman spoke up, "how nice of you to think of all of us."
     "Come on, girls," another woman called out with enthusiasm, "let's put two suitcases together for a table and have breakfast."
     "Everybody take out what you've got and let's have a feast."
     "Share and share alike."
     All the women got busy. Two suitcases were put together on the floor, covered by several layers of old newspaper. Mama's tea kettle, with the boiling water, crowned by a porcelain teapot, in the middle.
     "I could only buy two cold boiled potatoes and the boiling water," Mama apologized, while cutting up the potatoes in bite-size pieces. "There was no salt and no sugar."
     "Don't worry, madamushka, I have several little racks of salt for sale. If I take a little pinch off each one, it won't be missed."
     "I have some salted herring that will go good with the potato.''
     I had a bird's eye view from my perch on the berth. The "table" looked like it was set for a banquet. There were Mama's potatoes, herring cut in little pieces, garnished with onion rings, several hard boiled eggs, quartered, sukhari made of black bread, and a small clay jar with lard. Everyone had a knife, spoon, and a granite cup.
     My mouth was watering looking down at all the goodies. Someone was spreading the sukhari with lard. Someone else was pouring tea, and everybody helped themselves to the food. Mother brought me a sukhar, thickly topped with lard, a piece of herring, a bite of potato, and a quarter of an egg. Mama and I shared the same cup of tea—no sugar.
     The atmosphere in the car became relaxed, the women started calling each other by their first names, and a feeling of camaraderie developed. They were talking, joking, laughing.
     "We always used to have a barrel of herring at home," one woman said. "Now you are lucky to find one herring for sale. I hear that in some of the markets they even sell bite-size pieces of herring."
     "And when you do find it for sale, you pay for it in blood," another woman contributed. "Remember we used to get those plump, fat, juicy, herring, what did they call them?"
     "Bismark Herring."
     "Did you ever hear of a Kaiser Wilhelm Herring?"
     "What is that?"
     "That is a Bismark herring with the brains squashed out . . ."
     Laughter.
     "There is an Armenian riddle: It hangs on the wall, it is green, and when you touch it, it screams. Of course you don't know—it is a herring!"
     "A herring? A herring does not hang on the wall," one of the women wonders.
     "If you hang it on the wall, it will hang on the wall."
     "But a herring isn't green!" another woman argues.
     "If you paint it green it will be green." Indignantly now: "But you cannot tell me that a herring screams when you touch it!"
     "Aaah, this is there to make it harder to guess ..." Laughter all around.
     "I think we can bury the herring now, we squeezed it dry, nothing but the bones are left."
     "In today's situation even the bones have to be eaten. It would be a sin to throw them away."
     "We used to produce so much food; where did it all go?"
     "The war."
     "And the Kerensky revolution."
     "And the Bolshevik revolution."
     "And on top of that the Reds fighting the Whites."
     "From one day to the next you don't know who is in authority, whom you bow to today."
     "The Reds come and search your house. 'Citizen Petrovski, they say, you have three sacks of flour. For a family of six, one sack is enough.' They requisition two sacks, and by the time they are gone, you find that your soap, your forks, spoons, knives, and anything one can put in his pocket, are gone also. Next day the Whites come. They are more polite—Tzarist officers. They requisition your last sack of flour. They say: 'Tomorrow the Reds will be here, they will supply you with flour.' There you are. You are forced into stealing, lying, cheating, hiding. What is to become of Russia? The year 1919 is already coming to an end. Oh, God, how much longer?" Petrovskaya crossed herself and wiped a tear with the edge of her head kerchief.
     "Mama, I would like to go to the bathroom," I whispered in her ear.
     "My dear, they lock the bathrooms when the train is standing in the station."
     "You can take the boy to the restroom in the station."
     "That is right, we'll go to the station, Vulenka."
     "While there, please, find out how long we are going to stay here in Dno."
     "I'll do that, We have to put on warm clothes, Vulia, it is cold outside today."
     Mama put on long black woolen stockings over my shoes and brace, my overcoat, sheepskin hat, and on top of that a 'bashlik' (hood). The mittens were tied together with a long red woolen thread that was laced through the overcoat sleeves. All this extra clothing was heavy and made it hard for me to walk. We had to disturb many people as we made our way through the hallway of the car. These were the people who did not have room in the compartments. They were sitting on their suitcases and bundles on the floor. A sharp, cold wind hit us when we opened the outside door. Mama helped me down the steps of the car and onto the platform. We walked slowly to the station entrance. Mother and I shared one booth in the restroom, which was not too roomy. It was quite a deal to peel off all those clothes and then to put them back on again after completing the operation.
     We found a man in a railroad uniform and Mama asked him, "How long is the train to Velikiye Luki going to stay here in Dno?"
     "Maybe six or eight hours more." he replied. "They requisitioned your locomotive for a military train. We will have to wait till they send as another one,"
     "Our food supplies are running out. Would you know, by chance, where one can find some food to buy?"
     "There is none in the station, except for boiling water. You could try a village about a viorst (a little over a mile) from here down the rail. Better take along some things to trade. They don't take money, except in silver."
     "Thank you, comrade, for the information. It looks like we will have to go shopping."
     "We will be here another six to eight hours. They took away our locomotive for the military," Mama announced when we returned to our compartment in the car.
     "We should have walked," one lady expressed her displeasure sarcastically.
     "Too late now," Mama said. "I also found out that there are some farms a viorst or so down the rail, where we may be able to buy some food. The man who told me that said that the peasants will only trade for silver or merchandise. ''
     The women started a fast exchange of talk:
     "I suggest two of us go out there and do some trading."
     "Good idea."
     "Let's see who has what to trade."
     "I have a bar of perfumed soap."
     "I can spare one little sack of salt. I can make four little sacks out of it."
     "Half a dozen lighter flints ..."
     "A package of sewing needles ..."
     "A spool of cotton thread ..."
     "Mother-of-pearl buttons . . ."
     "A razor . . ."
     "A folding knife ..."
     And so it went. Everybody contributed something, and pretty soon there was quite a collection of 'precious' items, hard to get in these times of war and revolution. Mama and a lady by the name of Pokrovskaya were selected to go on the 'expedition'.
     I was somewhat apprehensive: ' 'What if the train leaves before you come back?"
     "Don't worry, my little boy," one of the ladies said. "When they say six to eight hours, it will probably be tomorrow at noon. It is never sooner than what they say."
     Mama and Mrs. Pokrovskaya left.
     I was up on the berth where I could sit up or lie down. For diversion Mama left me a pencil with a piece of cardboard to write or draw on. The tip of the pencil broke at the first touch—a wartime product—so all I could do was watch in the window, listen to the ladies talk (and that they did continuously), reminisce, and think.
     The experiences of my last stay in the hospital in Petrograd flashed through my mind. After the operation, when I was lying on my back, in pain, with my leg in a cast, and immobile, I had few people to talk to. General Avenavious came over once or twice a day to talk and comfort me. Anufri also came over, when nobody was around, to tease me. He threatened to drop a book on my cast, which made me wince and shudder. I wasn't so sure he was not going to do it, knowing what Anufri was capable of. Grishka lay moaning on his bed. I was thirsty, terribly thirsty, so pushed the buzzer for help. A nurse came, she was all in white and looked to me like an apparition of an angel.
     "What is it, my darling, does it hurt?"
     "Yes, it hurts. But I am also very thirsty."
     "You cannot have any water till evening, my dear."
     "Why is that?"
     "You had chloroform. It will make you throw up."
     "How can I throw up if I have nothing in my stomach? I had a tablespoon of castor oil yesterday at noon, then an enema last night, and I haven't eaten since noon yesterday."
     "All right, dear, I'll bring you some water, but only one swallow, promise?"
     She was soon back with a white porcelain teapot. I took a big mouthful of the warm tea and held it in my mouth for a long time. When I finally swallowed it, my mouth became as dry as before in no time.
     "I would like to have another swallow," I begged.
     "In an hour you can have more."
     "What is your name?" I tried to prolong the conversation.
     "Gerta Petrovna. I know yours is Vulia."
     "You are very pretty."
     "Oh, you little charmer, this is nice of you to say, but no more water now."
     Gerta Petrovna! It was as though the sun came out of the clouds when she came over. I was lonely, homesick, and needed some expression of love. She would pat me on the head, and ask me if I would like to go dancing with her. We both laughed. I always kissed her hand, the only expression of gratitude for her attentions I could think of.
     We became real good friends later on, when Nikolai Ivanovich came, that is, when Nikolai Ivanovich and Gerta Petrovna became friends. I was their confidant, would carry notes from one to the other, be on the lookout for someone coming when they were kissing and hugging. They never failed to reward me with a morsel of bread, an apple, a piece of candy.
     One time something special happened. It was Gerta Petrovna's birthday. She was on night duty. Nikolai Ivanovich confided in me, the day before, that he would make a birthday party for her, and that he would be the only guest. Somehow, somewhere, he obtained a little bottle of vodka and a small cake. A cake was something of a rarity in those days. Sugar and white flour were very scarce, so were butter and eggs. He must have gone to a lot of trouble to get the cake.
     Here was the plan: When Gerta. Petrovna got off duty early in the morning, she would go to the nurse's resting room at the end of the hall to sleep while another nurse took over her duties. I was to sit in front of the nurse's room and pretend that I was writing or drawing with a pencil on paper. In reality I was to see if the corridor was clear for Nikolai Ivanovich to go in and out of Gerta's room unobserved. I was to give him a sign when a favorable condition existed for him to come out.
     Nikolai Ivanovich gave me his silver ring for my "services." The front of the ring had a human skull on it. Many Russian soldiers wore this kind of ring, either as some kind of luck charm or for belonging to some kind of special club or division. I prized this ring because it could always be exchanged for something edible. Most of my thoughts, in those days, turned to food.
     So it was I took up my position in front of the resting room. Soon Gerta came, tired from her night duty.
     "How are you, Vulenka, and why are you here and up so early? You will miss your tea."
     "It's all right. I can drink water. There is no bread left over from last night's ration anyway."
     "Oh, poor Vulenka." She patted my shaved head. (Hair was cut very short to reduce the chance of having lice.) "Maybe later I'll find you a crust of something. We all suffer, my dear. I'll go now and take a rest, my angel."
     Nikolai Ivanovich appeared at the end of the hall, walking stiff-kneed on his crutches, carrying a box, His eyes were questioning. I lowered my head in an affirmative gesture (Gerta was in her room). He quickly opened her door, without knocking, and closed it behind him. I could hear Gerta's exclamation of fright and surprise, then her angry voice and Nikolai's reassuring baritone. Soon the exchange quieted down and all was peace and quiet again. Gerta suddenly appeared, in her night robe, handed me a piece of cake, and without a word, ran back to her room.
     "Happy birthday," I muttered, but she did not hear me, she was gone, and left a scent of a sweet-smelling perfume behind her. I gazed in disbelief at what looked like a slice of sponge cake, dripping with jelly filling. What a surprise! I ate it slowly, kept each bite in my mouth as long as I could to prolong the blissful pleasure. Then it was all gone,
     I sat there on the floor and doodled with my pencil. Gradually I began to feel sick at my stomach and fought the desire to throw up. I did not dare leave my post and betray the trust of my friends. I wasn't used to so much sweetness all at one time. If only I could have a drink of water . . .
     A couple of hours must have gone by, when I heard a low tap-tap on the door. A quick look down the hall assured me that no one was around. I answered with ray own tap-tap and Nikolai Ivanovich appeared on his crutches. He seemed relaxed and smiling, only his face was flushed. I knew what they were doing, and I knew that they knew that I knew what they were doing . . .
     I picked up my crutch and both of us walked down the hall. The nausea quieted down by now. My first stop was at the nearest water faucet. The water tasted good and dissolved my discomfort. I could keep my cake now. From then on we repeated this 'procedure' many times and there was never a slip-up.
     Several hours must have passed since mother left and I was beginning to get restless. The women below, on the bench, were talking incessantly.
     "... killed in battle. So here I was a widow, with three children. The oldest boy only seventeen. He was big and strong, like his father. The boy worked the land. The girls took care of the chickens, the cows, the pigs, I took care of the house and the children. Everything was fine, except for a hurt in my heart for my husband. The war seemed far away. Little news came to the village, till one day soldiers came and took away my boy into the army."
     "They can be very heartless," one woman interjected.
     "Yes they can. I pleaded with them that I lost my husband to the war, isn't that enough? The boy is the only man in the family to work the land, how can we survive without him? It didn't help. On top of that, they took one horse and wagon, drove off the cows, left me with only one milker. They also took one pig and cleaned out the shed of sacks of rye, oats, and barley, barely left enough for seed. Things went from bad to worse. When winter came, there were only potatoes, beets, and carrots in the cellar. After a while even those froze up. Well, dearies, it was bad, really bad." The woman stopped and wiped her eyes.
     "What did you do?" another woman asked.
     "What can you do? I went to town, about five viorst from the village, and hired myself out as a serving-maid in the local inn. Many speculators used to stop by there and stay overnight. Some of them asked for 'special favors'. At first I refused, then I succumbed to the temptation of easy money. Well, it wasn't long until I got pregnant and had to give up my job. I didn't even know who the father was. It was a fine baby boy. The girls just love him to death. They think it is the best thing that ever happened to them.
     "I have a sister in Petrograd, so I went to see her. I took along some preserves, butter, sukhari, and other edibles I could scrounge from the neighbors. My sister and her husband were delighted. We ate some but most of my products we sold for good money, Now I go back and forth, to the village to buy some products from the peasants, then to Petrograd ..."
     "That is the only thing one can do nowadays." The women took up the subject and there one, there another spoke.
     "You only hope you don't get caught. They shoot you. Speculators, they say, are parasites of the people. If it weren't for the speculators, half of Russia would starve to death."
     "First it was the tzar and his hangers-on, then came the Germans, now it's the commissars. They drain you of the last drop of blood, then shoot you in the end."
     "Say, girls, you better keep your mouths shut. We could be overheard."
     "We could be at that."
     "It doesn't matter. If somebody has it 'in' for you, all he has to do is point the finger at you, and—to the wall, you are gone."
     "They let you do the speculating. They are not dumb. This means more bribes for them."
     "They have to eat too."
     "I spend most of my life in the trains.
     "It seems to me that all of Russia is on the move,"
     "If you are not on a train you are waiting for one."
     "We have it really nice here," a woman they called Masha took over the conversation. "We have a separate compartment and we can keep the door closed and have it warm. On the way up here I had to travel in a freight car with a bunch of soldiers and some horses. It was cold and drafty, air was blowing in from all the cracks in the boards. When night came, the soldiers made a fire on the floor right in the center of the car. They burned paper, straw, and anything flammable. We all sat around the fire, brewed tea, and sang songs. One soldier had a harmonica, this made it really nice. A soldier cuddled up to me from behind and gradually crept closer to my bosom with his hands. Pretty soon he had both of them in his palms under my jacket. He was in seventh heaven. I felt good too, it was wanner this way. That's as far as he got,"
     "This made it cozy and romantic," Yekaterina said not without malice.
     "Yes it was." The woman continued her tale. "Gradually, the people dropped off to sleep, one by one. The sound of the horses neighing and stamping restlessly woke me up. The car was full of smoke. It was hard to breath. I lifted my head with an effort, nudged my soldier friend behind me, he woke up the others. Everyone was choking and coughing. 'Open the door!' someone shouted. The fresh, cold air revived us ail. The fire we had made ignited the wooden floor. The wind, created by the motion of the car, fanned the fire so much that a circular hole had burnt through the floor. That burning circle was a scary, eerie sight in the night. The soldiers started smothering the fire with their coats, but the wind kept the fire ignited. There was a short consultation. Then all the soldiers lined themselves up in a circle, around the glowing hole in the floor. One soldier shouted to me: 'Turn around facing the wall, madamushka!' And that is how we extinguished the fire ..."
     There was silence for an instant, then everybody broke out laughing and all the women started talking at the same time.
     "Women could never have done it."
     "The smell must have been something to behold."
     "Yes, but we got out alive. I lost my earrings that night. I believe my friendly soldier-boy must have done it. That son of a bitch, I'll never understand how he did it without waking me up."
     "I wear my things in a belt."
     "Even that may not protect you from the new breed of thieves. Thievery in Russia has become a real art. A week ago I was in the Novgorod station, standing in line to get on the train to Petrograd. You know how the pushing and shoving starts when they open the gate. Well, I went through the gate and rushed to the rear of the train, hoping to find a good seat. I overtook a woman, in a karakul coat, loaded with packages. There was something peculiar about this karakul coat. The fur of the whole back was cut out! I shouted to her and told her about it. Poor woman, she didn't feel a thing. It was cut with a razor. It must have happened when she was standing in line. We wound up in the same car. She cried all the way to the city. She was going to sell the coat and with the proceeds bribe her brother out of prison."
     "How is our little boy doing up there on the shelf A big matron stood up to inquire about me.
     "I am all right, only . . . only ... I need to go to the bathroom."
     "Don't be bashful, little one, even the tzar has to do it.
     We all have to do it some time or other, I think I have the same urge. Would you like to take me with you?" She was joking. She lifted me up from the berth, like I weighed nothing, and put me down on the lower bench. She dressed me in my warm overclothes, got dressed herself, and we were on our way.
     "My name is Yekaterina Petrovna. I used to have a little boy like you," she sighed, and after a pause, "He died. It is already two years now. Diphtheria, the doctor said. It was already too late when we got him to the doctor.''
     "I am sorry, Aunt Yekaterina Petrovna."
     "You have such nice manners, Vulenka. What happened to your leg?"
     "Infantile paralysis."
     "Oh?"
     She carried me down the steps of the car onto the platform and into the station. It was really cold outside now. The wind was moist and penetrating. The station was heated by a woodburning stove. People sitting around the stove on benches smoked, talked, and slept. Yekaterina put me in a booth by myself and went herself into the next one.
     "You need any help?" she inquired.
     "No thank you, Aunt Yekaterina."
     On the way back she carried me to the stationmaster's office. The stationmaster, in his blue-green uniform, sat at one desk and a commissar, in a military coat with a red armband, sat at another.
     "What can I do for my boy," Yekaterina Petrovna started with tears in her voice. "He hasn't had a thing to eat since last night in Petrograd. Only some hot tea this morning."
     Both men were obviously touched.
     "We all suffer," the commissar said, "And our children most of all. If people would cooperate, and be honest, the revolution would progress at a much faster pace and with much less suffering. I have here two large pancakes, made of grated beets and turnips. I can share one with you."
     "I can let you have two sukhars," the stationmaster added his contribution.
     "Oh, how can I thank you for such generosity? You saved the boy's life. May G . . . May you be blessed,"
     Yekaterina crossed herself and bowed out wiping her tears, she was visibly pleased with her performance. She took me back to the restroom where we devoured the donations in no time. Yekaterina carried me to the counter where she bought one glass of tea. She poured some in a saucer, blew on it to cool it, and gave it to me to drink; she had the rest.
     "We should not say anything about it to anybody."
     "I understand."
     "You are a smart boy. I wish I had one. I don't even know where my husband is, or whether he is still alive. I am all alone, living in trains and teahouses. Why am I telling you all this? You are too young to understand. I think we ought to be going back." Yekaterina picked me up and carried me back to the train. The air in the compartment was stale and stuffy compared to that on the outside. After removing my overcoat, hat, and stockings, I was deposited back on my berth.
     "How is it outside?" a woman named Mednikova asked.
     "It is getting colder, it might even freeze."
     "What were you doing up there so long?" another woman, Sokolova, asked.
     "We just walked and had a glass of tea, It is good to stretch your legs for a while."
     "It is a good idea. Why don't we all go out for a while. Yekaterina will keep watch." Sokolova suggested.
     There was a sudden flurry of dresses, coats and shawls, and all the women except Yekaterina were gone. Yekaterina stretched out on the bench and closed her eyes. I covered myself with my overcoat and lay on my stomach watching through the window. A train pulled in on the next track and stopped. Nobody got off on my side. All the people in the windows were army men with tired, sleepy faces. I smiled and waved to one, but he did not react. He looked right at me, yet he didn't see me, his stare was focused somewhere far in the distance.
     Suddenly the door of the compartment slid open. Mama and Mrs. Pokrovskaya came back, loaded with wicker baskets. They plopped down on the empty bench with a loud release of pent-up breath. Yekaterina was up in a wink,
     "Oh, good, you are back, I took Vulia out and we had some tea. Did you have a successful trip?"
     "Yes, thanks to Reveka Abramovna. She is the best trader and bargainer."
     "You were not so bad yourself, I feel like I walked a hundred viorst. Surely, I have blisters on my feet. Where are the rest of the women?"
     "They went out to stretch their legs, after wagging their tongues. I took Vulia out to the bathroom and for some tea," She repeated it to make an impression. "Let's see what you brought."
     Yekaterina started hurriedly unpacking the, newspaper-wrapped, packages, and while doing so said in a half whisper: "Are you thinking of dividing everything with all the women? Now is a good time to skim off a few items before they return,"
     Mama looked up indignantly. "This would be like stealing from your friends, I will not go along with it. I am surprised at you for making such a proposition."
     "I agree with Reveka Abramovna. Everybody contributed what he could. We are all in this together.
     "God helps those who help themselves."
     "God helps those who help themselves, but not to what rightfully belongs to others," There was a bit of fire in mama's eyes.
     "I only meant it for your good. Because you and Pokrovskaya did all the work. I beg of you, let us not say a thing about it anymore."
     "That is fine with me," said Mrs, Pokrovskaya.
     "With me too, only let us be a little more considerate of the others."
     The three women were unpacking the products in silence for a while. They unwrapped each item and laid it out so that everything could be seen,
     "I nearly broke out laughing, Reveka Abramovna, when you said that the mother-of-pearl buttons were not for sale. You would never have gotten even one roast chicken, much less two, for the damn six buttons."
     "In trading, you have to read the other person's mind by watching his face," Mama said with a smile. "I could see that the peasant woman was throwing side glances at those buttons. So I started putting them aside, sort of hiding them, never offering them, contrary to what I did with the other articles. That woman was clever too. Not once did she mention the buttons, but her eyes betrayed her."
     "I could see how she and her daughter exchanged meaningful glances.''
     "So could I. At the end, when our trading was just about over, she sort of casually reached out across the table, and picked up the buttons. 'How about these?' she says. I knew I had her then. Well, we are both happy. Each one of us thinks she put something over on the other person. Who knows who is right? Or does it really matter? She has those precious, priceless, shiny buttons and we have two roast chickens. Who can put a worth on either item? Only bones will be left of the. chickens tomorrow, but the buttons, the buttons will adorn her new blouse for a long time to come, and will probably be inherited by her daughter."
     "And even her granddaughter. She won't quit telling her neighbors how she outsmarted the city folks."
     "You were not so bad yourself, smelling that butter again and again and muttering 'rancid'. That brought us an extra jar of cottage cheese."
     "The conditions are such that she has an abundance of food while we are starving. To her the salt she got in return was much more precious than the cottage cheese she gave us. The cow will produce more. With the salt she can preserve food and make their meals taste so much better."
     "It was nice of her girls to do all the cooking and roasting for us for just a few hair pins. Now I'll have to wear my hair in a pigtail till I get other hair pins."
     "I can lend you a few."
     The chatter went on between Mama and Mrs. Pokrovskaya while they were unpacking the products on one empty bench. They arranged the food in an appealing manner. The three women stood back and lovingly observed the display of the products.
     "Another few days of life," Mama observed. "We will have to stretch it till we come home."
     "Why don't we divide our products now?" Yekaterina was impatient.
     "We will wait till the others come. It is only proper to do this." Mrs. Pokrovskaya was curt.
     "I want mine now,"
     "We'll wait till the others come." There was malice in Mrs. Pokrovskaya's voice. Yekaterina visibly backed down. Silence. The atmosphere was laden with animosity. This lasted till the door rolled open and the other women, with pink cheeks and red noses, piled in. There were a lot of "oohs" and "ahs" at the sight of the products neatly laid out on the bench.
     "Reveka Abramovna suggested that we divide everything evenly, regardless of what and how much anybody contributed. Any objections?" Mrs. Pokrovskaya did not wait for an answer. "Good."
     "Who is going to do the dividing?" Yekaterina Petrovna asked looking at Mrs. Pokrovskaya through narrow slits of her eyes.
     "Anybody but you!" came Mrs. Pokrovskaya's sharp rebuke.
     For about the next half hour the women busied themselves with dividing up the food. Empty containers and old newspapers appeared from suitcases to transfer and package the portions.
     "Somebody take my tea kettle and bring for us some boiling water for tea. I cannot move a leg anymore." This was mama. Mrs. Mednikova, a short, stocky woman, got up. "I'll go."
     Again they put up two suitcases on the floor, covered them with newspapers, like they did for breakfast. Only this time it was no community picnic. Everyone had her territory staked out, with her own food and empty cup, waiting. After a while Mrs. Mednikova appeared in the doorway with the hot kettle of boiling water. The tea-making process began immediately,
     "They say now that we may get a locomotive by tomorrow morning." Mrs. Mednikova related.
     "Maybe we should go out and push." Yekaterina tried joking.
     "Enough with the jokes. Let's get down to eating." Pokrovskaya commanded.
     Nobody argued with that. For a few minutes not a word was spoken. Tea was poured and the hungry people ate noisily.
     Mama prepared our food portions for the night and put away the rest in her suitcase. She poured tea for us and we both ate; I sat on my upper berth, she stood up using my berth as a table. We looked at each other and smiled contentedly.
     "You are gaining a little weight, Vulenka. Your cheeks are filling out. When I first saw you in the hospital, you looked like a bundle of bones draped over with skin. You started looking better in those three weeks we had to wait for your brace and shoes to be made. Thank God we are going home, there we will not be hungry."
     "Why is there so much hunger?" I asked. "I remember, we could always eat all we wanted to at home."
     "It is because of the war, my dear, and now the revolution. People on the farm don't plant enough, and bide what they produce."
     "Why do they hide it?"
     "Because they are afraid that the militia may come and take it away from them. Few things that the farmers need are being produced. The roads are poor and there are few trains running. So the available food does not get to where it is needed, like in the big cities. You understand, don't you?"
     "Yes, Mama. What are the speculators are doing?"
     "The speculators are providing a very necessary service to the people, even if it is against the law. Without them, many more people would go hungry."
     We ate and talked. It wasn't really important what we talked about, It was the mutual feeling of love that was passing between us. Mama's big brown eyes were examining me. Her face had a gentle smile full of affection and devotion and she talked to me like a grown-up. Her warmth penetrated through me like the rays of the sun falling upon a sprout emerging from the soil. I was hungry for her love, the love and affection of which I was deprived for the eight months' stay in the hospital. Mama wiped my face with the edge of a handkerchief moistened in left-over tea, then hugged and kissed me. There were tears in her eyes.
     We suddenly became aware that the conversation below us stopped and all the eyes were trained on us with admiring smiles. Even Yekaterina Petrovna's usually stern face relaxed.
     "This is one thing the Bolsheviks cannot take away from us."
     "God's love prevails despite all the calamities," Sokolova said with a smiling face.
     "One knows his own blood despite everything."
     "Despite everything what, Yekaterina?" Pokrovskaya demanded,
     "Despite the boy being a cripple."
     "God created all kinds of creatures: Some good, some bad, some cripples, and some snakes spitting venom ..." Pokrovskaya had the last word.
     An uneasy silence settled in our compartment. Only people talking behind our door could be heard now.
   
III
In Velikiye Luki Train Station
     The train was moving. I opened my eyes and looked over mama's head in the window. It was dark outside. A line of trees could be seen, occasionally a dim light would flicker by. Monotonous. I could make out a woman sleeping on the opposite berth and sitting figures on the bench below us. All were asleep, some snored. The air was stale, thick with smells of food and human bodies. A thin, cold, fresh stream of air was coming in from a crack of the closed ceiling louver. The monotonous clickety-clack of the car wheels on the rails reigned above all the other noises. It was a pleasant sound to my ears—we were going home . . .
     Home was such a beautiful thought! Home was a big log house, with a family of loving people. I could remember Grandmother, a short, stout woman, wearing a gray dress covered with a full-length, blue-striped apron and a white kerchief on her head. This was during the six week-days. On Saturdays, she would put on a black dress and cover her head with a black silk lace shawl. I can close my eyes and see her standing in the kitchen preparing dinner for her and grandpa. I crawled carefully behind her (I could not walk then), and pulled her apron strings loose. I watched with glee as the apron gradually slipped lower till it was on the floor. She gave me a swat on my bottom when she noticed what I did. Tears welled up in my eyes, more from shame than hurt. She looked at me sternly for a moment, then her features started to relax into a smile and she broke out laughing. She picked me off the floor, gave me a tight hug and a noisy wet kiss.
     "You little mischief-maker, go play with your brother! I have to cook dinner."
     Grandma wore the pants, not only in relation to Grandpa but also to the whole family. Nothing of importance was ever done without the approval of Grandma. Grandpa, on the other hand, was an honest, docile man. He was a good craftsman and made a good living. He could neither read nor write Russian. Grandpa could sign his name, but that was all. He had to learn it so that he could sign documents and avoid putting down an "X," which was embarrassing even in those days. Grandpa and Grandma could read the bible and prayers in Hebrew.
     The tram started slowing down, and changing rails. We were approaching a station. There, a dimly lit station platform came into view and the train stopped abruptly. Lots of people crowded at the car entrance to get on the train. Judging from their heavy clothing, and the steam from their breath, it must have been very cold outside. The small station building bore an inscription in large letters—DEDOVICHI, the name of the stop. The door of our compartment swung open and many people started crowding in and shouting:
     "Comrades get up and make room for more people."
     "Squeeze together a little and make room for one more."
     "Hey, hey, lay off, you are stepping on me," Mednikova's voice could be heard.
     "There is a mother with a sick child. Leave them alone," Mrs. Pokrovskaya stood up protecting our berth.
     Gradually things settled down. It was a new situation. People were everywhere, some sitting on the floor, some in the entry-way so that the door of our compartment could not be closed and Kiril's orders did not hold. It got very cold. Mama dressed me in my heavy overcoat, heavy woolen stockings over my shoes and the furry ear flaps over my ears. She, too put on everything she could to keep herself warm. Fortunately we were not crowded in our berth. "A mother and sick child" were still respected. The train started up again with a few jerks and lurches, gradually gained speed, then settled down into a routine, noisy motion. There were several more stops during the night before we reached Velikiye Luki late in the morning.
     "I have things to do here, I will tell you about it later,"
     Mama said to me. "We will need to stay here a few days to settle some things, then we will take the first train out and go home." Velikiye Luki must have been an important stop. We took leave of the passengers that traveled with us from Petrograd. Mama carried her suitcase and my bundle and I followed, holding on to her arm.
     "Coming out, comrades, coming out," Mama was calling out.
     "A mother and crippled child coming out, make way, comrades," was echoed down the line.
     We made slow progress. Mama went first with her suitcase held high, pushing and being pushed to the exit. I was being passed on from person to person till we reached the open door. Some people helped us down the steps of the car.
     Brrr, it was cold! Many people were milling about on the platform. I was holding on to Mama's coat pocket as we made slow progress towards the entrance of the train station. It was warm inside. A pall of cigarette smoke hung in the air. The long wooden benches were occupied with people . . . sitting, half stretched out, or sleeping.
     We made our way to the center of the large hall close to one of the iron stoves, which was being stoked with wood by an attendant. There was no room on any of the benches. Mama put her suitcase on the floor near the edge of a bench and my bundle on top of the suitcase and me on top of the bundle.
     "Please watch my boy for a few minutes till I get some tea for us. We haven't eaten since last night." Mama addressed an old, white-bearded man dressed in a long black coat with a black karakul collar and hat, who was sitting at the end of the bench.
     "I will be glad to watch the boy, madamushka. There is 'kipyatok' (boiling water) inside those double doors. They have no tea, no food, only the hot water."
     "I have tea in my bag. I will be obliged if you will have a cup with us."
     "This is most gracious of you. I haven't heard a friendly word since I left Rostov."
     Mama unpacked the tea kettle and teapot and was off.
     "What is your name, sonny?"
     "Vulia."
     "Where do you come from?"
     "I was in a hospital in Petrograd, Mama is now taking me home to Varklian."
     "I am going to Petrograd to visit my son. He was wounded, lost a leg, and is recovering now in a hospital. He went through the whole war without a scratch. Two horses were shot out from under him. Then somebody threw a hand grenade. . . What is the matter with your leg, my boy?"
     "I had infantile paralysis when I was eleven months old. My right leg is paralyzed now. I have to wear a brace to walk."
     "That is a pretty bad thing, but your mind is all right. You'll make out."
     The old man took out a folded newspaper from his breast pocket, carefully tore off a little square, and hid the rest away. From another pocket appeared a little pouch, which he unfastened. He poured some tobacco on the paper square, rolled it up into a tight little cylinder, licked the edge of the paper, and he had a cigarette.
     "Watch my seat, young man, I'll go light my cigarette at the stove. Matches are scarce nowadays."
     The old man was soon back, smoking contentedly, "I have a present for you," he said, and pulled out a big burlap sack from under the seat, and took oat three white sukhari. "One for you, one for your mama, and one for me."
     "I really do thank you. I haven't eaten a white sukhar in a very long time."
     "I am taking these to my son in Petrograd."
     Mama was back with the boiling water. She knelt on the floor, got out the tea package from the suitcase, poured a handful in the white porcelain teapot, and stirred with a spoon. The old man was ready with his cup and mama held ours out. Mama poured a little of the strong tea from the teapot into each cup and filled the rest of the way with the hot water from the tea kettle.
     "This is for you, young woman." The old man handed mama the white sukhar ceremoniously, with a bow. "If it had been in my house, I would have toasted you with good Caucasian wine. As it is I will toast you with the friendliest tea. May we all have a a good journey, reach our destination in good health and find what we are looking for."
     "What a nice toast. Vulia and I thank you very much."
     "My name is Visarion Vasilyevich Kurashvili." He introduced himself, gallantly lifting his karakul hat.
     "My name is Reveka Abramovna Gutman, and this is my son Vulia. We are from a little village called Varklian. Please have this piece of roast chicken. It will go well with this white sukhar."
     "Oh, thank you, you are most generous, Reveka Abramova. It is good to know that the war and the revolution have not destroyed the Russian friendliness in some of our people."
     We ate for a while without a word. Visarion was sipping his hot tea noisily and exhaling with a loud "ahhh". Then Mama broke the silence.
     "Mr. Kurashvili, do you think you could watch my boy for a few hours? I have to see someone in the city."
     "Of course, Reveka Abramovna. For more than two days I have been waiting for a train to Petrograd. They tell me that it is not likely that there will be one very soon."
     "Should your train come while I am gone, just put Vulia in your seat on the bench. He will be all right."
     "Don't worry, my dear, he'll be safe with me, and we will enjoy each other's company."
     After breakfast Mama put away the leftover food and utensils. Then she took me to the bathroom to wash our hands and faces. Afterwards we joined Visarion. He too must have been busy: His white beard was combed, the thick mustache ends were twisted to a thin point and turned upward, the karakul hat sat at a rakish angle. He was both handsome and dignified. Visarion's face lit up when he saw us.
     "Here we are," Mama said. "I will leave you two for now. I hope to be back in a couple of hours."
     "Go with God's blessing, madamushka, and don't worry. Vulia will be safe with me." Mama left.
     "You could do me a big favor, my little friend. If you will watch my things for me, while I take a little nap. I haven't slept for two nights. I was afraid to leave my things unattended. I sleep very soundly. My wife says that thieves could carry me off without me waking up. Here,
     I'll move your things between my legs, you sit on top of them and hold on to my knees. If you see somebody wanting to take our things, just shake me and scream as loud as you can."
     "I will, Uncle Visarion. I won't fall asleep,"
     He patted me on the head in a friendly gesture, closed his eyes, and fell asleep instantly. His head gradually relaxed onto his chest.
     A heavy-set woman, dressed in what looked like several layers of clothing, sat next to Visarion, Her face was covered with a black shawl. All I could see of it was her light blue eyes glaring at me. I nodded my head in my effort to be friendly. She nodded back at me, and in a low voice:
     "Hey, kid, how would you like a sukhar, a white sukhar?"
     "Sure, I would like it fine."
     "Then let us bath have some from the old man's sack. He's got lots of 'em, he won't know the difference."
     With that she reached under the bench for Visarion's sack. I started shaking Visarion by his knees and shouting "Wake up, wake up!" The woman pulled on the sack but I dropped on top of it and held on still screaming "Visarion, Visarion!" The woman noticed that too many people were watching. She released the sack and, stepping over a few sleeping people on the floor, disappeared into the crowd. By now, Visarion was awake. Judging by the mystified, wild look on his face, he did not know where he was or what was going on,
     "What's happened?" He cried out.
     "That woman who was sitting next to you wanted us to feast on your sukhari, Uncle Visarion."
     "That thieving bitch! She is smart to kick her heels in retreat. I would have shown her how we deal with thieves. As for you my little friend, you deserve a reward,"
     He searched the depths of his breast pocket and came up with an amber nugget of honeyed hard candy. This was something I hadn't seen in a long time. The pleasant surprise made me pull in my breath in a long "aah" of contentment.
     "My wife made it herself from the honey I produce.
     She cooks it with many fruits and spices till it thickens. It may bite your tongue a little, but you'll like it. Go ahead, take it!"
     "Thank you, Uncle Visarion. Maybe I better wait till Mama comes back. I want her to see it."
     "Eat it now. I have one for your mama too. Suck on it, don't try to chew it. It is hard as a rock and sweet as only honey can be."
     I took it and all the delights of heaven ran from my mouth throughout my whole body.
     "Now, my little guard, there's a seat for you on the bench right next to me. We'll get all your things on the bench and you on top of them. That way you can see what is going on in the world. Besides, you'll be warmer than on the floor."
     He was right. Things did look different when sitting on top of all the bundles than from a dog's eye-level. I could see more people's eyes and faces than their shoes and nostrils. Visarion went back to sleep while I enjoyed the sights from a new vantage point, delightedly sucking on the candy, which didn't seem to get any smaller as time went on.
     "That thieving bitch!" I recalled Visarion's exclamation. I too stole twice and got caught both times. The first time was when I was five or six years old. It was during the German occupation of Western Russia, in 1916. Mama took me to Yuryev, or Dorpat, as the Germans called it. Somebody told Mama that a famous surgeon, Professor Zoege von Manteufel, could straighten out my paralyzed leg. I had what is known as a "club foot." Mama and I met with Professor Manteufel and he operated on me.
     After I recovered from the operation, a nurse took me out on the veranda in a wooden wheel chair. Several children, of various ages, were there on crutches, in wheel chairs and carrying canes. All crowded around me -"the new boy." A boy, about ten, leaning on a cane, started talking to me in Estonian: I told him in German that I did not understand.
     "What is your name?" he asked in German.
     "Wolf."
     "Wolfgang?"
     "Yes."
     "Where do you live?"
     "In Varklian,"
     "Where is that?"
     "I don't know."
     "What does your father do?"
     "He is a teacher."
     "What's wrong with your leg?"
     "Paralyzed, Had an operation."
     "I am Heinrich. My father has a candy store in Dorpat. Can you play checkers?"
     "No."
     "I'll teach you."
     "All right."
     "Come to my room."
     So Hein, as we called him, taught me how to play checkers. We both sat on the bed in his room with the checker board between us. Every once in a while his hand would reach out to his dresser drawer, stuff his mouth full of candy, and beat me another game. He never offered me one of his bon-bons.
     We played checkers almost every day. He enjoyed beating me and calling me a "Dummkopf," The indignity of losing one game after another, as well as the continuous teasing, did not matter to me. I, a five-year-old, was flattered that he, a ten-year-old, with lots of candy, had anything to do with me. I was hoping that once he would offer me a piece of candy, but it never happened. I wanted the candy so much, it just about became an obsession with me. Gradually an idea dawned on me. I will go to his room when he is on the veranda, and take a bon-bon. He had so many he will not know the difference.
     Everything worked fine until I opened the paper sack in the top drawer. The candy was all melted together in one big glob! I tried to bite off a piece, threw it on the floor, stepped on it. Then suddenly, "Thief, thief?" My wheel chair was turned over and I went crashing to the floor. This was followed with blows to my head, stomach, arms, and my leg cast. Heinrich caught me in the act. He was wild with fury. Tears were running down his face as he continued to scream, "Thief, thief!" and thrashed me with his cane. Nurses came running and rescued me.
     I was black and blue from the beating. My body ached.
     The inner hurt of shame, however, was harder to bear.
     I could not look people straight in the eyes for the rest of my stay in that hospital. Yes, we did make up, sort of. We did play more checkers because Hein asked me to, and I thought I owed it to him. I wanted to, erase the "wrong" somehow. I noticed subsequently that the candy he chewed on while we were playing came from the second drawer from the top. The candy I was trying to steal was from the top drawer. . . .
     Yet, I stole again. This was in Petrograd at a time when food was very scarce. Most people survived on parcels from home. Those without parcels had a bad time of it. General Avenavius was a resident of Petrograd. His relatives had no food either, but they had jewelry and many art objects. They used to come loaded with all kinds of things like enameled snuff boxes, decks of cards in elaborately ornamented and enameled cases, rings and bracelets encrusted with precious stones, agate, jade, and ivory carvings. The general would exchange these for food. Patients whose relatives lived on a farm had plenty of food, they were the ones who could buy up all those precious objects d'art. This was my lesson in the relative worth of things that I never forgot, when a few pounds of bread could buy a half-carat diamond ring.
     Anufri came from a village near Petrograd. His parents would come to visit every week and bring him cured meats, smoked smelly fish, preserves, and the main staple, a sack of sukhari made of black bread. He kept all his products in a locked wooden foot locker under his bed. At meal times, when we were eating our meager, watery soup, Anufri would open his foot locker, display all his delicacies, eat noisily, and cause us three onlookers to be green with envy and have watering mouths. Vanka cried when teased by Anufri's abundance and General Avenavius scolded him for showing off and for not eating more discreetly.
     Anufri, once in a generous mood, split a sukhar between Vanka and me. He explained that completely dehydrated slices of bread can keep almost indefinitely. His mother has a special way of seasoning and drying the sukhari, to make them taste better. One day I noticed that Anufri carelessly dropped a half-eaten sukhar in his foot locker, instead of his burlap sack, where he usually kept them. Also, he did not lock the locker, as he would usually do. I stayed behind on my bed, and did not join the rest of them to go oat in the park. As soon as I was alone in the room, I went to the locker and the half-eaten sukhar. No sooner had I pulled out the locker from under the bed, Anufri appeared. He pounced on me in sort of a triumph.
     "You damn thieving Jew! I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget."
     He pinned me to the floor with his knee, and slapped my face several times. I did not resist; I felt I had it coming to me. A couple of nurses came running in and pulled Anufri off me. It was a set-up and I fell for it. He suspected that I was watching his every movement . . . leaving the locker open on purpose. He did not go outside, he waited in the hall instead. Then when he heard his locker being dragged from under his bed, he appeared and caught me in the act. He was right, I learned a lesson I've never forgotten.
     My friend, Visarion, was sleeping peacefully. I felt sleepy myself. I nudged him gently: "Uncle Visarion, Uncle Visarion."
     "Hah, hah, sorry, my little boy." He smacked and licked his dry lips. "I'll go and get us some kipyatok and we'll brew ourselves some tea. I hope your mamasha will not mind if we borrow the utensils and a pinch of tea leaves."
     "No, she won't mind."
     Visarion left me but was back soon with a steaming kettle of water. Pretty soon we had tea and we were sipping the amber liquid.
     "I had a good rest, Vulenka, thanks to you. Your mother should have been back by now. It is almost four in the afternoon. I saw a few snow flurries outside through the window. It will probably be snowing hard by tonight."
     I felt warm and sleepy. I curled up on Visarion's lap with my head on his arm and fell off to sleep.
     Someone was gently nudging me. "Vulenka, wake up, angel, wake up, my boy! We have to eat."
     It was Mama. I was rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
     It was already night. I did not quite know where I was and felt hungry. The sight of Mama was comforting.
     "Get up, Vulenka," she said again, "We will eat now. I am sorry I am so late, I was delayed. It is nearly eight o'clock and you haven't eaten since this morning. Visarion Vasilyevich, please hold on to him while I get out something for us to eat. He is not quite awake yet."
     "Oh, he'll be awake pretty soon. You slept for nearly four hours, my son. Are you feeling better now?"
     "I am hungry, very hungry."
     "Here, Vulenka, have a chicken leg and a sukhar with butter. I'll brew us some tea. Visarion Vasilyevich, join us please. You are one of the family. I hear you adopted Vulia."
     "How so?"
     "You called him son."
     "You have a fine sense of humor, madamushka, I like that. Vulia is a fine boy. He watched over me while I took a nap. If it would not be for him, I would have lost my sack of sukhari."
     I gulped my food . . . hardly chewing it to satisfy my hunger. The tea was searing my throat, but it was good. All three of us ate without a word being spoken until the portions mama dealt out were consumed.
     "Now we will have something sweet to top off such a repast." Visarion's hand reached deep in his breast pocket. He came up with three pieces of the hard honey candy and gave one to each of us.
     "My wife made these herself. Vulia likes them. I promised him to let you have one, too, madamushka."
     "That is very nice of you, Visarion Vasilyevich."
     "You are the one who is nice. Taking me into your family, feeding me two meals, and above all, the pleasure of a good word, a friendly smile, and pleasant company."
     "Vulia and I too enjoyed your company. It was very easy to become friends with you. Friendship is a very precious commodity. Sometimes one has to look for it very hard, other times one finds it unexpectedly, like right here in the station, with people one has never met."
     "One does not get this too often nowadays. Everybody shouts, REVOLUTION, FREEDOM, EQUALITY . . . Everybody is told what to do, how to live, what to think.
     If you object - to the wall! That is freedom for you. We have killed the tzar, burned the churches, dispersed the clergy, destroyed the old order, and substituted it with what? Distrust, dishonesty, thievery, hunger, chaos. . " He was out of breath. The fire in his eyes dimmed as he sat back looking away in the distance, still sucking on the candy.
     Mama busied herself with repacking our food supplies and tea implements. After a trip to the restroom, we were ready to spend the night, Visarion went somewhere to inquire about his train to Petrograd, He came back visibly cheered up.
     "They say I'll have a train probably tomorrow morning, but definitely sometime tomorrow. I'll be glad to see my son. He is the only one left. My younger son was killed on the front. My three daughters are all widows with a houseful of children, all living in my house."
     "The war spared nobody," Mama said. "My husband just returned from the array. Thank God he wasn't fighting . . . too nearsighted. They drafted him to work in a military shoe factory in Yaroslavl. My brother is a prisoner of war in Germany; only God knows if he is still alive. My sister's husband is cut off by the Whites in Riga and my sister, herself, is imprisoned, for fifteen years, here in Velikiye Luki. I spent most of the day trying to get permission to see her ... without success."
     "Can I help, Reveka Abramovna?"
     "You are kind, Visarion Vasilyevich. It can only get you in trouble. I have a few other ideas which I will try tomorrow. Let us rest so that we can function tomorrow."
     "I will stay awake and watch over you while you sleep. Vulia allowed me to have a good rest,"
     "That will be nice, Visarion Vasilyevich, Only I think we ought to take rams. This will give us all a chance to rest."
     Mama took my place on the beach next to Visarion. I was put across the laps of Visarion and Mama, She covered me with her afghan shawl. The fall stomach and the familiar voices near me made me feel contented and happy. I was soon asleep.
     
IV
Life in the Velikiye Luki Station and More Stories
     It was still dark outside, but we had already eaten our breakfast and mama was putting things away in her suitcase. Visarion was rolling a cigarette. He was doing it slowly, methodically, obviously to kill time. When the cigarette was made he walked to the stove to light it, then came back blowing smoke.
     "Reveka Abramovna, I'll inquire about a train to Petrograd."
     "Go ahead. I will be here for at least another hour. It is still too early to go anywhere."
     Visarion left. Mama went to the restroom and came back with a small wet towel. She wiped my face, neck, ears, and hands. Mama also cut my fingernails and combed my hair, which had grown these few weeks while with her.
     "Vulenka, I have to go away, maybe for a whole day. You think you and Visarion Vasilyevich can get along without me for a day?" She did not wait for a reply. "There is food for both of you in the suitcase. Vulenka, I have to tell you something very important. Listen closely, but for God's sake do not tell it to anyone. Your Aunt Sonia, from Rezhitsa? She's in big trouble and I am trying to help her."
     "Why would she be in trouble?"
     "Don't interrupt. I haven't much time, Visarion Vasilyevich will be back soon. Aunt Sonia had a friend in Rezhitsa by the name of Mantefel who was caught speculating. He tried to bribe the arresting officer who reported him. There was a trial and Mantefel was sentenced to be shot. He sent a note to Aunt Sonia by a bribed prison guard. The note asked Sonia to collect some large sums of money from several of his friends in Rezhitsa ... to turn it over to a certain trusted person, who would have his death sentence commuted and get him out of prison. Aunt Sonia did as requested. Several nigh officials took the money, but on the appointed date of the death sentence, they started leading him to the execution. Mantefel made a last-minute appeal to stay his execution. He promised to bring up a lot of new evidence pertaining to his case, that was not revealed during the trial. The authorities deferred Mantefe's execution and brought him back to the prosecutor's office where he told them about the bribe scheme and the names of everyone involved. The authorities arrested everyone implicated and started a new trial. All the people involved were condemned to be shot, except Mantefel. He was condemned to fifteen years in prison. My sister, too, was condemned to be shot." Mama's eyes filled with tears. "When Sonia heard her sentence pronounced in court, she fainted and was not aware until later that the judge commuted her death sentence to fifteen years in prison because she had small children."
     Mama fell silent for a moment, wiped her tears; then, "Vulenka, it is hard to describe the scene in court. Sonia's son, Shaye, and her daughter, Crenia, were with me at the trial. Before the sentence was pronounced, Crenia, the tea year-old little girl, made a heartrending appeal to the judge to spare her mother's life. When we heard the judge's final decision, Shaye, Crenia, and I kissed and hugged each other for joy and shouted 'She is not going to be shot! She is not going to be shot!' ..."
     Mama put her arms around me and hugged me. She shook while she cried silently. I, too, cried. It was a mixed feeling of tragedy that Aunt Sonia had to be in prison and happiness for the fact that she was not going to be shot.
     Mama wiped her tears and continued talking: "Sonia needs help, no doubt, but before I can do anything I must inquire what can be done. She may know things that I don't, and that could help a lot. I tried to see her yesterday, but the authorities of the prises did not permit it. I will try again today. I told you all of this so that you will understand and not be impatient waiting for me if I return late."
     "Don't worry, Mama, I'll be all right."
     Mama sighed and looking at me said: "The family will be glad to see you. You have forgotten how to speak Yiddish. Your Russian is beautiful. . . It's as though you were bom in Petrograd .... I have to get ready to go now, dear."
     Mama took out some clothes from the suitcase and went to the restroom to change. Visarion appeared suddenly. His beard was combed, his hat at a jaunty angle, a sparkle in his eye, he looked rejuvenated and younger.
     "Well, Vulia, you are still guarding my things, I see. Is your mother gone?"
     "No, Uncle Visarion, she went to change her clothes."
     "I, too, went to clean up and to take a walk outside. It looks like it is going to snow . . . That will make it wanner. . . . Ah, there is your mother. She looks very pretty."
     Mama came back dressed in a long blue coat and wide-brimmed felt hat.
     "Greetings, Reveka Abramovna. You will have to hold on to your hat when the wind starts to blow."
     "It will stay on," Mama said, pointing to a large hatpin with a knob on the end. "What have you found out about your train to Petrograd?"
     "I found out that nobody knows anything. . . whether trains are going or coming. The revolution disrupted everything. On top of that the White Guardia is giving the Bolsheviks a good fight. They make hit and run raids, blowing up rail lines, bridges, cutting telephone and telegraph wires, and then they disappear. Thousands of soldiers are being demobilized and are trying to get home. Others are put into the Red Army. Everybody is going helter-skelter somewhere. It looks as though all of Russia is on the trains. The revolution has destroyed the old order and has not been able to establish a new one. It is utter chaos, utter chaos. ..." His voice gave out.
     "We dare not despair, Visarion Vasilyevich," Mama said. "We have to play the game of life, sometimes better, sometimes worse. We have to fight to improve our lot when we can. When, however, when we see that it is futile, we have to swim with the stream, Have patience my friend, have faith, nothing is forever, things will change."
     "I cannot live forever, I am already close to seventy. For you, young people, perhaps they will forge a brighter life in the future. I will be dead by then. Vulenka here, he may see some brighter times. Will you then remember a confused, dejected, depressed old man trying to stay afloat on the Russian ship during the great storm?"
     Visarion was visibly moved by his own words, His eyes were moist. He picked me up, hugged me tightly and kissed me on the forehead, then put me down on the bench.
     "I am sorry to have made a spectacle of myself." Visarion resumed the conversation. "Sometimes my feelings get out of hand. Aren't you leaving, Reveka Abramovna?"
     "Yes, I am going. I know Vulia is going to be safe."
     "Do not worry, madamushka, we will get along just fine."
     "I may be gone till evening. There is food in the suitcase for both of you." She kissed me, and with a wave of her gloved hand was off.
     It was brighter outside now, A few snowflakes were chasing each other in the mild breeze. Visarion and I settled down for the long wait till Mama's return. Once again Visarion dozed.
     Memories of Grandma came to my mind. She took care of me while Mother was busy in her store. Grandma's name was Sheine Hene, her maiden name was Dimont (Diamond). Her father, Getzel, was a fisherman on the Lubanes Lake. He would take his catch to the little village of Varklian and sell it on the open market. Business was good. Every Jewish family had to have gefilte fish and chicken for the Sabbath dinner, no matter what they ate the rest of the week. The young Getzel was a hard worker and he prospered. Pretty soon he moved to Varklian and started buying the fish off the other fishermen and became a businessman. Grandma could never get over the fact that her father, a tall, strong, handsome man, married her mother, an unattractive, short, thin, hunchbacked woman. She narrated:
     "My father's name was Getzel and my mother's name Shore. This handsome Getzel married the hunchback Shore and they had six healthy, good-looking children. Well, my father was really forced into this marriage. Getzel was a businessman selling fish in the marketplace of Varklian. One day Pinkhas Sorokin came to see him. This was a great honor, for Pinkhas was the richest man in Varklian. He also was the representative of the Jewish community to the Tzarist Government administration. All the government orders to the community came to him. Among his other duties, he also had to supply the government with a certain number of army recruits each year.
     " 'My dear Getzel,' Pinkhas said, 'I am glad to see you moved to Varklian and prospered, but I am afraid I have some unpleasant news for you. I have designated you as a recruit to the army for next fall.'
     "Getzel started to protest: 'Have pity! I just turned twenty-two and just started to make a living. How can you do this to me?'
     " 'My dear boy,' Pinkhas said, 'I have to send ten boys to the army this year. You are healthy and single. The army service is only for twenty-five years . . . You are young, you will take up where you left off when you come back. Now, if you would be married, I could have more lenient considerations. ... I have a niece, Shore, a fine girl, from a nice family, a nice home. . . . She has a fine dowry. Her back is a little crooked, but she will make a good wife. I am sorry that I cannot give you much time to think it over, because I have to hand in the list of recruits before noon today. If you decide to marry this girl, we can go right now to Iser, the scribe, and write up the marriage contract. I would not dare send a married man into the army. . . . '
     "Well, my father decided to sign the marriage contract, and to marry Shore Sorokin without even having ever seen her. To spend twenty-five years in the tzar's army was probably less inviting. Father never complained. They had six healthy children, all of them dark-eyed with black hair. They were called the 'Buzaner' because father came from a village called Buzan."
     Grandma used to tell us how she would sit there in the market on the wagon of fish and watch a handsome young man walk by. "My heart went tiyokh!" she said, "He had blue eyes and blond-red hair. His skin was so white, you could see through it. He had broad shoulders, he was muscular, and of medium height. Oh God, I used to pray, If only I could marry that boy. Wouldn't you know it, my prayers were answered. I mentioned this boy to my mother and she told my father. My father went to see the boy's parents, and in two months, Abbo and I were married. I was twenty-two and he was twenty. I was the happiest girl in town."
     Grandpa was a glazer; hence, his name Stekoll (Steklo means glass in Russian). He used to fashion wood moldings with special hand tools, for making window frames. The glass sheet was cut with a diamond to fit the frame. Grandpa's parents mast have migrated from Vitebsk, The reason I know this is because whenever Grandma got mad at Grandpa, she would say: "You should have rotted in Vitebsk."
     Grandpa must have been an excellent craftsman, because when the Polish Princess Sapega decided to build a mansion, she hired Grandpa to build the frames and install the glass in the double windows. This mansion was situated about a viorst from Varklian, we used to call it the "Palace." It must have had a hundred rooms. Varklian and its environs were one of Princess Sapega's ninety-nine estates. (No one could own more than ninety-nine estates in tzarist Russia). This is how Grandma told it:
     ". . .When Grandpa finished the job at the palace, he was paid pretty well. We started thinking about enlarging our one-room house, which was close to a bog with an open pool of water. People used to throw all the house discards in it, including dead eats. The smell wasn't too pleasant in summer, when the breezes were coming from the south. Mosquitoes, too, had a monopoly on the pool. "In winter the pool would freeze over and when we were small children we used to skate there and have lots of fun. A pig wandered over once on the ice and immediately lost his footing. This was very funny to us kids. The pig could not stand up straight on the ice, his feet would slide out from under him with every step he took. It got funnier and funnier and we just had hysterics. To prolong the fun we surrounded the frozen pool and chased the pig from on end to the other. The pig would take a step and wind up sliding on his belly. The more the pig lost his footing, the funnier it got. We rolled with laughter. This went on for some time, till the pig rolled over one more time and wasn't moving any more. We got scared, afraid of being punished. We hid the dead pig till evening. When it got dark, we brought a sled and rolled the pig on it. It took six of us to lift the pig and throw it over a wooden board fence. The next day there was a big fuss and a fight. It seems that one man accused another of butchering his neighbor's pig . . ."
     Grandma continued her tale about her house: "... So we started thinking of enlarging our house. With more children on the way we needed more room. One day the 'strazhnik' (policeman), in his full uniform, with his saber by his side, knocked on our door. It scared us all. Some calamity is about to befall us, I thought. The strazhnik would not dress up like this unless it was a very important mission.
     ' 'Where is Abbo Stekoll?!' he shouted.
     " 'I am Abbo Stekoll,' your grandfather answered meekly.
     " 'I have orders to bring you to Pan Victor Zagorsky in the palace.'
     "We were all in a panic. Victor Zagorsky was the overseer and manager of Princess Sapega's estate in Varklian. He was the law here in the princess's absence. Zagorsky would not summon anybody unless it was very important. Abbo and the strazhnik left. The whole town was watching Abbo being led away by the strazhnik. Rumors started circulating over town that Abbo was arrested, caught stealing. People started running to ask me questions: 'What's happened?' And all I could do was cry. After several hours Abbo walked in ... his pink face all in smiles. 'Everything is all right, Sheine Hene,' he said.
     " 'Tell me! Tell me all about it!' I was impatient, " 'I tell you, Sheine Hene, I was scared . . . and ashamed ... all the people in town watching me being led away, under convoy, like a criminal. And Yonik, the strazhnik, was putting on airs ... all dressed up in his uniform, saying to himself - look how important I am, taking a prisoner to Pan Zagorsky. When I got there, I stayed in the anteroom with a lot of other people, waiting my turn. I was shaking all over. What did I do wrong? I asked myself. I finally concluded that somebody falsely reported me for something to get even with me. As fate would have it, I was the last one to be called. I entered Zagorsky's office with hat in hand and trembling heart,' "I called you, Abbo," Zagorsky said, "to compliment you on what a fine, honest job you did on all the frames and windows of the new mansion. Princess Sapega and I made an inspection of the mansion last month. We found your work to be of excellent quality. You have not stolen any glass or other materials and you finished sooner than expected. The princess asked me to give you a present as a token of appreciation." Then he went and poured a glass of vodka for me and himself. "Now, is there anything I can do for you? What do you need?"
     " 'I sipped some of the vodka; this steadied my shaky feet and gave me courage to speak. "We live in a one-room house with an earthen floor, Pan Zagorsky, We have two sons and another child on the way. So we need to enlarge our house." '
     According to Grandma, the conversation continued:
     "Where do you live now?"
     "Down by the bog."
     "The mosquitoes must devour you there. How would you like a piece of land on top of the hill across from the church? This would be in the center of town. Your children could build stores up there. It will be good for business. We want the town to grow."
     "You know best, your highness, Pan Zagorsky."
     "All right then. Tomorrow I'll write up the order for a piece of land for you. When winter comes and the swamp freezes over, you and I will go out to the forest and mark up some trees to be felled for your house. I'll have my workmen deliver them to your property. In the meantime think up a plan and start laying the foundation. Now, how do you like that?"
     He wanted to kiss his hand, Grandma remembered, but he would not let him.
     "None of that," he said. "You are an honest Jew and a good craftsman. We would like you to live here, raise your family to build up the town and prosper."
     Grandmother continued: "Not only did we build this house, but several others including the one where Uncle Getzel lives, as well as four stores, bams, and an ice cellar. Victor Zagorsky was good to us. He let us take out as much timber from the forest as we wanted, and the land was ample for all our structures. Zagorsky was killed a few years later, trampled by a horse he was taming. He was mourned by Jews and Gentiles alike. They buried him in the mausoleum built at the opposite end of the market place. The priest designated the first day of May to be 'St. Victor's Day.' Every year, on the first of May, there is a religious procession from the church to the mausoleum and back. The priest is carried on a gilt throne decorated with crosses, flags, and ornaments to the mausoleum, where he conducts services. Then the whole procession returns to the church. Hundreds of peasants from around the area come to these events to celebrate all day long.
     "Now, that hill on which the mausoleum stands has a history of its own. My mother told me that this hill was covered with birch trees, but on top, there's a spot where nothing would grow and it was evil-smelling. At night, one could see a blue little flame flicker. People said that devils lived there; no one should ever be caught there at night. Several times, the priest with his holy pictures went out there to intone and exorcise the devils and extinguish the blue flames. A few nights later the blue flames mysteriously reappeared. In desperation the priest declared the hill bewitched and forbade anyone to go there. So 'Devil's Hill,' as it was called, was never visited. Pregnant women would turn their heads when passing it. The birches grew wild and thick, and the blue flames flickered on as before. When Zagorsky came to Varklian to replace the old overseer, and heard the story of Devil's Hill, he decided to build his mausoleum on top of the hill's barren spot. A priest stood guard there all the time to protect the workmen from evil. Surrounding the mausoleum was an iron grill fence and gates. All the vertical staves ended in crosses to prevent the devils from crossing the fence. The evil smell disappeared and the blue flickering flame was extinguished. Most people have now forgotten that it was once called Devil's Hill."
     A train pulled in and the station began to fill up with people. The noise of the new arrivals and the cold air from the open door woke up Visarion. He opened his eyes, coughed, yawned, stretched, and gradually became aware of his surroundings. His solemn face softened into a smile when he noticed me.
     "You have made it possible for me to have a good rest . . . and the old bones needed it."
     "A train has just pulled in, Uncle Visarion."
     "Yes I see; maybe I better go and find out where it is going." He left in a hurry. He was back in a few minutes visibly excited.
     "That's my train," he said as he grabbed his satchel and his bag of sukhari. He gave me a hug and kissed me on the forehead. "You get well! Grow up and help rebuild our land. Give my regards to your mamashenka. Someday, maybe, you will remember an old man who met you and loved you for a few days. May God be with you,"
     Visarion walked through the outside double doors. He did not look back. He disappeared like many other people who crossed my path . . . never to be seen again. Only memories can bring back the loving warmth radiated by this colorful man from the Caucasus. There were tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat.
     I settled down, waiting for Mama to return. Pretty soon hunger pangs started gnawing at my stomach, that old familiar feeling that I had experienced every day for eight months in the hospital in Petrograd.
     Many things happened in the hospital after the first few months. My friend Vanka and I were transferred from the rear building where we had a four-bed room to the woman's general ward building facing the street. General Avenavius left the hospital. Anufri and I have never seen each other again. The woman's ward was in a large, long room. It had about forty beds in two rows; one row was at a wall that had windows while the opposite wall, where Vannka and I had our beds next to each other, had no windows.
     Vanka and I liked the transfer because we were among many people all the time. There was also more of a chance to plead for a few extra bites of food from the women. When a patient had a visitor who had brought something edible, Vanka and I would position ourselves close to that visitor, and look at him wistfully without saying a word. Invariably he would give us something to get rid of us. This technique did not always work. As time went on, people caught on to us and told us to move on.
     Later on the food situation got really critical. The food handlers in the hospital started cheating on the bread rations, which were our main source of nourishment. In weighing our portions of bread, one could not cut off exactly half a pound. So there would be one large piece and one or two smaller pieces to make up the exact weight. Those smaller pieces were called in Russian "priweski." Well, the priveskis started gradually disappearing. The rest of the diet consisted of tea in the morning, without milk or sugar; meatless cabbage soup at noon, with one or two cabbage leaves, occasionally a bit of fat; tea with our daily bread ration again in the evening. We were supposed to divide our half pound of bread into three parts, so that we'd have a piece of bread for each meal. I did it once. Somebody stole my two portions of bread while I was asleep. Next best thing to do was to eat one bite at a time, slowly, to prolong the pleasure of having something in my stomach when I went to bed.
     There were three children in our ward . . . Vanka, a teen-age girl, and I. As a result of inadequate nutrition the three of us started wetting in bed. Our ward had two cleaning women, Varvara and Dunia. They were called "sidelki". When the wetting started, Dunia took us three in a dark comer of the corridor and warned us that if it continued she would punish us severely. She said that she didn't have enough linen to change every day, and that she did not care if we slept in a dirty, wet bed. Dunia's lecture did not help, and we continued to wet. One day she took me into her room and slapped me in the face several times with the flat of her hand.
     "Don't you piss in your bed again, you lazy brat!" She hissed. "I'll punish you every time you do it till you learn. You are eight years old and it is time to behave like a boy and not like a baby. Another thing, if you tell this to anybody, I'll tear your ears off. Understand? Go now!"
     All I could do was cry. My face was swollen for several days, with a black eye as an added attraction. Maria Sergeyevna, Professor Polenov's wife, stopped me to ask how I got my shiner. I explained, lamely, that I fell down. Vanka, too, was punished. He got it on the bottom where it didn't show. Dunia was more sophisticated now.
     We did not quit wetting in bed and Dunia kept on punishing us every so often. She changed her methods of punishment, however. She did not hit us in the face anymore, or on the buttocks. She used to ran the knuckles of her closed fist over oar close-cropped hair against the grain. It hurt like hell, but it didn't leave any marks. It felt like your hair was being pulled. Varvara, the other sidelka, knew what was going on, and interceded on many occasions. After a punishment I would go to Varvara for consolation.
     Miracles do happen. That was the miracle of a middle-aged lady whose bed was across from mine by the window. Her name was Marusia. She had something wrong with her leg; it was bandaged but not in a cast. Her parents had a bakery in Petrograd, and her family would bring her all kinds of baked goods. Marusia was the envy of the whole ward for having so much food. It turned out that everybody kowtowed to Marusia, expecting to be repaid in food. But Marusia was not generous with her favors, and would seldom dispense rewards. She was the queen of the ward. Marusia smoked openly, which wasn't done by nice ladies in 1919. Mama, too, smoked, privately. To Marusia it was an act of defiance and sophistication, and of course, nobody dared say anything.
     About once every two weeks we used to have hot water to take baths. Vanka and I bathed with the women. We didn't think anything of it. Occasionally, a woman would take an interest in the boys and give as a good washing. Otherwise we would just splash around in soapy water. People who had casts or bandages sat on benches, and were given wooden buckets with water to wash themselves. Once I was splashing in my pail near Marusia.
     "Come here, Vulia, and wash my back, she said.
     It was more like a command than a request. I would not think of disobeying. She gave me a sponge and sweet-smelling soap, and I started washing her back, which was smooth and soft. She was not as thin as the rest of us.
     "Rub harder, harder," she commanded.
     I did my best. After I was finished with her back, she asked me to wash her front also, then her short hair.
     "You did a good job, Vulia. For that you can have my bread ration this evening."
     "Thank you, thank you," I was overjoyed. "I can wash you every time."
     This was terrific! The grownups were getting a whole pound of bread! We struck up a friendship, even though it was one-sided. Marusia was nobody's friend, Marusia was Marusia's friend. Anyway, every second week, when it was bath day, I was getting Marusia's extra ration. She would not eat the "issue" bread anyway, it contained sand and on occasion rat droppings and dead cockroaches. I was not disturbed by little things like that . . . sand, droppings or cockroaches, I ate this bread and would have liked to have more of it. The wetting in bed stopped and so did the beatings.
     Cold winds blew up at the end of August ... no heat in the ward. The flimsy shirt and robe Vanka and I had on were not enough to keep us warm. What with the skimpy food rations, we were cold, and wanted to stay in bed all day. Maria Sergeyevna, Professor Polenov's wife, toured the wards and talked to the patients. She noticed that Vanka and I were uncomfortable. So she got together the other staff doctors' wives, and with the joint efforts got us long white underpants.
     "Boys should wear pants," she said when she presented us with the gifts. Maria Sergeyevna was a sensitive person. She always stopped me to inquire about my progress. Many times I cried in her lap from hunger and loneliness, not having heard from my parents in months. She would pat me on the head to console me.
     Marusia called me over one cold night, "If you want to, you can climb into bed with me; it will be warmer for you."
     It made sense. Besides, Marusia had bread, candy, and fruit. She did not have to ask me twice. I cuddled up to her, she was soft and warm. I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, the lights were already out; her arms were around me. It felt so good. Nobody had hugged me for such a long time. Sweet memories came crowding in my mind about my family. I longed for a little tenderness ... for love, and I was ready to accept it no matter whence it came. I was happy. Marusia took my left hand into hers and rubbed it. She patted it for a while, as though in indecision, then pat it on her breast. She made me gently pat it. It was beautifully soft and tender. Gradually she guided my hand to her abdomen and down to her genitalia, then made me stroke there slowly, gently, for some time. Suddenly she tensed, her whole body tightened up, she hugged and squeezed me tightly. Then she began to cry, sobbing softly and still holding me in her tight grip. It revealed to me the soft side, the weak side, perhaps the human side of Marusia. Here was a cold, seemingly calculating woman who didn't give a damn about anybody else, suddenly breaking down, full of emotion. This was all very puzzling to me, but I liked the attention that was showered upon me, never mind that it was only a release of her pent-up tensions and I merely happened to be around. We repeated this many times till mother came for me two months later.
     I was not so naive as not to know what we were doing. Anybody who grows up in the country, watching the domestic animals, is aware of sex at an early age. However, this was my first experience with how humans behave. I, myself, was neutral and had no feelings one way or the other about it. The only difference was that now she gave me her bread ration every evening, and once in a while a piece of candy or an apple. My bed-wetting days were over from then on. Dunia, of course, took credit for it. She bragged that she finally taught that Jewboy to behave like a grown up. She had no success with Vanka and the teenage girl. . . .
     
V
Continued Life in the Velikiye Luki Train Station
and the Story of Helman the Long
     A new train came in, judging from the influx of people. All the benches were occupied, some people had to sit on the floor. An older lady, with a girl about ten, sat down next to me. They both looked tired and dishevelled. They were dressed in long black coats made of coarse peasant woolen cloth. Their heads were wrapped in black knit woolen shawls.
     The girl stared at me, but after a while her face softened into a hint of a smile. I smiled back and was the first to make conversion.
     "What is your name? Mine is Vulia."
     "Mine is Klavdia,"
     "Are you waiting for a train, too?"
     "Yes. We were forced off the train just now, so we'll have to wait for another. Where are you going?"
     "To Varklian."
     "Are you from Velikiye Luki?"
     "No. Varklian is my home." Where are you from?"
     "We are from . . ."
     "Hush!" her mother hissed, poking an elbow in her ribs.
     "But he is a friendly little boy," Klavdia whispered loudly so I could hear.
     "More friends means less food for us." her mother insisted. That was that. The conversation ended. The old lady was right. I was going to steer the conversation to food and maybe I could mooch a few bites of something, just anything edible. I hadn't eaten since breakfast and it was already getting dark outside. That familiar feeling of hunger was gnawing inside. I was forcing myself not to think about food, I started watching two men playing chess on the floor near by. They were surrounded by a few spectators. From where I sat, on top of the bundles, I could see what was going on. One of the players was a young man with several days' growth of beard. He was dressed in military clothes without insignia. His lambskin papakha showed an imprint where an oval tzarist cockade used to be. He was probably a demobilized soldier. The other man was older, of huge build, with a face adorned with an enormous moustache; dressed in a sheepskin coat, tied around his waist with a leather thong. He wore a brown fur hat, with earflaps hanging down.
     The older man was obviously losing the game. He was sweating, his face tight, almost indicating pain. He was taking a long time to make his moves. The younger man was serious but more relaxed. He had a faint smile on his face, as though saying 'I got you where I want you.' The game was soon over. The older man pushed the board away, saying:
     "I give up, I really lost the game when I exchanged my two knights for your two bishops. You play a wicked game with your knights."
     "You were not so bad yourself, you almost strangled me with your pawns. I had a very hard time breaking through your pawn line of defense."
     "I will have to learn how to play with those two knights, one protecting the other, while at the same time attacking two major pieces,"
     "All right old man, here, make yourself a smoke from my 'makhorka' (homegrown tobacco). Like to play another game?"
     "No. Two lessons in one day are enough.
     "Anybody else want to play?" The young man surveyed the audience around him. Nobody took up the invitation. Then he carefully put the small wooden figures in a wooden box, folded the chess board, and placed them in his footlocker.
     "How about some paper for a cigarette, old man?"
     The old man produced a folded newspaper. He tore out two squares and handed one to the young man. Both started making their cigarettes using the young man's pouch of tobacco.
     I was bored and hungry. What bothered me most was a full bladder. The last time I went to the bathroom was before Visarion left. I dared not go off and leave our things unattended. I was wishing for Mama to come back. A middle-aged militiaman stopped in front of me.
     "Hey kid, you have anybody looking after you?"
     "My mother went out in search of food. She should return soon."
     "I watched you sitting here for several hours. Your mother probably has trouble finding food. She must have had to go far away. Can I do anything for you?"
     "Yes, I need to go to the bathroom. If you could watch our things for a moment, then I will go."
     "Sure, but hurry."
     I did hurry. In my haste I fell off the bench. The militiaman picked me up.
     "Hurt?"
     "No." I lied, and limped off to the bathroom. It was crowded there, and I had to wait my turn for an empty booth. The militia man was still there when I returned.
     "You have a bad leg?" came the familiar question.
     "Yes, I had infantile paralysis."
     "That's too bad. What's your name?" he said, lifting me up on the bench.
     "Vulia, Vulia Gutman."
     "Volodia?"
     "No, Vulia."
     "What kind of name is that?"
     "I don't know. I am Jewish, that's what they call me."
     "Where are you going?"
     "To Rezhitsa."
     "Where is that?"
     "Near Dvinsk."
     "I don't know where that is either. I ought to be going. When you need anything, shout 'Stepan,' that is my name."
     "Thank you very much."
     I was by myself again, only Klavdia was looking at me. She surely wanted to talk. She must have been as bored as I was but was afraid to say anything. People coming in from the outside were shaking off snow from their clothes. Visarion "was right; he said it was going to snow.
     Mama came up from behind unnoticed. "Vulia darling, I am sorry to be so late. Where is Visarion?"
     "He caught his train,"
     "I am glad he finally got away. He'll be glad to see his son. I am sorry I did not have a chance to say goodbye to him. He was a very nice man."
     "I am very hungry, Mama."
     "Yes, of coarse, I am very hungry too. I brought some very nice things to eat. Here, hold on to this package while I go for some hot water for tea."
     Mama started her routine with the kettle and was off. I noticed right away that her diamond earrings were missing, so were the rings on her fingers, even the heavy gold wedding ring was missing. Something very important must have happened to make her sell all her jewelry. I was too impatient to wait for Mama and started to unwrap the package, I was still in the process of unwrapping the many layers of paper when Mama was back with the steaming tea kettle.
     "Would you like to have a cup of tea with us?" Mama asked Klavdia's mother. Klavdia was about to speak, but her mother held her back with another one of those 'elbowin-the-ribs' and answered curtly: "No."
     Mama was visibly hurt by the tone of her voice.
     "I am sorry I have spoken to you. Where I come from, one tries to become friends with one's neighbors."
     "Where I come from, one minds his own business. Come, Klavdia!" She gathered her bundles, pulled Klavdia by her hand, and was swallowed by the crowd.
     "What bit her?" is all mother could say.
     The two chess players immediately got up off the floor and occupied the vacated place on our bench,
     "The bench will be warmer than the stone floor." The younger man addressed himself to mother. "My name is Mikhayil, you can call me Misha or Mishka."
     "And my name is Alexander Gavrilovich, You can call me Aliosha," the older man introduced himself,
     "My name is Reveka Abramovna, and this is Vulia, my son. We were just going to have tea. Would you like to join us? I am afraid that we only have two cups for ourselves. We may be able to spare a few bites of food for you too."
     "This is kind of you," said Misha ceremoniously. "I will accept your invitation only if you let me contribute some of my rations. Cups we do have.
     "Same goes for me," put in Aliosha as he went for his sack.
     "Well, instead of a bite to eat, we will have a party," Mama said jubilantly.
     "Why did Klavdia and her mother leave?" It bothered me, and I had to get it off my chest.
     "She was probably a very unhappy woman and maybe afraid of strangers." Mama talked while unwrapping the mysterious package. Then she took put from our suitcase the provisions left over from yesterday. "These we have to eat first." She made up four portions for now and packed the rest away. Misha and Aliosha brought out some food items also: Dried white cheese, fat vobli, salt pork, and black rye bread. We ate, talked, and laughed.
     "I am glad to have found such nice company with whom to share a meal," Mama said. "Some good things happened to me today and I feel like celebrating."
     "You want to share it with us? I too had some good fortune. I just won two straight games of chess from this here champion. This does not happen too often."
     "He just tricked me into giving up the game. Mishka is really good, no joking. I am not ashamed of losing to him. Tell us about yourself, Reveka Abramovna."
     "Well, I was fortunate to find a place where I could buy some food for several days. Who knows how long Vulia and I will have to wait for a train? Some other things of a personal nature turned out all right also,"
     "Ah, I see your mother came back," Stepan, the militia-man, was in front of us. "I kept an eye on this young man for a long time. I already started thinking that he was abandoned. You would be surprised how many children are abandoned by their parents every day. They get to be too big a burden in these chaotic times."
     "No, no!" Mama protested. "Loving parents could never do such a thing. I traveled far to take Vulia home with me, I was away in search of food for us, and this is not an easy task, as you know. Won't you have a cop of tea and maybe something to eat with us?"
     "Thank you madamushka, I will have a cup of tea with you but no food. Food is so hard to come by; you'd better keep it for this little one."
     Stepan pulled out a cup from his shoulder bag and held it out to Mama. She poured some of the essence and diluted it with water from the tea kettle,
     "There is nothing like a good hot cup of tea to get your blood flowing. It is like the water in a locomotive, which turns into steam that makes it go."
     Stepan brought out a small package, wrapped in newspaper. He unwrapped what looked like several small pancakes. "These are made of beets. My mother makes them. She says that they have sugar in them and it is good for you ... it was a quiet day here at the station. I had to break up an argument over a seat on a bench . . . they almost came to blows. This was easy duty compared to that of patrolling the streets.
     "At night the streets are taken over by the orphans, the homeless, the abandoned children, the 'bezprizornie' as they are called. They roam the streets at night in packs. They can overpower anybody. These children have no food, no shelter, no clothes, no medical attention. They fight with the rats over scraps of food. They attack people on the street and rob them. Many of them die from hunger, cold, and disease. We find them dead, crouched in alleys . . . their frozen bodies with bloated bellies in alleys, covered with scraps of cloth and newspapers. What a shameful waste of our youth . . . our future ..."
     Stepan fell silent, then after a while said: "I have to go and attend to my duties. Thank you very much for your hospitality, Reveka Abramovna. Goodbye." He got up, shook the last drops of liquid from his cup on the floor, pocketed it and left.
     "Could you make me a cigarette too?" Mama said after watching Aliosha and Misha roll theirs. "I need something to quiet my nerves."
     "Let me, Reveka Abramovna," Misha responded, "I have tobacco that was issued by the military ... it is of better quality."
     Soon all three were puffing smoke. It was a surprise to see Mama smoking in public. I knew that she smoked—I could smell it on her breath many times, but I never saw her actually do it. I watched her draw in the smoke, inhaling it deeply, and releasing it into a thin little stream that was expanding rapidly into twisting curls, ascending upwards and dissolving in the air. Some people walking by stared at her.
     "You going home now?" Mama asked Misha.
     "Yes, I am going home. I was in the war for nearly three years . . . got wounded twice, and finally I am going home. I hope that my home still belongs to me."
     "They say, Misha, that one may not own private property," Aliosha said, "that ownership of land will not be permitted. The government is going to organize communes, where everybody eats from the same pot."
     "There are going to be a lot of unhappy people. First the land belonged to the nobility and we were serfs. Then we have a war, next a revolution to change all this, so what happens? Now we are serfs to the state ..."
     "The revolution has done many strange things to people." Aliosha picked up the conversation after a pause. "It has uncovered traits in people that you never knew were there. It has elevated some to heights of idealism, to selfless devotion, to acts of heroism, and reduced others to acts of the basest human behavior."
     Aliosha took a drag on his cigarette and continued. "I was a teacher in a little town, Malinovka. I had a wife and a son. The town gave me a small piece of land on which to build a house. My wife and I were happy—we had everything we needed and we became the elite of the town. Then the war came and I volunteered for the army. I thought I was fighting for Mother Russia. Much did I know that I was really fighting for the tzar's honor, for the tzarina's and Rasputin's caprice. One becomes educated fast when one is out in the trenches . . .
     "When I came home a couple of months ago, I found that my wife had moved in with the local commissar. 'Free love,' she said, that went with the new order. She begged me to take her back, but I would not have her. I said, 'You have your free love, my love is not free . . .'
     "Our son, a fourteen-year-old boy, ran away from home. He was probably like one of those bezprizomie that Stepan was just talking about. The militia notified me that they located him in a prison in Pskov. I am going after him." Aliosha stood up, threw his cigarette on the floor, snuffed it out with his boot, and without looking up at us, walked off.
     "He has bigger problems than I," Misha mumbled. He too got up. "If you will be here for a white, Reveka Abramovna, I'll wash up a bit."
     "Yes, you go ahead." Mother said. "And when you return Vulia and I will do the same and leave you as guardian."
     Mama couldn't wait for Misha to walk away, and immediately started talking to me, in Yiddish, in a low voice.
     "I am glad that we are finally alone and I can tell you the good news. I saw Aunt Sonia and worked it out so that the authorities will transfer her to the Rezhitsa prison so her family will be able to visit her and bring food packages. Now, 'Vulenka,' we will start looking for a train that goes in our direction to take us home. I put my life on the line to help Aunt Sonia.
     "Aunt Sonia's prison is located adjacent to a convent. The nuns attend to the women prisoners. I made friends with a nun who was willing to listen to my sisters's predicament. I told her that the authorities would not let me visit her. We worked out a plan. We went to the restroom and there we exchanged clothes. She instructed me how to wear her clothes, how to walk, how to act, where to find Sonia. We rehearsed everything several times. It worked. I had no trouble finding Sonia. She looked terrible. She lost a lot of weight, the skin of her face is gray, her hair is almost white. I had my face partly covered with the nun's habit. She didn't recognize me until I started throwing in a Yiddish word here and there. She sensed that there was something unusual happening. When I finally told her who I was, she almost fainted. We had all we could do to control our emotions, not to cry, and act normally. I don't want to go into details now. But after I spoke to Sonia I went back to the restroom and found the nun shaking with fright. Another nun recognized her, but she promised not to tell . . . Both of us could be shot. We exchanged clothes again and prayed that the other nun remains quiet. In order to help Sonia I had to give up all my jewelry and the money I had. At least my sister is free to see her children. I am so happy? Everything is arranged. They will transfer her to Rezhitsa in a couple of weeks. Isn't it marvellous?"
     Mama hugged me tightly . . . tears flowed freely as she allowed her emotions their fall scope. Mama was drying her eyes when Aliosha came back.
     "Anything the matter, Reveka Abramovna?"
     "I cried from happiness. We are going home."
     "I am happy for you. There is so little of it around nowadays."
     "This is nice of you to say, Alexander Gavrilovich."
     "I will take the first train that goes East. They told me that there may be one in the morning. It is snowing pretty heavily now, I hope there's not a blizzard to stop the trains altogether.''
     "If you will be here for a while, then Vulia and I will go to the restroom and wash up for the night."
     "Sure, sure, go ahead, I'll be here. I will read a newspaper that someone gave me,"
     Misha too was back when we returned. Mama made me lie down and stretch out. I heard Mama talk to the two men, but I wasn't listening. I was busy with my own thoughts. Sleep would not come. I was too excited about going home where there would be lots of food and love. I would be going to eat lots of food and grow big and strong. I would eat plenty to grow as big and strong as Helman the Long, our legendary family giant . . .
     Helman the Long was my maternal grandfather's cousin. He was a man about whom many stories and legends were told. The reason they nicknamed him 'the Long' was because he was over seven feet tall. During his bar-mitzvah celebration, Helman was the tallest man on the bimah or anywhere else. Then one day Helman the Long, the handsome young giant, disappeared without a trace.
     In those days, some young boys were abducted and turned over to the authorities for a price to be inducted in the tzar's army. I do not know if these things were legal or not, but they were widely practiced and done clandestinely. Rumor had it that there were even a few Jews among the 'khapers' or catchers, as they were called. Once a boy was kidnapped, he would disappear from the community. No complaints were made, no reports written, no inquiries made. These boys were mourned by their families, Kaddish was said as though they were dead, never to be seen or heard from again. Very few ever returned.
     The abducted youngsters were immediately shipped off to a far-off place and inducted in the army. The service duration was twenty-five years. Jewish boys were forcibly converted to the Russian Orthodox Church. Helman was mourned for a year, then was gradually forgotten in Varklian, except by his parents who died grieving.
     One day a bareback rider, dressed in uniform, rode into Varklian, He had a nicely trimmed beard and moustache. A large sack was strapped to his back and a hatchet stuck in his belt. His legs almost touched the ground. He guided his horse to the center of town, dismounted, and tied it up to a hitching rack at the Grinshtein general store. He dusted himself off and went into the store, bending deeply in order to enter. All the people in the store stared at this incredibly tall Russian who spoke in broken Yiddish.
     "Where does the rabbi live?" he asked.
     "Why do you want to know?"
     "I mean no harm to the rabbi. You can tell me. I too am Jewish."
     "Who are you?"
     "I am Helman Stekoll, They used to call me Helman the Long. I was born here, was abducted, and sent in the army. I served for twenty-five years, and now I have returned home."
     "What do you want with the rabbi?"
     "I want to talk to him about my family."
     After Zalman Grinshtein assured himself of the innocent intentions of Helman, he gave him directions to the rabbi's house. Helman walked out of the store, unhitched his horse and started walking to the rabbi's house. The news spread quickly that a Russian giant had come to Varklian and was going to see the rabbi. Many pairs of eyes followed the giant stranger from behind closed windows as he passed. Children followed the Russian giant at a respectful distance. Helman turned from the main street onto a side street, then turned again onto Shoolgas. To his left, he saw the White Shool building, the synagogue, standing out among the little gray log houses, the rabbi's house among them. He knocked on the rabbi's door. A woman opened it and gasped at the sight of the giant. The rabbi, Gabbay, was sitting at a large table surrounded by a few teenage boys, teaching them from a large open Gemora (Talmud). Helman started removing his hat, then thought better of it. The white bearded, bespectacled rabbi looked up from the book . . . his eyes open wide in wonderment:
     "Yes?"
     "My name is Helman, Helman Stekoll. They used to call me Helman the Long. I was abducted by Zelik the Berry and two Gentiles, who overpowered me, bound my hands and feet, and put a sack over my head. The next thing I knew I was on a train with other boys, under guard, to somewhere far away . . . For twenty-five years I served in the army, the last ten in the tzar's Leib Guard. I was forcibly converted to Christianity. Now I would like to reconvert back to Judaism."
     The rabbi opened his eyes wide, then relaxed his face in a smile of recognition:
     "Your parents died grieving for you. Your sister is married and lives in your parents' house. You can probably move in with her till you get established. I understand and appreciate your desire to become a Jew again, but it isn't simple. You will have to study the Torah, the Halakha, the Customs, and above all conduct yourself like a Jew. Are you sure you want to go through with it?"
     "Yes, rabbi, I am sure," Helman answered without hesitation.
     So there it was, Helman converted back to Judaism. He went often to the synagogue, observed all the laws, customs, and regulations of a pious Jew. He built himself a one-room log house adjacent to his sister's house. He went into partnership with his brother-in-law peddling general merchandise in the nearby villages. Helman was very handy with tools and could master just about any project. He custom-built his merchandise wagon, shod his own horse, and did all the repairs and maintenance on his sister's house. His advice and counsel were solicited by his peasant customers whenever there was a house to be built, a barn to be raised, or a fence to be put up.
     The two partners were doing well in their business, Helman was respected for his honesty, was admired for his many good deeds and his prowess. Many stories were told about Helman. He could fashion horse shoes from an iron band with his bare hands; There wasn't a horse he couldn't break, and many peasants took advantage of this fact.
     Heleman and his partner rode up once to a peasant's house. The peasant's wife came out and told them that her husband was in bed with a broken leg, his horse had thrown him. And this happened at the worst time when the spring plowing had to be done. Without a word Helman hitched his horse onto the plow and did the peasant's work for him. The peasant's wife cried from joy, and kissed and hugged Helman in gratitude.
     A farmer's horse fell sick and was lying on the ground for a week. When the horse was well enough it was too weak to get up on its feet. Several neighbors gathered together to raise the horse with poles. As soon as they got the horse on its feet, it fell down again. Helman and his brother-in-law happened to be passing with their merchandise. When Helman saw what was going on, he pushed everybody aside; he bent down to pat the horse and talk gently to it. To everybody's amazement he lifted the horse up singlehandedly and held it up till it steadied itself. After a while, it stood by itself unaided. Helman nudged the horse to walk—a cry of elation went up from the crowd. People embraced Helman and shook his hand. A barrel of homemade beer was brought out, and the whole village reveled all night.
     The stories of Helman's physical strength spread from village to village. He had a way with children and animals. He would always find a piece of candy in his pocket for a child, a piece of colored ribbon for a girl, a spool of fancy thread for a peasant's wife. It was like a holiday when Helman arrived in a village. Everybody considered it an honor to shake hands with this tall, gentle giant of a man.
     The White Shool in Varklian had a smaller anteroom. It was used during the week for prayer, when fewer people would attend. This room was called the "Klaisel" or Chapel. In the middle of this Klaisel stood a massive oak table, with two benches on either side. This table was used by the rabbi to teach the Talmud to whoever would listen. One corner of this table was broken off. Nobody dared smooth the jagged edges of this sharp-splintered wooden table.
     The story goes that once on a Simkhas Torah holiday (the holiday of the Torah scrolls), when people made merry, when cake and vodka were passed around in the Klaisel, some younger men were teasing Helman about his physical strength. One young man bet him a bottle of vodka that he couldn't break off a corner of the oak table with one hit of his bare fist. Helman took up the challenge. He lifted his enormous fist and brought it crashing down on the corner of the table. Helman got his bottle of vodka. That broken corner of the table stood as a monument to Helman's sheer strength for many generations. It was shown to strangers to prove Helman's feats of strength.
     Helman the Long never married. He lived according to a routine. Sunday he and his brother-in-law would replenish their stock at local merchant's stores, and start out early Monday morning for visits to his customers in the villages. Very little money was exchanged ... it was mostly a barter-type trade for animal skins, furs, pig's bristle, flax, linen cloth, honey, live chickens, cattle, and sheep. Friday morning, the two partners would head for home, to make it in time for the Sabbath.
     One Friday morning as the two partners were returning to Varklian, Helman was driving a few cows and sheep behind the horse and wagon. His brother-in-law sat on top of the wagon. A big brown bear came rambling out of the forest. At the sight of the people and animals, the bear stood up on his hind legs in a threatening stance and roared. The frightened horse started down the road at a wild gallop. The cattle and sheep also scattered. Helman stood there facing the ferocious beast in the middle of the road. He was too old to outrun the bear. He was armed with a thin branch that he used to drive the cattle and his trusty hatchet stuck in his belt. Helman was going to blind the bear with the branch so as to give him time to inflict some damage with his hatchet. Bear and man met head-on; Helman shouting . . . the bear snarling, Claws and hatchet flailing through the air ...
     Some peasants found them lying in the middle of the road. The bear was dead with the hatchet his head . . . his forepaws holding Helman in a death-grip. Helman was unconscious and barely breathing. Helman was brought to Varklian. He was badly lacerated over his whole body and had several broken ribs. The peasants said that the bear was a grown male. His skin wasn't worth very much because it had too many hatchet cuts. Helman seemingly recovered. His sister did not let him go out in the country to carry on his business till his ribs healed.
     Two weeks later Helman the Long was found dead in his bed. It was a Saturday, and when he did not come for the Minkha services, some of his friends went to investigate and found him in his bed, asleep forever . . ,
     The news spread quickly. Nobody could believe that Helman, the quiet, gentle, loving giant was dead. The funeral was next day, Sunday. Jewish custom requires thai there should be little time lost between a person's expiration and funeral to prevent disease from spreading. It was one of the biggest funerals in Varklian. It was said that over two thousand people attended . . . gentiles as well as Jews. Thus ended the story of Helman the Long. He was the ideal of every little boy, the same as Paul Bunyan is to every American child. Helman was fifty-eight years old when he died in 1891.
     
VI
Lost ... or Abandoned
     Several days went by. For some reason there were no trains going south to Vitebsk, where we wanted to go. Many trains were arriving at the station but none going out. They were being requisitioned for the military because battles were going on between the Reds and Whites and were needed for transportation of men and equipment. The condition in the station was extremely crowded. The air was very stale and the cold, snowy weather did not help matters either. Food too was a big problem ... all the nearby farms were bought out by city people. One had to go far to find something edible. We were lucky that Mama's last search for food had been very successful. Still, she was worried whether it would last us till we got home. One never knew when our train would come. So Mama did go out again and brought back mostly sukhari and hard cheese, things that would keep. Aliosha and Misha had left several days ago. Other people took their place on the bench. We did not make friends with them because the atmosphere was very strained due to the congested conditions. Mama was with me most of the time. I very much enjoyed her nearness and the comfort she gave me.
     It was still dark on that memorable morning when Mama went out for hot water. In a few moments I saw Mama pushing her way back hurriedly.
     "Vulia, our train is going to be here pretty soon. There is no time for breakfast. Let's get our coats and hats and go out on the platform. It is cold, windy, and snowy outside, so we'd better put on an extra pair of woolen stockings over your shoes and a woolen muffler around your neck."
     Mama worked fast, dressing me and putting our uneaten breakfast back in the suitcase, at the same time nibbling on some chicken. Others were also preparing to leave, Excitement was in the air. By the time we got ready to leave, there was a line of people forming at the door. We were inching our way out, I held on to Mama. It was slippery to walk with stockings over my shoes. I looked back with nostalgia to the empty benches in the station which sheltered us for so many days. Slowly, slowly, we got closer to the exit, and outside on the platform. The air was fresh and cold. Swirls of snow flakes were chasing each other in the air of the gray dawn. We could not reach the edge of the platform for there was already a thick line of people ahead of us. Mama put down my bundle on the platform and sat me down on top of it.
     "Vulenka, you sit here," she said. "As soon as the train comes, I will run to find a place for us, then I'll come back for you."
     "All right, Mama."
     We could hear the locomotive whistle. It was tooting often, becoming louder as it was approaching. The people on the platform formed a solid wall in front of me. There was pushing, shoving, and yelling at each other as they vied for a better position. I could see the locomotive chimney belching black smoke as the train slowed down. The wall of people in front of me opened up and the masses began to run towards the train and catching onto the hand-rails before it even stopped. People were losing their grip, falling, tripping, stumbling, being run over and trampled by the mob. It was tumult, uproar, utter pandemonium, all rolled into one chaos of human bodies pushing, fighting, scratching to get on the train. I caught one glance of Mother forcing her way through the crowd, then I lost sight of her amid the confusion of the struggling waves of humanity.
     The train finally stopped with a lot of hissing and releasing of white steam. Now the scramble for a place on the train started in earnest. People were climbing on top of the car roofs and hanging on to the vent chimneys; some were standing on the shock absorbers between cars, others crowded the steps of the cars, holding on to the hand-rails. People with red-cross armbands appeared carrying stretchers with bloodied bodies on them. Red Army militiamen were trying to keep order but without success. They were begging the people to get off the roofs and steps of the cars. Nobody listened or followed orders, as though it was the last train to anywhere. Finally, the crowds thinned out and most of the people who could not get on the train returned to the station.
     I was still waiting for Mother to appear to take me on our journey home. Suddenly, somebody blew a shrill whistle; the locomotive echoed it with its own whistle and began belching smoke, panting and straining, then it gradually started moving. A few people fell from the roof, others jumped off from precarious foot-holds. Some people helped the fallen ones to get out of danger. The train accelerated and was gone.
     I was looking in all directions for Mama. It seemed to me that she could not have gotten on the train . . . My feet began to freeze. I thought that she had an accident. She was probably hurt and was carried away on a stretcher by those men with the red-cross armbands. . . . Now, I was in a panic; I had a feeling of utter despair and helplessness . . . alone in a world of strangers and chaos . . . will I be one of the "Bezprizornie?" Lying there dead from hunger and cold . . . and nobody will ever know that my name was Vulia, where I came from, to whom I belonged. The family would mourn, say Kaddish . . .
     I started crying to attract attention for someone to help me. Nobody did. Then I caught sight of Stepan.
     "Stepan! Stepan!" I shouted. He heard me and came to me.
     "What are you doing here?"
     "Mama put me here. That was our train that just left. She said she would find a place on the train then come back for me. She didn't."
     "Come with me, Volodia." He lifted me and my bundle and headed towards the train station. "I am going to take you to the commissar. He'll help us find your mother."
     Here I was back again in the familiar train station, this time carried by Stepan with his arm around my waist. After clanking through several office doors, past some functionaries, we reached an overheated, clean office. A lean, clean-shaven man was sitting behind a large wooden desk piled high with books and papers. He wore a brown uniform with large pockets on his chest and thigh, "Here is another lost one," Stepan said as he deposited me and my bundle on the desk.
     "Or an abandoned one," continued the commissar in the same tone of voice.
     "No! My mother would never abandon me," I protested. "No, something must have happened to her. She might have been injured." I did not want to say killed.
     "I met her," Stepan intervened. "She looked like a very warm and solicitous mother who would not abandon her child."
     "All right, young man," the commissar lifted me from his desk and put me down in a chair near his. "You and I will have a long talk. What is your name?"
     "Vulia."
     "Why did Stepan call you Volodia?"
     "I don't know why, but ray name is Vulia."
     "Do you mind if we call you Volodia? It is easier for us."
     "No."
     "What is your last name?"
     "Gutman."
     "What is your mother's name and maiden name?"
     "Reveka Abramovna, Stekoll, Gutman."
     "Where were you going?"
     "To Varklian. Really to Rezhitsa by train, men from there by sled to Varklian."
     "We will have to find oat where Rezhitsa is,"
     "I think it is near Dvinsk," Stepan said.
     "From where were you coming?"
     "From Petrograd,"
     "What were you doing there?"
     "I was in a hospital, in the Petrogradskii Chirurgich-eskii Institute. I was operated on by Professor Polenov."
     "What was the matter with you?"
     "I had infantile paralysis. My right leg is paralyzed and my foot was crooked. Professor Polenov operated on it and straightened it out.
     "Do you have a father?"
     "Yes. His name is Getzel."
     "Good, good. What does your father do?"
     "He is a schoolteacher."
     "A proletarian, eh? Good. Has he been in the army?"
     "No. He is nearsighted. But they drafted him to work in a shoe factory in Yaroslavl. He was making boots for the army."
     ' 'That is fine, Volodia. For the time being you will stay with me and keep me company. In the meantime we will try to trace what happened to your mother. If we cannot locate her within a couple of days we will find someone to take you to your home. Are you hungry?"
     "Yes, I am very hungry. We didn't have time to eat breakfast. We had to rush to catch the train."
     "Stepan, have someone go to the commissary and draw some rations for Volodia, and tea for us." He wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to Stepan.
     "My name is Sergei Nikolayevich Volinski. You can call me Tovarisch Sergei. You will sleep with me and eat with me till we send you home. Tonight, you and I are going to the bath house. I'll give you a good scrubbing. When have you had a bath last?"
     "I don't remember."
     "That must have been a long time ago?"
     "I haven't taken off my clothes since we left Petrograd.''
     "And how long was that?"
     "Many days."
     "Do you have a change of clothes?"
     "I think so. It is in this bundle."
     "Good. We will take it along and put it in the steamer and try to kill all the lice; if not dead lice at least we will have clean lice anyway." He winked at me. "Now I have to get back to work. You sit here and entertain yourself as best you can. Stepan is going to be back with your rations pretty soon and you can satisfy your hunger." He went to the door, opened it and called out, "Send in the janitor."
     A lean man in a threadbare overcoat with a fur hat in hand came shuffling in. His face had a week's growth, his hair was long and unkempt, his narrow eyes were shifty, in continuous motion.
     "What is it you want?" the commissar said while sitting down behind his desk.
     The janitor cleared his throat, looked down at his feet, obviously ill at ease, "I have something to report," he blurted out in a whisper, and continued rapidly: "I am a janitor at an apartment house on Antonovka. I know all the regular tenants. Lately I started noticing many strangers coming and going as though to secret meetings. I did a little investigating."
     "Spying?"
     "Yes, spying. They all go to apartment number thirty-five. They arrive there singly and in pairs, not to be obvious, but they cannot fool me. A Poliak named Nazhinski who has a wife, but no children, lives there, I am sure they are plotting counter-revolution. That is all I have to report."
     "All right. You report it to the militiaman right outside my door. He will check it out,"
     "Don't I get anything for reporting valuable information?"
     "Out!" the commissar shouted. "I hate sneaks, tattlers, informers, worse than thieves. Get out!"
     The janitor retreated backwards out the door.
     Sergei walked over to me and patted me on the head, "You must think I am a bad man. I have to be stern with some people. There are people in this world who profit from the misery of others. What's more, they don't go about it honestly. That makes me mad. We struggled, suffered, and fought for many years to bring about the revolution, to enable us to build an honest and better world. We got rid of the tzar with all his grafting officials and bureaucrats. Good intentions will not be enough. We will have to reeducate whole generations. Your generation, Volodia, will bring about real, honest socialism. You are our future. You are not yet corrupted by dishonesty and falsehoods."
     "Yes, Tovarisch Sergei." I understood only some of what he was saying.
     Sergei went to the door and called out: "Send in the youngster," then went back to his chair. A youth of about fifteen or sixteen stood in the open door. "Close the door and sit down in this chair," The commissar's voice was soft and pleasant, unlike the manner in which he had treated the janitor. This was puzzling to me. He lit a rarely seen "papiros," Most people rolled their own cigarettes. Sergei drew on the papiros, blowing smoke which curled upward in the overheated room.
     "I will ask you some questions," Sergei said. "Tell me the truth. You are in big trouble now, but I am going to help you. You understand?"
     "Yes, Tovarisch Commissar."
     "What is your name and surname?"
     "Stiopa Volkov."
     "How old are you?"
     "I don't know for sure, I think that I am over sixteen."
     "Where were you born?"
     "In a village named Orekhovo."
     "Where is that?"
     "I don't know."
     "Your father's and mother's names?"
     "My father's name is Danil and my mother's is Phedosia."
     "Are your parents living?"
     "No. They were both killed by a band of White soldiers about a year ago."
     "Why were they killed?"
     "Father would not let a soldier pull off Mother's wedding ring. The soldier ..." Stiopa's eyes filled with tears that ran down his face, making dirty tracks. His chin was quivering. He was making an effort to suppress the tears in order to speak. "The soldier . . ."he began again. "The soldier hit her so she would not scream. Then ... my father hit the soldier and knocked him down. Another soldier raised his rifle and shot my father and mother."
     "Where were you when this happened?"
     "I was hiding on top of the brick oven."
     "What happened after that?"
     "The Whites bitched up our two horses and wagons. They robbed the house of everything. Neighbors came and helped bury my parents. I couldn't stay there ... by myself ... I left."
     "Where did you go?"
     "I don't know. Many places. Whenever there was a train, I'd hop on it, pass a few stations, then get off."
     "How did you survive?"
     "Begging, stealing. Stealing mostly. People are not responsive to beggars any more."
     "Stiopa, I am not going to punish you for stealing the woman's suitcase. Anyway, she got it back. No good will be served by punishing you."
     Stepan walked in with a couple of sacks.
     "Good, let us all have something to eat," the commissar said. "Stepan, here is a namesake of yours; meet Stepan Volkov. I think he will be with us for a while. What did you bring?"
     "Bread, lard, potatoes, a large chicken, barley, a little salt and tea. We can make a good stew. There was no sugar. Now we can have bread smeared with lard and wash it down with tea."
     "Next time try to get some sugar. The youngsters need sugar."
     They set the food on a little side table. We sat around it: Stepan officiated. He took out a long pocket-knife and cut some fresh, crusty slices of black bread, spread them with thick layers of lard, and sprinkled them with coarse salt crystals. It tasted heavenly. Stepan left the room and returned with a tea kettle full of boiling water.
     We ate heartily, not a word was spoken for a while.
     "I will give you a job as an orderly at the station," Sergei told Stiopa. "You will have to run errands for the people in the office and for me. You will get a salary and a food ration. We will have to find you a place to stay."
     "He could stay with me." Stepan was enthusiastic, "My mother will be glad to look after a young boy again." I had been jealous of Stiopa. I was the center of attention before he came. "What about me?" I asked shyly.
     "Yes Volodia, I didn't forget you." The commissar smiled. "Stepan, make some inquiry about Volodia's mother ... in the hospitals and the police station. If you find no trace of her, post a notice in the station that there's a lost boy and request that someone going in a southerly direction will be rewarded for taking him home. I am sure that we will have some volunteers in a few days."
     That was it. Everybody went about their business. Stepan and Stiopa left. Sergei was busy with various cases before him. He was alternately in a good humor or thrown into fits of rage. I was left to myself and my predicament worried me. What could have happened to Mother? I could not arrive at any reasonable answer to the question . . . Yet, there was some consolation, people were trying to help me . . .
     The day dragged on. I spent most of it looking through the window. Whenever I thought of Mother, I looked away, so I could cry unnoticed. The window looked out on denuded trees. The wind shook their frozen branches, piled up snow drifts in some places while leaving the frozen black earth naked in others. Not a sound could be heard through the double-paned windows.
     It grew dark early. The commissar looked at his wrist watch, rose from his chair and turned to me. "Now, my friend, we are going to have a bath. You must be hungry by now, that is good. It is not good to bathe with a full stomach." He started dressing me for the outside, still talking. "We'll have to find Stiopa, he needs a bath more than you do."
     We found Stiopa sweeping up the outer office. He was visibly glad to put down the broom. He put on his oversize military "shinel" (greatcoat) and papakha and we were ready to go. Sergei led me by the hand. We went through the waiting room of the station, where I spent some memorable days with Mama, Visarion, Klavdia, Misha, and Aliosha. I felt sad now that the familiar faces were gone. We made our way to the front entrance. A cold wind laden with snow flurries hit our faces as the door was opened. I held on to Sergei's arm to keep from getting knocked down by the wind. The silhouettes of several drozhkas could be seen through the wind-whipped snow. The hoods were up and the horses stood still with their heads down. We stopped at the front drozhka. The driver climbed out from the inside of the carriage and took his seat on the perch in front. We seated ourselves inside, I between Sergei and Stiopa, and covered ourselves with a large leather blanket. Sergei shouted something to the driver and the drozhka's frozen wheels started moving with a creaking, grating noise. The wind and the snow were now hitting our faces with redoubled force despite the hood cover. I wondered how the driver knew where he was going. We rode on for a long time. I enjoyed the ride in the comfort of the seat, with Sergei's arm around me. I forgot Mama momentarily ... I was just a little boy enjoying a ride.
     The drozhka stopped in front of a dimly lit brick building. Sergei led me by the hand to the front steps of the building. Stiopa was behind us carrying my bundle of clothes and a change of clothes for Sergei, Stiopa had no change of clothes, only the the shabby ones he was wearing.
     A pall of steam and fog enveloped us when the front door was opened. It took a few seconds for the fog to dissipate enough to let us see around us. We found ourselves in an anteroom, where an attendant directed us to a room with lockers. We undressed. Sergei looked at my skinny body and said:
     "Your mother did not feed you too well, did she?"
     "She was not there to feed me. I was in Petrograd in the hospital for eight months. The rations were small and by the time they reached me they became smaller, because the attendants were stealing pieces of my bread. "My mother was good to me!" Tears welled up in my eyes. It hurt me deeply when anybody suspected my mother of mistreating me.
     "I am sorry, Volodia. I did not mean to hurt your feelings." Sergei stroked me gently on the head. He carried me into the next room and deposited me on one of the long wooden benches built along the wall. A few people were scattered here and there, each holding a bucket made of wooden slats.
     "Stiopa, take our clothes and put them on top of the steamer in the next room to warm and dry them. This will also kill anything that crawls in them."
     Sergei got two wooden buckets and filled them with hot water from a spigot in the wall. Stiopa was back; he, too, had his bucket. Sergei unfolded a large wash rag and took out a cake of white soap. All three of us soaped and scrubbed each other's backs, rinsed with water, then started playfully spraying each other with water and acting like little children. We laughed and giggled for some time. I had a lot of fun and enjoyed myself so much that I forgot my predicament. Next we went to the steam room. It was very hot in there. Every once in a while someone would throw a bucket of water on some hot rocks and a cloud of steam would come off and envelop the room. The steam seared the skin of my body. I could hardly catch my breath. Sergei saw my condition and dunked my head in a bucket of cool water. I felt better, even though the rest of my body was burning and perspiring. To add to all this, Sergei brought a little broom made of thin birch reeds, and began hitting me with it. It felt like needle pricks. After the steam ritual we went back to the first room. Our bodies were the color of boiled lobsters. We had another soaping and rinsing and dried off with Sergei's towel. Stiopa brought our hot and dry clothes. I felt tired and hungry. Sergei helped me to get dressed. I showed him how to put on my brace. He seemed to enjoy doing it. Once dressed, he put on my hat, pulled down my earflaps, and wrapped my scarf around my neck.
     "You must dress warmly after a steam bath. Don't breath through your mouth." "I'll try not to."
     The snow-storm had not abated. Our drozhka was waiting for us. We climbed in and took off.
     "It is time to change to a sled!" Sergei shouted to the driver above the noise of the wind.
     "Tomorrow!" came the answer. These were the only words spoken on the return trip to the railroad station.
     Back in the commissar's office, we shook off the wet snow and took off our outer garments.
     "Stiopa, go now and bring hot water for tea," Sergei ordered. "After that, go to the station master's house and ask his wife, her name is Zina, by the way, to give you the chicken stew she made for us, and bring it here. They live in the little house next to the station."
     Tea was poured when Stiopa returned with a cast-iron kettle in one hand, wooden-lacquered bowls and spoons, and clay cups in the other, A large, long-handled wooden spoon stuck out from his side pocket.
     "Let us have some tea first." Sergei said. "I have a surprise for you. Each one of us will get one lump of sugar. I hid it away for just such an occasion, for people who need it and will appreciate it."
     Sugar was a rarity. Last time I had tasted sugar was when Misha produced it in the station. I promptly cracked my lump in two with my teeth.
     "So I can have it for two cups," I announced.
     "You have very good teeth, Volodia." Sergei said.
     "Yes I do. If only there were always something to put between them."
     All three of us were blowing on the hot yellow liquid, taking small sips while keeping the small hard lump of sugar anchored to the teeth with the tongue.
     The stew kettle was uncovered, A sweet-smelling chicken aroma tickled our nostrils and made our saliva glands work overtime. Sergei dipped the wooden ladle in the kettle and filled our bowls with stew. Now this was real stew, made in heaven and cooked by angels! It had a yellow color with an abundance of pieces of chicken and vegetables floating around, not that transparent watery soup with an occasional grease "eye" and a torn cabbage leaf that they served in the hospital. . . . We ate noisily without a word being spoken. After I wiped my bowl dry with the last bit of bread, I looked at Sergei with begging eyes.
     "Volodia, you cannot have any more. You will throw up. After an hour or so you may have a little more."
     "I could eat more now," I said in a low voice, looking down in my bowl.
     "When people suffer hunger or thirst for a long time, it seems to them that they could never have enough to eat or to drink. When they do take in more than the normal amount of food they get sick. I know, I went through this myself when I was a prisoner in Germany. When I escaped and reached a Russian farmhouse, they fed me. I ate and ate till ... I barely made it outside and threw it up. I was sick for hours after that."
     That was that. I did not agree with him, but did not say anything.
     "I think it is time for you to rest, Volodia. Stiopa will take you over to the stationmaster's house. His wife's name is Zina Petrovna. I have a room there. She'll fix you up in my room. I have a lot of work yet to finish for tonight. I will be in later."
     I was bundled up again for the outside. Stiopa took my bundle in one hand and led me by the other. There was deep snow on the ground in some places and it was bare in others. A strong wind was blowing, creating snow dunes. The dim light from the station lamps did not carry very far. We could hardly make out the few drozhkas at the curb. I held on tightly to Stiopa's arm as we made our way in the dark till we reached the steps of the porch. A faint orange light winked at us from a window through the snow flakes. Stiopa opened the door without knocking. We entered a living room covered with rag rugs. A homey smell of cooking warmed our nostrils.
     "Citizen Zina! Citizen Zina!" Stiopa repeated.
     "Just a minute, I am talking on the telephone," came the reply. Pretty soon a portly, cleanly dressed, middle-aged lady appeared. Her face was smiting. She approached me with outstretched arms.
     "You must be Volodia," she said as she gave me a tight hug and a noisy, moist kiss on my cheek. "Don't worry about your mama, Volodenka, Tovarisch Sergei Nikolayevich will find her. I was just talking to him."
     I was overwhelmed by the greeting, and her genuine expression of sympathy and concern. I started to cry and pressed my cheek on her arm as I shook with sobs, It felt good to cry and feel her motherly embrace. To my surprise, Zina cried too. "There, there now, my child, we will take care of you. I understand how you feel with all the strangers around, lost in a strange world. But we, too, have children and will take care of you and find your mamasha. How about a glass of milk with bread?"
     "This will be nice," I said between sobs. "I haven't had any milk in a very, very long time."
     "What are you standing around here for, Stiopa? I am sure they need you at the station. Be gone with you."
     "I thought you still needed me. All right, I'll go, call me when you need me ... Good night."
     "Good night," we responded, as Stiopa was closing the door. The tears dried up quickly as Zina busied herself pouring the milk and slicing the bread. It was a taste I hadn't had for a long time. Closing my eyes I visualized Grandma sitting on a little stool and milking the cow, my brother and I standing behind her expectantly, each with his cup. Then she would dip each cup in the milk bucket and we would drink the milk which was still warm and had foam on top ...
     "Are you ready for bed, young man?"
     "Yes."
     Zina led me to Sergei's bedroom. "He told me that you will sleep with him"
     "I haven't slept in a bed since we left Petrograd."
     "Does that mean that you haven't taken off you clothes for some time? "
     "No, Uncle Sergei took me to the bath house this evening."
     "Then you are clean; thank goodness for that. Now go to the bathroom, and wash." It felt good to hear those concerned, motherly directions. I followed instructions and did my best not to disappoint Zina. When I came back to the bedroom, I found that the bed was already made with white linen, and my clothes bundle unpacked. Zina helped me to get undressed. She was very careful in removing my brace.
     "Does your leg hurt you?"
     "No, it does not hurt, Aunt Zina. It is just that I have no strength in it, it is paralyzed. I can wiggle my toes a little bit. You see?"
     Her eyes visibly moistened. She picked me up, hugged me, then added tenderly, "Don't worry, my dear, it seems that your brain is all right and that is better than two legs."
     "Mama says that too."
     "Your mama must be a fine, smart woman. We'll find her, you'll see." She put me down in bed, covered me, turned out the one bare light bulb hanging from a wire in the ceiling, and walked out, leaving the door halfway open.
     I could not sleep. The events of the day came back to plague me like a swarm of flies on a hot summer day. It was a replay before my eyes like an endless film. Again and again I saw mother putting me down on the platform, saying: "Vulenka, you sit here . . . you sit here . . . you sit here . . . I'll come back to get you ... to get you ... to get you . . ." "Here is another lost one . , ," "Or abandoned one . . . abandoned one . . ." Abandoned? No! Mama would never abandon me, I was consoling myself. Something must have happened to her. I hoped she was not dead. No, she couldn't be dead, she was so young, and pretty, and good. Would I ever see Mama again? Would I ever see my family again, Itzik, Grandma, Grandpa, and Papa with his beautiful stories, sometimes funny, sometimes tragic, but always exciting? Like the story about the first automobile passing through Varklian:
     "It was a bright, sunny, early fall early morning in Varklian when the first automobile passed through the village. In those days, automobiles traveled very slowly. The automobile was still in Naishtot (Newtown), a couple of viorst away, and we already knew about it. Not only did we hear that an automobile was traveling our way, but we also got a fair description of the vehicle. It was a buggy on four rubber wheels moving by itself. It rattled and blew blue smoke when it traveled. It also blew a horn that sounded like the braying of a donkey. It scared pigs and chickens out of the way. All this we heard by way of the 'Varklian Telephone,' shouted from one block to the next.
     "It was already late September, and the nights were chilly," Papa continued. "Grandma was getting dressed in her warm clothes when Grandpa, an early riser, came running into the house with the startling news that a machine that belched and blew blue smoke, and traveled all by itself as fast as a horse, was going to pass through Varklian. Well, Grandma started to dress in a hurry. She put on her long green flannel underpants with the red polka-dots. For 'practical' reasons these pants had a breach in the back, where the night shirt protruded like a tail. In her haste, Grandma completed her wardrobe by covering herself with a blouse and an apron; she forgot to put her dress on! Grandma ran out in the street, modeling her underpants, her shirt-tail flying in the wind ..."
     Papa told this story many, many times at family gatherings. It always brought laughter no matter how many times we heard it. Grandma laughed at herself goodnaturedly.
     Oh, would I ever see Varklian again? The small, beautiful, wonderful, friendly Varklian, with the people I knew, with all the wonderful characters and stories. Like the stories about Shmuel Adulovich, for example:
     His name was really Shmuel Dimont, my grandmother's nephew. They nicknamed him "Adulovich" because he wasn't too bright. "He is not too bright," his mother would explain, "because, when he was five, I found him head down in a barrel of rainwater," (Most homes had a barrel of rainwater under the roof drain.) He was pulled out and revived with difficulty. Ever since then, his mother explained, Shmuel was not the same. Some of his brains must have run out in the rainwater . . .
     Shmuel was the town idiot. He grew up to be a squat, broad-shouldered man and as strong as a horse. His speech was defective but understandable. He would always start out with a deep breath and a "Tn-aah ..." followed by whatever he wanted to say. Shmuel was illiterate - he never went to school. Yet he was drafted and served in the tzar's army for five years. They didn't trust him with a gun ... so he peeled potatoes, mountains of potatoes . . . Shmuel was good-natured, He never got mad at the people who made fun of him, rather he would laugh with them and enjoy the attention. When he returned from the army he occupied himself by carrying drinking water for the townspeople, from the stream about a viorst from town. He used a rocker-beam with wooden buckets on either end. Many stories were told about Shmuel Adulovich.
     When one of Samuel's water customers jokingly refused to pay for the water he brought, he took the water back to the river and emptied his buckets there . . .
     A standard complaint was that the water tasted salty . . . that Shmuel must have urinated in the river before he drew the water. He would swear by all that was holy that he would never do such a thing . . .
     A group of teenage boys and girls were amusing themselves with Shmuel Adulovich one evening. A girl named Dobele asked Shmuel:
     "Shmuel, do you love me?"
     "Tn-aah, yes, I love you."
     "Would you marry me?"
     "Tn-aah, yes, I'll marry you."
     Somebody produced a ring and told Shmuel: "Put this ring on Dobele's finger and repeat after me: B'Tabaas Ze Harey At M'kudeshes ..." (the Hebrew marriage consecration covenant). Shmuel did as directed. Wine was drunk, a glass was stepped on and broken, and everyone around shouted "Mazel Tov, Mazel Tov" (good fortune, in Hebrew). A good time was had by all. The story about the 'marriage' spread all over Varklian. When the old rabbi Gabbay heard it, he called in Shmuel, Dobele and the other participants in the mock marriage ceremony.
     "My children," he said, "This marriage that you just performed is no laughing or joking matter. When a boy puts a ring on a girl's finger and makes the marriage consecration covenant in front of at least two witnesses, they are legally married according to Jewish law. Shmuel and Dobele, you are married! You understand?"
     All the participants and especially Dobele and her parents were deeply shaken by this turn of events. Shmuel was the only one who was smiling contentedly. For once the joke was on the other party. Dobele cried and her parents pleaded with rabbi Gabbay: "Can anything be done to dissolve this unhappy situation? It was just a prank of young people amusing themselves. Dobele didn't really mean to marry Shmuel."
     The rabbi ruled that if it could be established that Shmuel is so feeble-minded that he did not understand the difference between summer and winter, then he would annul the marriage. The rabbi called in Shmuel before a 'minyan' (ten adult Jewish men needed for community prayer) and started interrogating him. "Shmuel, think hard now. Do you know why it doesn't snow in summer?"
     "Tn-aah, no."
     "Do you know why it is hot in summer?"
     "Tn-aah, it is hot in summer."
     "Do you know why it is hot in winter?"
     "Tn-aah, hot in winter."
     "Do you know the difference between summer and winter?"
     "Tn-aah, summer is winter and winter is summer."
     "I declare that this man, Shmuel Dimont, does not understand the difference between summer and winter. He did not understand what he was doing when he married Dobele. Therefore, I declare that the marriage ceremony that took place is invalid, and the marriage is hereby dissolved. However, Dobele must give Shmuel twenty-five rubles for making him suffer indignities." Thus, a nearly tragic event had a happy ending. Except for the twenty-five rubles which Dobele's parents had to pay for the 'broken heart' (which Shmuel's mother requisitioned immediately). No one was any the worse for this part.
     I heard this story from Shmuel Adulovich himself. He would come to our house at least once a week to have a meal with us. Since he was mother's first cousin, he felt entitled to come to the house anytime. Shmuel was still carrying water from the creek at age 74, when I left for America in 1937. He probably perished with the rest of the Varklian Jewish population at the hands of the Nazis, aided by some local Latvian murderers.
     Sergei came in late. He tiptoed to the bed and found me looking at him. "You should be asleep, Volodia, do you feel all right?" He put his hand on my forehead—"No, no temperature."
     His gentle manner of speaking made my eyes well up with tears. I couldn't say anything. He patted me on the head.
     "Don't worry, Volodia, everything will right itself in time. I promise you, I will see to that."
     He undressed, washed up, and when he came back, he slid under the covers. I nestled with my back against his stomach, he put his arm around me. I felt safe and secure. The tragic events of the day were eased by Sergei's presence. Sleep finally came.
     
VII
Sergei and Rodion
     I had spent two days with Sergei. He kept me in his office and talked to me once in a while. He gave me a pencil and paper so I could draw or write to pass the time.
     It wasn't really boring. Sergei had a steady stream of visitors with various problems. A mother asking for an increase of her family rations because her boys were tall and big and ate more than adults, but still got children's half rations. ... An old man who had been thrown out of his apartment by a young couple claiming they were proletarians working for the government, while he, an old man, was not productive and only a burden to the State. ... A man complaining that his wife would not let him in their house because she liked someone else better and would rather live with him. . . . And so it went. Sergei's name should have been Solomon . . .
     A tall, good-looking man, in an olive-green greatcoat, came in without knocking while Sergei was studying some papers on his desk.
     "They told me in the outer office that I could find a fellow by the name of Sergei Volinski?"
     Sergei looked up from his desk, stood up quickly and shook the man's outstretched hand, embraced him and kissed him on each cheek.
     "Ah, Tovarishch Rodion, how good to see you. It has been almost four years since we were liberated from Siberia and were inducted into the army."
     "It is good to see you, too, Sergei. I heard you were captured by the Germans. Were you such a good boy that they let you go?"
     "Yes, I was so nice that they wanted me to stay with them, only I escaped. ... As you see, our comrades put me to work up here. What brings you to our parts?"
     "I am on a tour of inspection gathering information for the Central Komitet. You are looking well. Has life been good to you? Did you get married . . . raise a family?"
     "Hold it, hold it. One thing at a time, don't rush me. I still cannot get over the excitement of seeing you come back from the dead. I heard you were killed in action."
     "No, it was nothing, just lost my leg below the knee."
     "But you walked in on two legs?"
     "I just fool people. I wear an artificial limb. I can even dance. It took a lot of practice. When you have a good knee, it is hard to notice. I still wear TWO shoes and wear them out, too. It is hard to put on boots, though."
     "Well I am glad that I mourned you for nothing. Have a seat and make yourself comfortable . . . let's have a long talk." Sergei went to the door and shouted: "Slava, please bring a pot of tea with three glasses. We have official company. Cancel all my appointments for the rest of the day. Meet Volodia, Rodion. Volodia helps run things around here. ..." Sergei explained why I was there while Rodion took off his greatcoat, shook off the snow, and sat down on a chair. "Now we are trying to find a way to get Volodia back to his home near a place called Rezhitsa." Sergei continued the story. "We already checked the wounded in the hospital, the morgue, the city militia, but no trace of her."
     "Something must have happened to her," I couldn't help saying. "She would not abandon me."
     "Of course not, Volodia." Rodion came over to my chair and patted me on the head. I sensed that all of them thought that I was abandoned by my mother but did not say so. They did not want to hurt my feelings.
     "We are looking for someone going in that direction who would take him home. We have a notice on the bulletin board."
     "Did you offer payment for this service?"
     "Yes. We are offering a food ration for a month and a 'propusk' (travel permit)."
     Tea was brought in by a teenage girl and set on Sergei's crowded desk. While Sergei poured the tea, he said: "Let's talk business, Rodion. What are you up to?"
     "I already mentioned to you that I am an inspector for the Central Komitet of the Moskva region, I have to bring back a report on general conditions in the country . . . like the economy, education, food supply and distribution, and how our new order of Socialism works."
     "That is a big order, my comrade. I guess you want me to talk. I will, gladly. I am glad that they sent you on this mission instead of some bureaucratic functionary. I can speak freely to you. You will understand. You and I went through the same school together ..."
     "Yes, every political prison in Siberia."
     They launched in a long-drawn-out discussion. I sat through this dialogue without moving a muscle lest I attract attention and be removed from the room. What was said was private, just between friends. It gave me an education I never forgot. The basic tenets of communism are that the interests of society must always be above the interests of the individual; the interests of the individual may be sacrificed if it is for the good of the collective society; that any means may be justified to further the cause of the party.
     Sergei picked me up. "Volodia will come with us to eat. Our station master's wife will have our dinner waiting for us."
     As we went into the outer office, Stepan stepped in front of us: "Tovarisch Sergei, I found a woman who will take Volodia home."
     "That's great. Have her wait till we come back. I will see her ahead of the others."
     It looked like a formal dinner in Zina's small dining room. The table was covered with a white linen table cloth with five place settings. After we removed our outer garments, Sergei put me on a chair in front of the table, which came to the level of my nose. I wondered how I would manage to reach my food. Zina entered, carrying a large tureen of steaming soup, and put it on the table.
     "I heard you come in. Dinner is ready. Volodia is sitting too low. We will fix that, Volodenka." Zina came back with a sawed-off wooden log which she put on the chair and lifted me on top of that. "We used it for our boys when they were little. I figured it would come in handy someday. Anybody else wants one?"
     "No, thank you."
     "Anton Gavrilovich, my husband, will be here any minute. Sit down, Tovarischi, and I will serve you."
     "Rodion, this is Zina Petrovna, my landlady, friend, and confidante. Anton Gavrilovich is the station master."
     "Enchanted."
     "Enchanted." Rodion and Zina nodded to each other.
     A short, broad-shouldered, bearded man walked in laden with snow.
     "Zdrastvuite, Tovarishchi," He greeted all of as, shak-ing the snow from his clothes. "I'm sorry I'm late . . . glad to meet a friend of Sergei's. My name is Anton Gavrilovich Malinov. And you must be Rodion, Sergei's friend, he was telling us so much about. I am glad to have you as my guest."
     "I am glad to be here among Sergei's friends."
     "And who have we here? Volodia no doubt, Zina was telling me about you." Anton kissed me on the cheek brushing me with his cold, wet whiskers. He looked like "Grandpa Frost" , , , his light blue eyes, red bulbous nose, pink cheeks, and his smiling round face. His old green uniform was straining at the buttons. He sat down at the head of the table in front of a bowl of steaming stew. We were having "shchi"—pieces of pork stewed in sweet and sour cabbage with black rye bread. We ate with great relish.
     "You mast be an old railroad man, Anton Gavrilovich," Rodion began the conversation.
     "Yes, twenty-four years. I began as a bus boy on the line between Moskva and Petrograd ... a line frequented mostly by the nobility and the rich people. Some of them had their own special cars. The tzar and tzarina's car was especially luxurious. I helped to serve meals and drinks. The employees would eat the leftovers in the kitchen . . . there was plenty for us."
     "Is it true that the tzar ordered a straight road between Moskva and Petrograd regardless of the extra cost?"
     "Well, I don't know whether it is true or not, but the facts appear to look as though it were true. The way I heard it is that when the engineers brought their plans to the tzar for review and approval, the tzar took a ruler and aligned it between the two points on the map of Moskva and Petrograd. He drew a line regardless of rivers or swamps to be bypassed or other cities to be served. As he did so, the pencil broke causing a jag in the line. The road was laid out just as the map indicated. The jag can be seen north of Okulovka. I heard this story many times, but no one would vouch for its veracity."
     "That proves what can happen when too much uncontrolled power rests with one person. He can do things by caprice, on a whim, without regard to the interests of the state. I guess many costly bridges had to be built due to the tzar's folly. Many cities were bypassed, denying the people a means of transportation. How much more money, materials and labor it costs the people, now. I hope our communist order avoids these kinds of situations."
     "By the way, Anton, isn't it true that our rail beds in Russia are wider than those in Western Europe?"
     "That's true, Sergei. That is another decision that is credited to tzar Nikolai. You see, the advantage of wider rail beds is that it makes the train more stable on curves. There was also a military reason. It was argued that in time of war, the enemy, which would be Germany or France, could not use their railroad stock on our railbeds. Well it didn't take long for the Germans to make their cars with adjustable axles."
     "This was a fine dinner, Zina Petrovna ... I ought get back. Stepan told me, before we left, that he found a woman that wants to take Volodia home. I should talk to her. Let's get dressed, Volodia. I hope she is a nice, reliable person." And while Sergei was dressing me -"Are you getting excited, Volodia? We will miss you. What are your plans, Rodion?"
     "I must go to inspect the City Militia Station . . . later take a nap because I got little sleep last night and have to leave early in the morning if I can find a train."
     "I'd like to see you before you leave. Can you come by this evening at the station? It would be nice to visit with you for a few hours, and to rebuild the world ... a little bit?"
     "That will be fine, Sergei, I'll come to see you at the station this evening."
     "Goodbye, Uncle Rodion, goodbye, Uncle Anton, goodbye, Aunt Zina." I said in a loud voice as we were going out of the door.
     "See me before you leave, Volodenka, I will give you a sack of sukhari to take along, and maybe a couple of pieces of sugar. Give Aunt Zina a kiss."
     "I'll send him over with Stiopa before he leaves, Zina Petrovna, There will be time for good-luck kisses."
     "Goodbye."
     "Goodbye."
     Snow was falling and the wind sculpted beautiful drifts near fences and walls. I held on to Sergei's hand as we zigzagged to avoid the deep mounds of snow. A pall of steam enveloped us when we opened the station door. As we made our way to Sergei's office we noticed the same tired, dirty, unshaven faces. Stepan met us at the door with a question on his face.
     "Yes, Stepan bring her right in."
     We were still undressing our overclothes, when Stepan led in the woman.
     "Sit down, grazhdanka (citizen)," Sergei said pleasantly, pointing to a chair facing his desk.
     
VIII
"Mother Vera"
     She sat there on the edge of the chair. My heart was beating fast, thinking about this woman who was going to take me home. She was dressed in a heavy black winter coat trimmed with a gray lamb collar—a black woolen shawl covered her blond hair. She was pleasant to look at with a round, rosy face and bright blue eyes; high cheekbones (betraying some Mongol ancestry); a slightly upturned nose; fleshy lips and a strong chin. "This woman is going to take me home," I thought to myself, "she is going to take me home!"
     Sergei sat down at his desk. He placed paper and pen in front of him and began to interrogate the woman, very respectfully, almost apologetically.
     "What is your name, Grazhdanka?"
     "Vera Yablokhova, your highness. I can take . . ."
     "Don't 'highness' me. We have done away with the tzar and all the highnesses. I am either 'Citizen' or Tovarishch Sergei Volinski. Now, you were about to say?"
     "I am very sorry, Citizen Sergei, I am an ignorant woman. I was going to say that I will be glad to take the boy back to his parents, but I should be paid for this."
     "You'll be paid. Tell me something about yourself. Are you married?"
     "I am a widow. My husband was killed in the war."
     "Children?"
     "No, no children."
     "How old are you?"
     "I am not sure, I must be around forty."
     "Where are you from?"
     "Vitebsk."
     "How come you are here?"
     "I visited my mother in Pskov and got stranded here."
     "All right. I will have some papers made out for you. It will permit you to go anywhere because you may have to travel in a roundabout way to get to your destination. The rails in many places are torn up by the Whites. As for pay, we have no money to give you, but we will allow you four weeks of rations for you and the boy. You can draw it from any commissary for one week at a time. Will that suit you?"
     "Yes, I'll make out."
     "You be good to Volodia, you hear? He is a very nice boy and I am very fond of him."
     "Don't worry, Tovarisch Commissar, I'll watch over him like the apple of my eye."
     "What do you say, Volidia?" Sergei turned to me.
     "I'll be glad to go home, only I'll miss you," I said looking down on the floor.
     Sergei grabbed me in his arms and kissed me on each cheek. He was visibly moved. "I loved having you at my side these few days. Someday, when I have a boy of my own, I wish him to be like you. It is sad to part but you must go home to your family. Grow up, get educated and be a credit to our country. Vera seems to be a nice person and she will take good care of you,"
     Vera got up, squatted down to my level, held both of my hands and with a broad smile looked at me with her big blue eyes—"We'll get along just fine, Volodenka, just fine." She picked me up and with a deft maneuver put me astride her neck.
     From this height I watched Sergei scribbling on a paper. He signed, stamped it, then handed it to Vera. "This should take care of both of you for four weeks with food and travel permits. One more thing. Before you leave, take Volodia to see the station-master's wife, Zina Petrovna. She, too, is very fond of Volodia. She wants to see Volodia before he leaves to give him some things and a few kisses. The station-master's house is adjacent to the station, to the right of the front entrance. You cannot miss it."
     "Thank you, Tovarishch Commissar, thank you. I will be good to the boy, I will treat him like my own son." With that Vera took her big bundle and mine and strode out of the office, with me riding on her neck.
     "Goodbye."
     "Goodbye." The door closed behind us.
     She was a powerfully built woman, about five foot seven, with broad shoulders and muscular peasant hands and feet. She was visibly happy with the turn of events.
     Vera put me down on the floor as we entered the station-master's house. Zina was expecting us. She was holding a little linen sack. "It is good of you to come. My name is Zina Petrovna. Your name?"
     "My name is Vera Yablokhova. I was entrusted with Volodia to take him home to his parents."
     "That is so very kind of you. Volodia is a very nice boy and we are very fond of him. I am sure he won't be much trouble. Now, Volodenka, let me kiss you for your luck and my pleasure." She gave me a big hug and kissed me on both cheeks. "God shall guide you and protect you and I hope you will find your parents in good health. Have a good journey, Vera. Here, I have a few things for Volodia, some sukhari and a little sugar that I have been able to save up. May God be with you and guard you on your trip."
     "Thank you, Madam Zina Petrovna, I will take care of Volodia like my own son. Goodbye."
     "Goodbye, and God bless you."
     Back to the station, the familiar hall with its smells and people. Vera found a half-empty bench. She put her bundle on it and mine on top of it, and me on top of my bundle. "I will leave you here, Volodenka, while I go to the commissary and draw our rations for this week. We will take the train out of here as soon as possible. You watch our things, dear. If anybody even touches anything, just start yelling as loud as you can."
     "Yes, Aunt Vera."
     She took out of her bundle a linen sack, slung it over her shoulder and was gone. Stepan, the militia-man, came up from behind me.
     "I am glad to see you again. Did you know that it was I who found the woman who is taking you home? Where is she, by the way?"
     "She went to draw our rations, then she'll be looking for a train out of here."
     "It will be good for you to get home. A boy needs a family. I'll keep an eye on you. I'll see you before you leave.''
     I was by myself again watching the people around me. The sun must have come out, judging by the bright, shiny, long windows half covered with flowery frost designs. It was much less crowded than before. This meant it probably will not be crowded in the train. I was getting impatient, waiting for Vera. It was taking her a long time.
     I finally spied Vera coming through the front doors. Her nose and cheeks were red, bitten by the frosty wind outside. Her sack was full now. Vera looked happy. When she was around, things were somehow humming, moving. She exuded confidence and happiness.
     "Now my pigeon, are you all right?"
     "Yes, Aunt Vera. A militiaman came by to talk to me."
     "That was nice of him. I want to tell you something, Volodenka, and this is very important to remember. From now on do not call me 'Aunt' but call me 'Mama' or 'Mother.'"
     I looked at her questioningly.
     "It is because people are more considerate to a mother and child."
     "But what if they see your traveling permit papers?"
     "Oh, aren't you a smart one. You are right. Better call me Vera at all times . . . this will be less confusing. Many children call their mothers by their first name. How is that?"
     "I'll remember. I need to go to the bathroom and I am very hungry."
     "Now, Volodia, one thing at a time," she said smiling. "You think you can go to the bathroom by yourself?"
     "Yes, I can do it."
     "See that you wash your hands and face. Here, use this kerchief to dry yourself. I will have some food for you when you return."
     When I came back with the wet rag, Vera looked me over. "It will do for now. We might have a train for Vitebsk this evening, so let's eat a good meal now and we will not have to eat on the train with everybody looking on. I will go for some hot water for tea. You can start eating."
     What I liked was some pink meat in front of me. I put lots of lard on a thick slice of black bread and covered it with two slices of the meat with a sprinkling of the coarsegrained salt. I thought, "I haven't had this kind of food, ever!" On the second bite, however, the food got stuck in my throat, I could not swallow it. Vera was back and came to the rescue with a spoonful of hot water.
     "Wait, Volodenka, till I make tea." Vera was fast and efficient. In no time she handed me a granite cup of steaming, sugared tea. Vera joined me eating the food spread out neatly on a newspaper on the bench. She ate and talked.
     "There was a long line at the commissary. Nowadays you have to stand in line for whatever you need. I had trouble explaining why I had those rations coming to me, I probably didn't use the right words. They had to call the commissar, Comrade Sergei ... he straightened them out. After that there was no problem. I even got sugar for my sweet boy. Only small children may have a little sugar. Now, Volodenka, you would not mind if your mamasha had a little sweetener too, would you?"
     "No, Mamasha." I almost choked on the word,
     "I thought you wouldn't. Now you just wait, we will have ourselves some good times. Just stay with me and you will always have a full belly, clothes and a roof over your head. Your mamasha has been around the world and can read people as though they were transparent, like made of glass. All I have to do is look at a person and hear him speak a few words and I know right away if he will be useful to me."
     Only later did I realize the significance of the statement she just made. After a while she continued.
     "Eat some more, Volodenka. Next meal may be many hours away. There will be a train for Vitebsk in a couple of hours. I don't like to eat on the train where everybody looks at you with hungry eyes that say 'Give me a few crumbs too.' When you start giving away food you are finished yourself. Everyone has to watch out for himself, nowadays, especially when one does not know where his next meal is coming from. Now let's brush you off and make you look good for travel. I'll go and clean up after I pack things up. One has to be ready to go at a moments notice. They don't know much ahead of time when a train comes, or when it leaves,"
     Vent worked fast, packing and talking at the same time. She went to the bathroom after she was finished, to make herself ready for the trip. The excitement of finally going home was mounting with every minute. Vera was nice and entertaining. . . . She was continuously talking and in motion. Nothing stood still while she was around. Her excess of self assurance made me feel safe and secure with her.
     A train arrived and there was a rush of people pushing towards the outside doors. The hall emptied all of a sudden. I was uneasy, Vera was not back yet. Has she left me? No, it couldn't be. I was sitting on her bundles, she would not leave without them. It probably was not our train. Some people ambled back through the doable doors, It must have been a cold, sunny, windy day. I could see the moving shadows of the tree branches on the frosted glass windows,
     Varklian was flashing before me in my mind. There I was walking to school early in the morning. The sun had not risen yet. Fresh drifts of snow could be seen in the gray morning light. I had a cane in my left hand and a bag of books in my right. It was hard walking by myself, for about a quarter of a viorst. My tower of strength, my brother, Itzik, was home with bronchitis. I had to avoid snow-drifts and be wary of slippery ice patches. Three children, about my age, with book sacks, overtook me. They were Latvians. One boy approached me.
     "Hey, crooked paw, how would you like a roll in the snow?" With that he pushed me and I went down in the snow, dropping my cane and bag of books. Only a crippled person can understand the feeling when fan is made of his affliction . . . helpless rage storming inside him, tears blinding his eyes, and the heart, the heart as though bleeding from pain . . .
     My fall in the snow caused the children great mirth. One of them picked up my cane and snapped it in two over his knee. That too caused great laughter. I picked myself up. The same boy who had pushed me approached in an apparent attempt to push me down again. When he was near enough, I lashed out at him with my left fist, with all my strength, and caught him square in the nose. Blood gushed out and covering his face and clothing. He toppled to the ground. I stomped my good foot on his face and walked away, somehow managing without my cane. The other two kids ran away. I must have looked very ferocious to them. It is hard to describe the elation I felt, the inner satisfaction with this turn of events.
     That evening a lady came to the house pulling her reluctant son by the hand. This was the same little boy who pushed me that morning. His nose was now somewhat askew. He had two wads of cotton stuffed in his nostrils. At first, the lady spoke calmly to my mother, but as her story progressed, her voice became shrill.
     "This morning, when my son was walking to school, your boy hit my son on his nose with his cane with such force that the cane broke in two. Now he may be disfigured for life. What are you going to do about it?"
     "You need not come in here and scream," Papa started.
     "Stay out of it, Getzel," Mama interrupted him in Yiddish and brushed him aside. Then in Latvian, in a calm voice: "My son tells me a different story. He says that your son and two other boys came up from behind and your son pushed my son down in the snow. You see, my son has a paralyzed leg and walks with a cane that dropped in the snow. Then another boy broke my son's cane in half. When my son got up your son came up to push him down again. That is when my son hit your son in the nose with his fist."
     "Is that how it happened?" the lady screamed at her little boy. The boy turned his head and did not respond. "Is this true?" she repeated again, at a higher pitch. Then slam! she slapped his face. A wad of cotton fell out of his nostril and he started bleeding again. Then to my mother: "I am sorry Madam Gutman, to have made such a fool of myself and to have made such a scene in your house. Please forgive me. Come, Yanis!"
     Rarely does a person have such absolute triumph. He will remember and cherish the event for the rest of his life. When I think of it, I forget all my troubles.
     "I am glad to see you looking so happy," Vera interrupted my thoughts. "It took me a while to change my clothes and wash up. Then I went to inquire again about our train. It should be here pretty soon. I am glad it will not he crowded. They are patting together the train right here, so it will be empty to start with. It won't be long now."
     "I will be glad to be going home."
     "It's cold outside, Volodenka. The sun is out but a strong wind is blowing. Now, when we go out to meet the train, you sit on my shoulders and I will take our bundles. Hold on tight to my collar while I dash ahead. It takes a lot of pushing nowadays to get anywhere. I want to get us an upper berth, so that you can be comfortable. You will be all right. I will be good to you, like only a real mother can."
     "So now you are getting ready to leave us, eh?" That was Stepan making his rounds.
     "Yes Tovarishch Militiaman. I was told that there will he a train to Vitebsk very shortly."
     "The very shortly is now, Citizen Vera. Better go outside, it will be here in the next five or tea minutes."
     "Is it? Well it won't be crowded. All right, here we go."
     Vera lifted me up on her shoulders astride her neck. Stepan helped her with the bundles. The outside took me by surprise. I almost choked on the first lungful of crisp, dry, cold air. The wind drew tears from my eyes and pinched my cheeks. The sun was on the horizon, ready to depart for a long wintry night's rest, and was taking with it the last red light rays as well as the long-drawn-out shadows. More people came out of the station. The excitement mounted in me. Home! In a few days I'll be home! When the train stopped in front of us, Stepan was quick to block the entrance of the car till Vera and I had a chance to mount the few steps of the car. She immediately turned into the first compartment and occupied an upper berth. Stepan was right behind us with our bundles.
     "Well, you are on your way home, Volodia. See that you get a good education. We need more educated people to run this country. You, Vera, take good care of our Volodia."
     "I will. He is already very dear to me," Vera assured him. "Have a good trip." Stepan took me in his arms and gave me a tight hug. "Goodbye, have a pleasant journey." He saluted as he went out.
     "Goodbye," we responded in unison.
     Vera took charge of the compartment. She put our bundles in the net above our berth. Then she spread out a blanket and large shawl on the hard boards of the berth and deposited me on top of it.
     "Don't take off your overcoat yet. Wait till the ear warms up. They won't have any heat here."
     "Yes, Vera." I pushed myself close to the window to see what was going on. It was almost dark now outside. There were few people on the platform. Our compartment was filling up. Vera took a seat near the window. There was a little table and she rested her arms on it. Two men took seats beside Vera and three women on the opposite bench. A woman was on the berth opposite ours. Gradually the noises of berths being lifted from the wall, the scraping of boxes being dragged over the floor, suitcases being stowed away, the shuffling of feet subsided.
     Low-voice conversations started, as people settled down for a long night trip. On the outside, a conductor ran past our window waving a lantern. A whistle blew and the train started moving. I caught a glance of Stepan waving. He probably could not see us, but I waved back anyway. After a few sudden lurches, we started gaining speed. It was always exciting to watch through the window as the train left the station. The view outside was changing continuously; the changing of the many rails; street crossings with people and horses behind railings; then gradually the city buildings thinning out, darkness outside. After a while it all settled down into a melancholy, monotonous, rhythmic clanking of wheels on the rails.
     I turned my attention to what was happening in our compartment. Vera was conversing with the two men on her bench. I listened to the conversation. The man near her, a burly individual with Mongol features, dressed in. a military green uniform, without insignia, but with a red arm-band, was talking.
     "... Ironic, isn't it, that they would send political prisoners to Siberia for hard labor. Well, that is my home and the home of my ancestors. We love it there. To European Russia it is Siberia. In their mind it is cold all the time, wild, populated by fierce tribes. These concepts are all wrong. It is the unknown that scares people. I remember, during the war, we were stationed in a little town in Estonia. A friend of mine and I, also a Buryat, passed a butcher shop. We stopped and bought some beef liver. We sat down outside, on the wooden sidewalk, eating the raw liver. Soon townspeople surrounded us watching us eat the raw liver. We found out later that in their mind only savages ate uncooked liver. The news spread all over town and nobody would associate with us from then on. Nobody told me that I was a savage, if they did, I would have at least had the satisfaction of behaving like one. The liver is the tastiest part of the animal, we were taught to eat it raw. If that makes me a savage, then I am a savage. I guess my Asiatic features are also strange to the European Russians."
     "Where in Siberia do you come from?" Vera asked.
     "From a village near Irkutsk near the Lake Baykal area,"
     "What do people do for a living there?"
     "We used to herd sheep and horses and wander from one grazing pasture to another . . . also hunt a little for sport. It was a good life even before the revolution. We did not like the attitude of the Russians who used to pass through our lands or come over to study us. We were third-rate citizens without any rights. Russian cavalry used to make raids on us for sport. They would insult us and assault our women and provoke us into a fight. We usually got the worst of it. They had the better weapons and were better prepared for a fight. Now, we are told, we will be first-class citizens, equal to everybody else, only we will have to live in communes. We always lived in communes, only we did not call it that. Several families lived together with an elder chief at the head. Well, we are looking forward to the new life, for schools and education, for freedom and less abuse from the authorities. Maybe we'll forget the old ways, and settle down to work the soil, and perhaps forget how to ferment the mighty Tarasun (alcoholic beverage made from camel's milk)."
     "Our kumys is more potent," the second man on the bench became alive, as though awakened by the word tarasun.
     "What is kumys?" Vera wanted to know.
     "Kumys is fermented mare's milk, madamushka. And we Yakuts make the best kumys in the world, though other tribes make it too. It is very potent and tasty."
     "You really drink horse's milk?" Vera persisted.
     "Not horse's milk, mare's milk . . . and one can thrive on it. The horse to us is most important. We ride it, we milk it, we eat its flesh and we use its hide to make a yurta (tent)."
     "Does it get very cold up there in Siberia?"
     "When it gets hot, it's really hot; but when it gets cold, one can freeze his eyeballs," the Buryat said.
     "Further north, where we Yakuts live, it is cold all the time. The summer is short ... the days are very long. You can see the sun set below the horizon, then a few hours later it is up again. It really never gets dark. We call this time 'the White Nights.' In this short summer of only a couple of months, we grow the biggest cabbages and other vegetables because of the long daylight hours. The vegetables grow almost around the clock. But when it gets cold, watch out! If you breath the air outside, your lungs can freeze. One has to wear a woolen scarf, and cover his face with it, except for his eyes, and breathe through his scarf. My grandfather told me that he has seen it once so cold that crows, the hardiest winter birds, drop from the sky frozen when attempting to fly. A man would spit and an icicle would fall to the ground."
     "How can people survive such harsh winters?" Vera asked.
     "We do," said the Yakut. Not only do we survive, we actually look forward to the winter. This is the best hunting season of the year."
     "What animals do you hunt?"
     "We hunt for white or silver fox, musk ox, mink, weasel, and on rare occasions we trap a few ermine."
     "What are ermine?" Vera wanted to know.
     "It is like a weasel, only in winter it becomes snow-white with a black tail. Only kings and nobility used to wear mantles made of ermine. It is rare and therefore costly. In winter all the animals acquire luxuriously bushy, beautiful fur, to protect them from the winter cold."
     "Do you hunt in the summer also?" Vera persisted, to keep the conversation going.
     "Only for meat, not for fur. Take the wolf, for example. In summer he sheds his hair and his skin is not worth anything. Come fall, and his fur becomes thick and shiny. Sometimes when the winter is harsh and food is scarce, the wolves form gangs and attack livestock and even people. We use an ingenious method to exterminate them. A razor-sharp blade is imbedded into a tree stump. Some animal blood is sprinkled on the knife blade and little pieces of meat nailed down near it. The wolf can smell blood from far away. You can hear their howls and watch them come from your tent. First they are cautious, they stay away from the stump and sniff the air. Then the bolder one will venture a little closer, make a dash for the stump, make a quick lick of the bloody blade and run back. By doing so, the wolf has already slashed his tongue. He tastes his own blood but doesn't know it. He is bleeding, and the blood tastes good. Another and another wolf, emboldened by the first one, will do the same thing. Pretty soon they all start fighting for a place at the stomp. To make a long story short, you catch yourself five to ten wolves, all of them have their tongues slashed to ribbons, all have bled to death, without a single bullet hole in the skin."
     "Ugh, this is very cruel!" Vera exclaimed in disgust,
     "It is less cruel than traps or a bullet. In a trap the wolf may be alive for days with a broken leg. A bullet too may not kill him right away. With the sharp blade method the wolf will die without pain and with a happy taste of blood in his mouth. He feels little pain in his tongue, because the blade is very sharp. As he loses blood he gets weaker and weaker and sort of falls asleep, never to wake up again."
     "I still would not do it," Vera insisted.
     "You would too, if you had livestock to protect. When the wolves are driven by hunger, they may bring down animals much bigger than themselves."
     "Do you have many wives?" Vera changed the subject.
     "You must be thinking of our neighbors the Islamic Tatars. They don't have enough trouble with one wife, so they take another, and then maybe still another. My guess is that this is going to be prohibited in the new socialist order. I also hear that the women will have some say about it too."
     "You really eat horse meat?"
     "Yes we do. Our horse is the noblest animal. Our Siberian horse is of a different breed than your European or Arabian horse. Our horse is smaller and shabby-looking, but it will outpull and outlast any other horse in the world. It has tremendous stamina; it's docile and not capricious."
     Vera and the Buryat were the only people having a conversation. I was tired of the events of the day, turned to the wall and fell asleep. Sometime later, I felt Vera climbing up beside me. She put her arm around me.
     
IX
Odessa
     Something was catching in my throat and stinging my half-opened eyes. It took me a while to wake up to reality and realize where I was. A pail of acrid smoke was hanging in the air and more of it was curling up from underneath my berth towards the ceiling ventilator. I looked below. Vera was awake. The two men who had been there last night were gone. Instead, a bearded man in shabby military clothes sat in the corner smoking a pipe. Vera was talking to a woman across the little table. It was a gray, dreary morning outside. The raindrops were making dirty diagonal streaks on the train window. We were moving along at a moderate speed. Trees would flash by, then meadows would take their place. I started coughing and rubbing my watering eyes to attract attention.
     "Oh, you are awake, my darling boy. What is the matter, dear, why the coughing?" Vera asked as she stood near my berth.
     "The smoke up here is choking me."
     "Comrade, the smoke of your pipe is rising near the ceiling and making my boy sick, We would all appreciate it if you would put out your pipe."
     "Let the boy come down to the bench. There is plenty of room here," the bearded man said, his feelings hurt,
     "Comrade, I asked you nicely to put out your pipe. The boy is a sick child and he is more comfortable lying down on the berth."
     "I have my rights."
     "Get out!" Vera shouted. The three women on the opposite bench stood up and turned threateningly towards the man.
     "All right, all right, I'll go some place else. Yon don't have to be so nasty about it."
     "Be sure that it is far from here." Vera gave the man a parting insult.
     The man left, dragging a wooden locker behind him. All the women broke out in laughter.
     "I was going to kick him in the shins," one woman said.
     "I could have taken care of him myself," Vera boasted, "But thanks anyway. When you stood up like you meant business, he knew the game was lost. My name is Vera Yablokhova, and this is my boy, Volodia. We are going to Odessa, to warm up our arses."
     This shocked me. Vera told me we were going to Vitebsk. Where is Odessa? I started recalling the map of Europe that Papa hung up on the living-room wall at the start of the war. I did remember that Odessa was a port city on the Black Sea. This was far south of Riga, Dvinsk, Rezhitsa ... we were not going home! Not yet, anyway. I almost cried from disappointment. I did not dare question Vera in front of all these women. My identity as Vera's son, Volodia, had to be maintained; that is what Vera had told me to do. My exuberance over my going home was gradually evaporating. I was dismayed and frustrated to tears. The questions "Why are we not . . . ?" "When are we . . . ?" were burning inside of me and Vera sensed it.
     "We are going to delay going home for a few days, dear. There are a few things I have to do in Odessa." Then to the other women: "Let's have a party together. We will be in Mogilev pretty soon and we can get some hot water for tea."
     "I am getting off in Mogilev," one of the women said.
     "So, we'll have a party anyway for you three and Volodia.''
     Each woman put out food for herself, but not to share like Mama used to do.
     "Don't be sad, Volodenka," Vera was trying to cheer me up. "We will have a good time in Odessa. It is a beautiful city, We can see the ships. Besides, it is much warmer there, no frost and no snow."
     I was half-listening to her. I felt like crying but held back the tears. All those expectations of being home in a few days were erased. How much longer? I ate without relishing the food. Many people got on the train at Mogilev and all the seats in the compartment were occupied. Vera tried to talk to me a few times, but I didn't want to hear what she had to say. I began to distrust her. I was totally absorbed in myself and my own disappointment. I could not look her straight in the eye and avoided talking to her.
     The train rattled on for what seemed like many days. I ate, slept, and dressed mechanically. I lost my spirit, stayed on my upper berth and watched passing scenes in the window. There was no more snow. Instead, there were vast fields of brown stubble, wet with rain. There were many stops where people rushed in and out of the train. Vera understood my feelings and left me alone.
     Finally we reached Odessa where we detrained. Vera put me astride her neck and with all the bundles in her hands we started walking through the city. The sun played hide and seek with some clouds. I was hot, my clothing was much too heavy.
     "Volodenka, my dear boy, I know you are unhappy, but try to understand me, I had to do it. I just couldn't throw away this chance when it presented itself. In this world, my dear, opportunity knocks but once at your door. I will make it up to you, you will see." Vera walked for what seemed like hours, talking continuously.
     "The war has touched all of us. It did not spare anybody, young or old. I had a husband ... a butcher, in Kherson. He was a large, handsome man. When I first saw him I really fell in love with him. I was only sixteen then. I would beg my mother to let me do fee meat shopping so I could just look at him. It wasn't long before he began to notice me and asked me to go to a dance with him, I played hard to get. Things that come easy have little value , , . then when he asked me to marry him, I didn't hesitate to say yes. We had a little boy, like you, Volodia, We loved him very much and we were very happy. When the child was three, he contracted some kind of illness and wasted away. The doctors couldn't do a thing for him. He died just before his fourth birthday. Life after that was never the same. I cried my eyes out, and Nikolai became silent and morose. A certain gloom settled over our house. He spoke to me only when he had to. I wanted another child but it didn't happen.
     "Nikolai was drafted when the war broke out. I had several post cards from him from somewhere in Austria . . . then no word from him. I don't know if he was captured, wounded, or killed. The butcher shop was run by Nikolai's brother who never liked me and ordered me to leave. There was nothing I could do so I went home to my parents who lived in a shack just outside the city. They could barely make ends meet. I helped with the work. The deprivations caused by the war weakened the old folks and they both died within a year. Now I was really all alone. I boarded up the shack we lived in, and with a bundle of my clothes on my back, left the place.
     "Then I heard that people can make money by speculating with food, that is, buying food in the villages and selling it in the big cities. I sold my wedding ring, the only valuable thing I owned, and bought several pounds of butter and yellow cheese. I soon went to Moskva. A shortage of food persisted. I had no trouble selling my wares for good money. On several trips I made a substantial amount of money. While in the cities I bought things that were scarce in the villages. I was making money both ways. So that is what I am doing now, dealing only in products and taking only silver, gold, or precious jewelry. Paper money is no good. Nobody knows who is going to be in power tomorrow. I heard some rumors that they are going to restore the monarchy."
     We were approaching the outskirts of the city, with which Vera apparently was familiar. We came to a white two-story building with a big sign over the large porch. I read, "Tshainaya I Pivnaya" (Tea and Beer House). We went up the porch steps, entered through the heavy double doors, and found ourselves in a huge room full of little square wooden tables, surrounded by chairs. Quite a few people were drinking tea; others, beer and vodka. It smelled of fish, tobacco smoke, and people. There was a babble of voices punctuated by occasional laughter. We made our way to the counter through the maze of tables. Vera released the bundles and let them drop to the floor, then put me down. She spoke to a blonde, buxom lady who stood behind the counter.
     "You may not remember me, but I rented a room here a year ago. I would like to have the same room if it is available,"
     "Yeees, I remember. You only stayed a few days. You promised to work for me but changed your mind. The room is available, but you will have to take care of it yourself. I have very little help. It will cost you seven silver rubles a week, or one ruble a night. Who have we here?" The woman bent over the counter to look at me.
     "This is Volodia, my son. He has a bad leg, but he is a smart and nice boy."
     "I am Zoya the proprietress, Volodia. I am glad you are here. When you get bored upstairs, you can come and help me here behind the counter."
     "That will be very nice, Aunt Zoya. I will be glad to help you."
     The women looked at each other and smiled,
     "I don't remember a boy with you last time."
     "I did not have him with me. He was in the hospital with his leg in a cast. I guess we will go up to rest and wash up." With that Vera put me back on her shoulders and climbed the stairs.
     Our room was in the attic. It must not have been occupied in some time. Everything was covered with a layer of fine dust. An iron and brass rail bed occupied one corner. A square wooden table and two chairs stood in front of the only window in the middle of the wall. A wash stand with a large white basin and white pitcher filled with water stood at the opposite wall. An old, dusty calendar, which had a colored picture of the tzar and his family, hung on one wall. This picture dominated the room. It stood out as the only thing that had color, everything else was drab. No wonder the calendar was not taken down, even though the tzar and his family were dead and so was the monarchy.
     Vera went immediately into action like a wound-up spring suddenly released. "First thing, Volodenka, we have to eat," she said unpacking our bundles. "I'm famished . . . you must be too. You are such a nice boy; you have not complained or said anything, I'll just go down and bring up some tea for us; everything else is unpacked. In the meantime, wash your face and hands. I'll pour you some water in the basin. Here, stand on the foot stool."
     Vera left. I washed my face and hands with the cold water and dried myself on the bed sheet; there was no towel. I was too hungry to wait for Vera so headed in the food spread out on the little table. We hadn't eaten since last night. I couldn't gulp down the food fast enough. Vera came back with a kettle of steaming water and brewed the tea.
     "I see you couldn't wait. You were too hungry. Now wash it down with tea, otherwise you'll have a bellyache."
     I blew on the tea to cool it and sipped noisily. I felt the hot liquid searing my throat as it was going down. It made me feel warm and the hunger subsided. Vera ate and talked.
     "We are going to the bath house after a while, so we will be clean for a few days. First I have to clean the room. We will stay here for a few days to rest up, then we will make further plans."
     "Aren't we going to Rezhitsa?"
     "Yes, my dear, a little later. We need not be in a hurry to get there. It is miserably cold there by now. We'll go there in time."
     Something wasn't quite right. Vera was avoiding the issue. I was in a helpless rage and was trying to suppress it. I knew I was at her mercy - complaining, crying, or exposing her would not help matters. Nobody was going to believe a little boy against the word of such a "loving mother" as Vera. I would have to play her game and bide my time. Not cooperating could make the situation worse, much worse. I would have to bide my time and look for an opportunity to force her to take me home. In the meantime, I must make the best of a tough situation. I did not say anything, neither did Vera. This was surprising, because she usually talked incessantly. I played "innocent" as though it didn't bother me much. I decided that I must play dumb for a while to win her confidence. After a while, Vera stopped cleaning.
     "We are going to the bath house. Let's get some clean clothes for you."
     By now I was used to riding on Vera's shoulders. We were out in the street. She walked at her usual fast gait. It was warm and the trees that lined the streets still had green leaves. The air had an unusual freshness that I did not notice before. It was pleasant.
     "What smells so different here?" I asked.
     "You smell the sea, my dear. The breeze brings over the smell of the sea. You see those white birds? They are seagulls. Wait till I turn the comer, then you will see something."
     I had broken the "talking barrier"; Vera was her old self again. Sure enough, when she turned the comer, I noticed at the end of the street a blue-gray expanse which joined the sky somewhere in infinity. That was the sea?
     "At the end of the street we'll come out on the pier where you will see many small boats tied up belonging to the fishermen. In the morning they go far out to sea to fish. Hunger doesn't exist here, for anybody can go fishing and have a meal. There is always fish for sale in the market."
     Vera went on talking, but I wasn't paying attention to her. The sight of the unending sea with its foaming white caps was overwhelming. I forgot my predicament, being completely absorbed by the sights, smells, birds, boats, and people. Vera became quiet for a moment, allowing me to enjoy the scenery.
     "Volodenka, we must bathe; it is getting late. We'll come back tomorrow and we will stay here as long as you wish. Maybe we'll take a boat ride if we get up early enough."
     "Great—I can't wait till tomorrow!"
     "And I have another surprise for you. I will take you to the circus."
     "What is a circus?"
     "It is like a theater, with actors and animals doing all kinds of tricks to astound you and make you laugh. There is no end to the wonders that you will see."
     Vera stopped at a huge poster that showed a man taking out a rabbit from a top hat and a little red devil sitting on his shoulder, a dog jumping through a hoop, a horse walking on his hind legs, and many colorful clowns. Looking forward to tomorrow's promised excitement boosted my spirits.
     After Vera and I bathed, a little girl came by with her bucket of water. She was about my age. She stopped, looked at me, her head bent on one side, and said:
     "You are a boy, aren't you?"
     Until now I was not aware that all the people around me were women. That little girl noticed.
     "Yes, I am a boy. What is your name? Mine is Volodia."
     "Nadia."
     I sprinkled Nadia with water from my bucket. She laughed and sprinkled water on me in return. We went on like this for a while just giggling. I haven't been together with children my age in a long time. It was so exhilarating, everything seemed funny, I laughed and laughed. The more I laughed, the more Nadia sprinkled water on me till her bucket ran dry. Then the fun stopped. She went back to her mother. I was sorry to see her go.
     The events of the day put me in a better mood. When we returned to the tshainaya, Vera sat me down on a chair in front of a table in the dining room. She went to the counter and after conversing for a few minutes with Zoya brought back two steaming bowls of soup.
     "Ukha," she announced (fish soup). "Zoya makes very good ukha; it is thick and made with chunks of fresh fish, many vegetables and herbs. I thought you would enjoy a hot bowl of it, my dear. Eat your fresh bread with it. This will put meat on your bones."
     "It smells good," was all I said, while dipping the wooden lacquered spoon into the steaming stew. I burned my tongue with the first spoonful. This did not stop me from relishing the stew. The taste was great. I hadn't had a hot meal since Zina Petrovna's shchi a few days ago. Odessa was beginning to look like a great junket. My apprehensions were dimming with each new event.
     A tall, broad-shouldered, bearded man came to our table with a bowl of fish soup like ours. "Would you mind if I sit with you?" he asked. "I am lonely."
     "Of course not," Vera said pulling a chair away from the table. "We, too, would like to have company. I am Vera Yablokhova and this is Volodia, my son."
     "My name is Semyon Danilovich Ubakhov. I own my own land; it is south of Odessa. I have a wife and two children. I hope to see them tomorrow," Semyon removed his military hat, picked up Ms spoon, and started eating his stew.
     "I haven't seen my wife in two years now. I wonder what kind of reception I will get. I hear that some women have taken up with other men while their husbands were away. I have to admit, I haven't been too faithful, either. Yet I don't feel guilty; it is different for men in war. You never know when a bullet will put you underground. You want to live faster, do everything you can, for tomorrow may be too late. It would hurt me, though, if my Katia had been seeing other men."
     "What do you think women are made of, steel? Women have just as much feeling as men do. Now especially. The revolution has given us just as many rights as the men have and we expect to take our place in society equal to men. Some of us may even become leaders of society. What do you think, the revolution was only to get rid of the tzar? No. I hear it said that the whole structure of our society is going to be rebuilt."
     "As for me, I did all right with the old order. There are rumors that they are going to take away my land. It's sickening to think that that would happen." We ate our stew in silence for a while. Semyon took out from his breast pocket a small bottle filled with transparent liquid. "Have a swig?" He offered the opened bottle to Vera. "Samogonka (home-made vodka). It cost me an 'Alexander' " (a 25-ruble note; called that because it had tzar Alexander's picture on it).
     "I'll take a sip." Vera took the bottle and swallowed some of the liquid. She grimaced, gagged, and gasped for breath. Tears came to her eyes. "This is vile, it should be used for rat poison." Cough, cough.
     Semyon took a swallow from the bottle, then another. "Aaahh, this is great," and smacked his lips. "A mite strong, but good for what ails you. It probably caught you by surprise. Here try another swallow."
     Vera looked suspiciously at the bottle. "All right, I'll try a little more." She did. "You are right. This time it wasn't so bad. I'll go and ask Zoya for a sour pickle."
     Vera returned with a big, dripping sour pickle which she placed on the table with drunken bravado. Semyon took out a pocket-knife and sliced the pickle. Each of us had a piece. "This goes very good with samogonka. Where I was on the Western front they drink a lot of wine. We used to get together with some buddies and kill a few bottles. It isn't easy to get drunk on wine. Once a friend and I got together with a couple of girls in their apartment. We were drinking wine and were having a jolly good time when suddenly, in the middle of the night, the Austrians started bombarding. We heard the Russians shout—"Retreat! Retreat!" We jumped outside in our underwear and "retreated," only we retreated in the wrong direction. Thanks to the ensuing chaos, we made it back to our lines—half frozen. We were the laughing stock of the whole battalion. For a week we had to content ourselves with blankets till we could get new uniforms."
     "I can just imagine, you must have looked very handsome in those blankets."
     "We didn't worry too much about looking handsome. We worried more about keeping our asses from being shot off."
     "You're still sitting on yours."
     "And a miracle it is. Sometimes, when the enemy starts shelling, there doesn't seem to be any place to hide. One time during a bombardment we were caught in an open field. I was lying flat on the ground wishing I could bury myself. A bomb exploded. It sounded like it was right on top of us. Something hit me in the back. There, I thought, I got it, I hope they take me to a nice hospital. I turned, and removed a bloody leg from my back. It still had the boot on. I immediately touched my leg, then the other. Thank God, it wasn't one of mine,"
     "Quit! Talk about something else, like how you got married."
     "Oh, that? How did you know?"
     "I read people's minds."
     "You are putting me on. Anyway that was quite a story. I was seventeen and I already knew a lot about girls. I could go out with any girl I chose in the village. Kolka, one of my best friends, was getting married. So, we celebrated by getting drunk. I was so drunk I didn't know what was going on. I woke up next morning with Kolka's younger sister in bed with me. She told me that we got married at the same time that Kolka did,"
     "Did you know her? Did you love her?"
     "Of course I knew her . . . that freckled-faced, red haired kid. Love her? Who thought of loving? First of all, she was two years younger than I was. She wasn't as good-looking as the others I had gone out with. Anyway I was married. Her family took me in, gave me two hectares of land and timber to build a house. She is a good woman, bears children well, and works hard to keep the house going."
     "Do you have any fun with her?"
     "For that, I go once in a while to Odessa, when I need supplies. Then I stay over a few days, get good and drunk and fool around a bit."
     The conversation dragged on. The little bottle was almost empty, and the two of them showed it. As time went on, more and more people came in and filled the empty tables. Two young waiters served the customers. Pretty soon Zoya produced an accordion from behind the counter and started playing a lively melody, followed by a sad one, A man began to sing.
     Zoya played the accordion deftly. She stopped only momentarily to serve drinks to thirsty customers or take one herself. I really enjoyed it. I sat there fascinated with everything that was taking place. The audience participated more and more, singing, clapping and even dancing a "Kazatski" (Cossack dance). Then when Zoya started to play the ballad of Stenka Razin (an 18th-century Volga River pirate who ventured across the Caspian Sea to raid Turkish villages, and became a Russian folk hero), the whole house joined in harmony. Everybody knew this ballad; I, too, had heard it many times and joined in the singing.
     The story is about Stenka Razin, the leader of a band of Don Cossacks who were raiding the Turkish mainland. He captured a Turkish princess whose beauty bewitched him. He brought her on board his boat, against the advice of his crew; a woman aboard a ship brings misfortune and disaster. ... As the boats reached the open sea, the wind died down, the sails grew limp, and the boats stood still. This went on for many days; food and water were gone, the parching sun seared their skin, and the crew became increasingly discontented. They muttered that the black-eyed woman on board brought on this misfortune. Still Stenka kept the princess on board. Finally the crew threatened to mutiny. In the end, after a touching love scene, Stenka carried the princess on deck, lifted her above his head and threw her into the sea ... At that moment, a fresh breeze rippled the mirror-like sea and filled the limp sails, gently at first, until they were laden with wind. The masts groaned and the boats were on their way.
     I sang with all the people in the tavern and we really put a lot of heart in it. My voice was thin and high pitched; it stood out among the others and people threw approving glances at me. All the stops were pulled out especially during the last stanza; it is when Stenka throws the princess into the sea. It goes like this:
     Volga, Volga, native mother,
     Volga, mother of the rivers,
     You have never seen a nicer present
     From a Don Cossack.
     There was silence for a brief moment, then Zoya's fingers started beating out a new loud tune with a fast rhythm. The people started clapping with their hands to the beat; the mood changed from somber-sentimental to careless gaiety. Someone soloed with a made-up stanza; the rest sang the refrain, clapping their hands. The stanza's four lines rhymed in Russian; they were naive, humorous, sometimes childish in content. This went on and on, till finally, finally, Zoya played the refrain loud and slow, folded her accordion and wiped the perspiration off her face. The customers were noisy, drunk, and happy, Vera stood up: "It is way past your bedtime, Volodia."
     "But it's so much fun."
     "Let me help you with the little one," Semyon volunteered. He picked me up easily and put me on the palm of his hand, and thus balancing me, walked up the stairs to our attic room. Vera undressed me, washed my face and put me to bed. She turned out the light and walked out of the room with Semyon. I fell asleep with song and laughter still ringing in my ears.
     Sometime during the night Vera came to bed. She pulled me close to her and gave me a hug. I was soon asleep again, only to be awakened by Vera's snoring, I tried to wake her; she turned over without waking but stopped snoring. What a nice day this had turned out to be.
     
X
A Boat, a Circus, Semyon and Family
     It was early morning. The sun wasn't up yet. The slightly orange coloring of the horizon in the east gave promise of a nice sunny day. Vera, Semyon, and I were nearing the fishing piers. The fishermen were busy. For them the day started early. Semyon spoke to several boat captains till he found one that was willing to take us aboard for a price. Vera must have put him up to it to entertain me, as she promised she would.
     Semyon didn't go home as he planned; instead he decided to stay another day. Watching him, I could discern a definite change in his behavior towards Vera. There was an air of an easy, close, friendly relationship, as though they were friends from a long time ago even though they met only yesterday. He allowed himself to put his arm around her, to lift her off her feet and swing her over the rail of the boat, and brush himself against her breasts nonchalantly whenever he could. Vera too took this conduct very naturally. I concluded that they must have spent the night together which brought on this sudden familiarity. It also must have been the reason for Semyon's staying over.
     The boat was manned by a bearded father and his son. As soon as we came aboard, a flurry of activity began. The young man jumped over the railing onto the pier and untied the boat from its mooring, pushed the boat off the pier, and jumped deftly back into the boat. The older man pushed the boat away from the pier with a pole. When we were in open water, they hoisted the sails. The morning breeze filled the sails and we began moving, leaving a white, foamy trail. The old man held the tiller while the young man busied himself arranging the tie-up rope in a flat circle.
     I was standing in the prow with my face to the wind. The sun was just coming out from behind a few little clouds that were hanging around on the eastern horizon. The rippled water was changing color from gray to gold and jade green. Some noisy seagulls were flying overhead. A few fishing boats could be seen, scattered in the open sea.
     All this was new to me. I looked in all directions. Everything seemed exciting. I tarned back to express my gratitude to Vera. To my surprise, Vera was stretched out flat on the deck, and Semyon, on his knees, was massaging her temples.
     Her face was pale—her eyes closed, and she was moaning, "I wish I was dead."
     "What is wrong with Vera?" I asked Semyon.
     "Nothing serious, really," Semyon consoled me. "She is seasick. She'll be all right when they anchor the boat to fish. Stay with her, Volodia; I'll go and bring a bucket, she may want to throw up."
     "Hold my hand, Volodenka, darling," Vera moaned. "I feel very bad. I feel like the whole world is upside-down. I cannot open my eyes; everything's turning like a carousel."
     Semyon was back with a tin bucket "Don't get up, Verochka, they will anchor the boat pretty soon and you will feel much better."
     There again, the familiar "Verochka," one would use it only to an intimate friend. Something must have transpired between them last night. . . .
     "You will be all right, Mamashenka," I said, trying to make my presence and concern known to Vera. I held and patted her hand. She gave it a light squeeze in recognition.
     The men turned the boat into the wind and lowered its sails. Then they threw out the anchor and secured the boat. Now we were experiencing only a gentle rocking and swaying. Vera opened her eyes. After a few minutes she stood up and was her old self again.
     "It was so bad, I thought it was the end of me. I did not know which way was up and which down. Everything was turning, including everything inside of me. I wanted to throw up, but I am glad I didn't. You gave me great comfort, being beside me. I would have passed out. I still feel a little groggy. It was such a nice breakfast you provided, Senia." She wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead with the ends of her handkerchief.
     We all relaxed, and with happy faces we turned our attention to what was going on on the other side of the boat. The two fishermen were hauling in a net. It must have been very heavy, judging by the strained faces of the father and son. Semyon and Vera ran to help pull the heavy load, to the smiling approval of the fishermen, One side of the net was tied to the sideboard of the boat and the four people were pulling the other side. Pretty soon, silvery, wiggly fish started spilling onto the deck, splashing everybody with a slimy spray.
     "Oh, my good clothes!" Vera exclaimed.
     "It will wash out easily," Semyon consoled her.
     After the net was emptied on the deck, the fishermen lowered it into the water again for another catch. They brought out several baskets from below and started sorting various fish into separate baskets according to species and size. The fish were flipping their tails, moving their fins, and staring with their glassy, unblinking eyes. I thought they were looking at me and begging for mercy.
     The nets were thrown out and hauled back in again several times. When the boat had a full catch, we raised sail and headed for shore. Vera felt sick again but not as bad as before. I guess knowing that she wouldn't die from seasickness made her feel better.
     Upon leaving, the fishermen gave Semyon a large fish. He put his fingers through the gills and carried it through the streets all the way home, to the tshainaya. There weren't many people in the dining room. Zoya was washing dishes and glassware behind the counter.
     "Look here, the wayfarers are back. How did it go?"
     Semyon walked up to the counter, slapped the fish on it, and with bravado said, "That is how it went, dearie."
     "We would like you to cook it for us tonight," Vera went behind the counter and started helping Zoya with the dishes. "You may have some too; there is enough for everybody."
     "That will be fine, my dear, just leave it to Zoya. But first I want that big ugly one to wash the counter to take away the fish smell. The customers come here to drink tea or vodka without a fish smell." With that Zoya picked up the fish and threw a large wet rag at Semyon. He caught it and scrubbed the counter clean. When he finished he said:
     "Zoya, I will report you to the authorities for exploiting the working class; putting me to work and not paying me wages."
     "You can use me as a witness," a man from a nearby table spoke up. "She also skimps on the measure of vodka."
     "She not only skimps on the measure of vodka, she also waters it down," another man spoke up. "A few weeks ago a drop of vodka would eat a hole in the table, bat not now,"
     "That is because she stopped adding sulfuric acid to strengthen her vodka."
     The funny talk went on for a while until Zoya, seemingly not amused, shouted:
     "Enough of this nonsense, you ungrateful bastards, you lazy, no-good loafers, beggars, and parasites. If it weren't for me, you'd have to stay at home and listen to your women nag."
     "She is right, fellows. Let's give her a hand." I too joined in on the applause. It was fun to play the grownups' game. Vera approached, picked me up and said, "Come, young man, you'll have to eat something and then we have a surprise for you." We went upstairs. Semyon came with us.
     "What is the surprise?"
     "If I tell you, it won't be a surprise anymore. It is something you will like I am sure ... I promise you that."
     We ate hurriedly, packed away the food and were off to the "surprise." After a lengthy walk we came to a square where there were many tents of canvas, surrounding one large tent. Many people were milling around, I was overwhelmed by the noise, dust, and music. Some peculiarly dressed people were in front of the tents. They were dressed in tall black hats, brightly colored striped suits, extra large ties, and the shoes? . . . made for giants. They were all shouting, but I could not understand what they were saying. It seemed that they were exhorting people to visit their tents. A clown with a red bulbous nose led a small poodle-dog that was wearing a comical hat with a flower in it and a red ribbon around his neck. He let me pat the dog. The clown squeezed a rubber ball that produced a squeaky noise. He patted me on the head and walked on. We stopped in front of the big tent. Many colorful posters were plastered all around the tent.
     Semyon read one poster and told us that a performance would start at two in the afternoon. I was very excited by all these new experiences. I was transported into a different world; I lost contact with reality. We entered the tent and sat down in the first row on a wooden bench. More and more people were filling the seats above us. There were many children. In front of us was a barrier that encircled an earthen floor. Soon a man in a red coat, white pants, black shiny boots, and black top hat came out. He made a speech, holding a horn in front of him, to amplify his voice. He welcomed us to the show.
     The first act was a man with three little dogs. He made them do somersaults, jump through hoops, stand on top of each other in a pyramid, and so on. This was followed by a magician's act. I was really fascinated by it. He made things disappear and reappear with the flip of his magic stick. The memorable thing was when he pulled a live white rabbit from an empty hat. The magician joked that he had better make the rabbit disappear, or somebody would steal it and put it into a stew. Any minute now I was expecting to see the little red devils appear. The act was finished and no little red devils ... I felt misled.
     "He didn't show the little red devils?!" I complained to Vera. "In the poster they showed the little red devils helping the magician."
     "The little red devils are invisible in real life. They can only be imagined and shown on the posters."
     This answer did not satisfy me; I still felt disappointed. Other things followed—acrobats, jugglers, trained horses. Then came the clowns with little horses and monkeys. This part was so hilarious that I laughed until my stomach ached. I have never seen anything like it. I was so fascinated and overwhelmed by what I had seen that I was in a daze. I was reliving all the experiences; I don't even remember getting home, I kept on repeating that they didn't show the little red devils, my only disappointment.
     "They show them on posters only to explain that the magician can make things appear and disappear AS THOUGH he is helped by little red devils," Vera explained again.
     That made sense. However it still angered me that I was misled. For some reason, when I had looked at the posters, the little red devils had captured my imagination and I was deeply disappointed not to have them appear. All in all, it was a splendid experience. I have gone to the circus many times since then but never was I moved so deeply.
     It was almost a repetition of last night at Zoya's tshainaya. The only difference was that this night we had our own fish cooked for us by Zoya. It tasted very good and we had our fill. The place was crowded. Two men addressed Semyon: "We hope you would not mind if we sat at your table."
     "Not at all, tovarishchi. We like to have some company, don't we Vera? My name is Semyon. I'd like for you to meet Vera and her son, Volodia. Sit down, tovarishchi."
     "Artemi is my name," one of the men said shaking hands with Semyon.
     "Osip is mine," the other man shook Semyon's hand as he introduced himself.
     The two strangers looked almost like twins. Both were broad-shouldered, blue eyed, bearded. Each had a bottle of vodka, a glass and a large sour pickle on a piece of soggy newspaper.
     "Please join us," Semyon started the conversation. "Do you live here?"
     "No, we are from Kherson," one of the men replied. You see, we travel back and forth from Kherson to Odessa. We operate a raft from the estuary of the Dnieper in Kherson to Odessa and back. Our home, though, is Kherson."
     "So you are sailors?"
     "You might say that, if you call rafters sailors," Osip dominated the conversation. "The raft is pulled by a barge and we just have to steer it, inspect the pull ropes, inspect the cargo to make sure it isn't shifting, and just stay alive."
     "Do you have to stay in the open all the time?"
     "No, there's a structure built on top of the raft like a house, it protects us from the weather."
     "It must be exciting to travel like that all the time," Vera joined the conversation.
     "The excitement wears off after the first two trips. From then on it becomes just plain hard work . . . and sometimes boring work."
     Three more men joined us at our table, each with his own bottle of vodka. There was no more space around, our table. The faces were red and sweaty. The more vodka they drank, the louder they became. Nobody paid any attention to me, as I sat listening to their conversation which changed from one subject to another.
     " . . .So the sergeant stands up and shouts 'Attack, attack!' but we are lying there each one in his hole, and as though by general consent, nobody was moving. We were tired of this war. For three years we were dying, for what? For nothing! The sergeant shouted again, louder, 'ATTACK!' Suddenly the sergeant fell to the ground, dead . . . shot in the back , . . nobody knew who did it . . ."
     "Russia did not have, its heart in the war. We were so ill-prepared and ill-equipped."
     "Our officers and generals too weren't any good either. Few of them were professionals. Most of them got their rank by being born into nobility and some got it by bribery."
     "Their idea was that we were going to throw masses of people at the Germans and simply overwhelm them with numbers. Never mind the loss of life, Russia has lots of people, and life is cheap. Only it did not work that way. The Germans just slaughtered us mercilessly. After a couple of years of this, soldiers started deserting, mutiny-ing, revolting, yes and even giving themselves up to the enemy without a fight; they'd rather be prisoners of war and stay alive."
     "Now with the Brest-Litovsk Peace Agreement we will be losing big chunks of territory in the West."
     "We can stand it. We will have enough trouble to feed and keep order in what is left."
     "Every nationality wants to have self-determination now."
     "I don't blame them. We have exploited them long, enough. Take the Armenians, for example. We pushed them around, we made fun of them, we've been mean and disrespectful to them. I really cannot see them being inferior. It is not right for us to take advantage of them because we are more numerous."
     "Let me tell you an Armenian riddle-joke. 'What is black, stands on one leg?' Ahhh, you don't know? It is simple - an. amputated Negro. Another one. 'What is black, stands on two legs?' You say it is a two-legged Negro? Wrong! It is two amputated Negroes. Another one, 'What is black, stands on three legs? You say three amputated Negroes? Wrong again! It is a grand piano." Laughter . . .
     "I have a story, I have a story," a man was eager to tell. "In a little village, Ivan was getting married. So all his friends got together for a 'malchishnik,' a bachelor's party. As the evening wore on and the vodka flowed freely, the boys argued and naturally a fight broke out. Clubs swung, knives flashed, people were hurt. Many of the young men were in the hospital the next morning. One boy, with a gash in his stomach, broke out laughing as he lay on the operating table. 'What is so funny?' the doctor asked. 'Can you imagine,' the answer came, 'Vanka is getting married today and his dick is in my pocket . . .' "
     "Boys, boys, watch your language," Vera intoned. "We have an innocent little boy here, next he'll be asking me questions. It is time you went to bed, anyway, young man."
     "Can't I stay up a little longer?" I begged without conviction. "It isn't late yet, I'd like to stay here for the singing."
     "No, my dear. There probably won't be any singing tonight. Besides, you had a full day and, we will be getting up early in the morning for another busy day."
     I knew there was no use arguing. I was whisked upstairs, put to bed, and Vera walked out. Sleep did not come for quite a while. The many experiences of the day were flashing through my mind. After a while I heard Zoya's accordion and the sound of singing. So they did sing after all. I wasn't sorry, I felt comfortable and gradually drifted off to sleep . , .
     "Volodia, Volodenka, get up, my dear. We have a long journey ahead of us," Vera whispered in my ear. She picked me up gently, washed and clothed me. I still wasn't fully awake. She and Semyon were whispering to each other. I did not understand and did not care to. Things were somehow not real. It was still dark outside. Vera picked me up and carried me like a little child with my head over her shoulder. We were making our way down the stairs as quietly as possible, Semyon following behind us, carrying all our bundles. It was cold outside. They walked for a few blocks in the dark streets, turned a corner, and stopped to put on their shoes. After that they began to walk more rapidly. Vera's regular swaying motion put me to sleep again.
     When I opened my eyes, I saw a patch of graying sky through the branches of surrounding trees. I was lying on the ground, face up, wrapped in a blanket. Vera was tending a fire built from tree branches. Food and our tea utensils were spread out on the ground. Semyon appeared from somewhere in the forest carrying a large tea kettle.
     "There is a little stream downhill with very good-tasting water," he told Vera. "Look, our young man is awake, probably hungry too. It won't be long now, Volodia, before we have breakfast ready."
     Vera came by and squatted in front of me. "Come, darling, get up and sit by the fire. It will warm you up, Now eat a hefty breakfast, for we may not eat again till late afternoon. We will be walking to Semyon's home."
     We ate a hurried big meal. By the time it got light we were on our way. We were walking on a trail through the forest, Semyon leading the way. After a while, the forest trail led onto a dirt road. We found ourselves passing flat fields as far as the eye could see with hardly a ripple of a hill. We walked at a steady clip for several hours till Semyon turned off from the main road, and made his way to a farm house. He stopped by the well and brought up a bucket of water. He drank slowly right from the bucket. Vera did the same; she held me up to the bucket and I too had a drink. Not a word was spoken. A woman came out from the house and made her way toward us. "Good morning, good people. Would you like to come in the house? Few people ever come around here."
     "Thank you, dear woman. We just stopped for a drink. We still have a long way to go to our destination; we want to make it before nightfall," Semyon said it with determination and we all turned back to the main road.
     "It would have been nice to talk to someone for a while," the woman muttered, turning to get back into her house.
     There were no other stops till we turned off the main road onto a weed-overgrown, rutted road.
     "That is my home," Semyon broke the silence pointing at a house in the distance. He quickened his pace till he reached the front porch and swung open the door.
     "Katia, Katia, I am home!" he shouted;
     We heard happy shouts from inside the house while Vera and I stayed on the porch. Then we heard from the inside:
     "And who is this? Your new woman?"
     A woman about thirty came out on the porch. She was pugnosed, with a knot of red hair on top of her head, dressed in a worn but clean dress, covered with an apron, barefoot. Semyon stood behind her with a boy my age and a girl about ten.
     "Katia, this is Vera with her son Volodia; I met them in Odessa. Vera has many wonderful things to sell. In-stead of buying things that you might not like, I brought Vera here with her whole store."
     "A good day to you, Vera. Please come in and let's see what you have."
     We stepped in the house. Vera crossed herself—I did too. She never did it before. I knew for sure that this was to create an impression . . . and it did. Katia's facial lines softened and so did the harshness in her voice.
     "Put your son down and have a seat. What is the matter with him, can't he walk by himself?"
     "He has a paralysed leg."
     Katia sucked in a breath of air. "What a pity, such a nice boy. Why is he so scrawny, don't you feed him well?"
     "He was eight months in a hospital. They don't feed them very well there ... I was too far away to help out."
     "Let him play with the children. Senia, Nina, take Volodia outside and play with him, not too rough."
     The smiling children stood up on either side of me, took me by my hands, and led me outside to a field behind a barn.
     Senia had an upturned nose like his mother's, light blue eyes, and blond hair bleached almost white by the sun He was dressed in knee-high, worn pants and a brown shirt. Nina had similar features, only her hair was red and worn in pigtails. She was dressed in a brown skirt and a white linen blouse. Both were barefoot.
     "We will play 'zonki,' " Senia said. "We play zonki here in the potato field after the potatoes have been gathered. The earth is soft and easy to dig."
     We played a few games, till we heard Katia's high pitched voice, "Children, come for dinner!"
     We sat at a long table with bowls and spoons at each setting. Katia brought a large kettle of shchi. Semyon sat at the head of the table and was slicing black bread for each of us from a large round loaf. Vera crossed herself and mumbled a prayer. I did the same. My prayer was silent, in Hebrew, one that I learned a long time ago at home. The children looked at us questioningly,
     "They are God-fearing people," Katia explained, while dishing out the shchi. Little was said during the meal. I could see various small packages lying on the floor in a corner of the room. The trading must have taken place while we were playing outside. I would like to have been present while this was going on.
     Semyon was casting stealthy glances at Vera. Vera, in turn, met these looks and lowered her eyes. There was something intimate to those speechless exchanges, Katia noticed the ongoing silent conversation. Her face gradually lost its composure, it turned strained and grim. It dawned on me that a whole drama was being acted out right there without a word being spoken. People may be trained actors and even then it is questionable whether they can hide their thoughts and feelings. Katia knew. Her woman's intuition told her that something was going on between Semyon and Vera. Semyon too sensed that he had given himself away. He started talking to break the oppressive silence,
     "I see you have gotten along pretty well by yourself these few years."
     "Well enough . . . without help from men friends."
     "I hear that the revolutionaries may force us to go into a cooperative or collective,"
     "They'd better not. This is my daddy's land. I am going to fight to keep it. You better stand by me, or you can go with Vera right now."
     There, it came out in the open. Katia's face was red, her eyes flashing fire. There was a long period of silence. The children left the table, nudged by Nina. I stayed put. The atmosphere was thick - strained with tension.
     "There was nothing between Vera and me. You've got to believe me," Semyon lied unconvincingly.
     "I don't believe you ... it doesn't matter . . . you are a man and you needed a woman, but don't ever bring your whore around to my house again."
     There was a deafening silence for a while. All the participants were absorbed in their own thoughts. Vera got up.
     "Come, Volodia, we will leave. We are not welcome here anymore."
     "Where can you go at night?" Semyon regained his speech. "Stay here overnight and you can leave in the morning."
     "She is not going to stay in my house. She can stay in the hay loft. It isn't cold yet at night. There is lots of fresh hay. You can give her a couple of blankets. And let her take her bastard with her, too."
     This hurt. It was meant to. Katia was like an animal protecting her territory. She fought with all the weapons at her disposal.
     Vera collected her things. She packed the products that she obtained in trade in a separate bundle. Semyon lit a lamp and guided us out of the house to the barn. Nobody said goodbye. We climbed a step ladder. Vera made a bed of hay and spread the blanket over it. Semyon reached up and embraced Vera,
     "My dear, I am sorry this happened. I hoped that you could stay with us for a few days and fatten up your Volodia."
     "We'll be gone before daybreak. You need not come to see us off. It was nice knowing you. Goodbye."
     "Goodbye."
     Semyon left with the lamp. We were in the dark. We lay down with our clothes on. Vera pulled me close to her and wrapped a blanket around us. She cried and sobbed loudly, taking deep breaths with a wheeze. I felt sympathy for her and cried too. I did not feel any animosity towards Katia. She was protecting her home. It was Semyon and Vera that were doing the wrong things.
     Gradually, my eyes got used to the dark and my nose to the smell of horse manure. I could see the outline of a square window and a few stars winking at me through it. I could hear some horses moving around below us and snorting. Vera quieted down. Adversity didn't bother her for very long. Her even, rhythmic breathing told me that she was asleep. I was deeply disturbed over the past events. The fleas biting me added to my discomfort. They found some openings in my clothes and started feasting on me. Finally, I too must have fallen asleep . . .
     
XI
The Massacre
     I felt Vera's hand over my face, holding tight, so that I could hardly breathe.
     "Do not make a sound, dear. We have lots of trouble. Shake your head that you understand," she whispered in my ear. I shook my head and her hand relaxed. Suddenly I was wide awake. Something was going on outside. I could hear horses' hooves hitting the ground, footsteps of many people, talking in whispers, then suddenly—CRRAASH!, wood splintering, glass breaking, loud voices shouting commands. I could not understand what was said, the sounds were muffled. There was an exchange of words. I thought one voice belonged to Semyon. More arguments, then shots—two, three, four, quiet for a moment, then moaning, crying ... A man's loud voice repeating something several times, more shots, screams . . . the man's voice shouting again, repeating something over and over again, more screams, high-pitched as though in great pain, drawn out in a moan, and more screams that penetrated my mind and stayed there. Katia's voice! I wanted to scream too. Vera sensed it and put her hand over my fece again. Finally the screams got weaker, as though exhausted. More shouting by the man, then several shots. Quiet.
     The sound of footsteps on the porch, as though several men were coming out of the house, broke the momentary silence. We could hear people talking.
     "Bring the wagons close to the door ..."
     "Hurry with the things, we can rearrange it later ..."
     "Get the cows."
     "That will slow us down."
     "Never mind, we have the time."
     "I hear some horses in the barn."
     "Get them."
     The barn doors were swung open. Cold night air rushed in. Footsteps below us. Someone was carrying a lantern.
     "They have some fresh hay up there in the loft."
     "We have several sacks of oats for the horses."
     "For the cows."
     "All right, get some."
     Somebody was climbing up the ladder. Vera hastily covered us with hay. I thought the people could hear my heart pounding. A pitchfork was biting into the hay, once, twice . . .
     "Hey, that's enough. We don't have much room."
     We heard the pitchfork hit the ground. The man climbed down. We started breathing again.
     "I thought I heard something move up there."
     "Probably rats."
     The horses were led out. It was dark again. The voices and noises continued for some time. We did not dare move.
     "I have one wagon ready. Shall I start out?"
     "Go ahead."
     We heard a wagon rolling; some people grunting under heavy loads, calling to each other in loud voices now. Gradually, the hubbub outside quieted down. More wagons rolled away. The sound of horses and voices grew fainter, a cow mooed in the distance . . .
     We stayed huddled in the hayloft for a long time. Finally Vera stood up. She groped in the darkness for the stepladder. She led me to it and both of us descended. We saw a dark blue rectangle and made for it. Vera stumbled over something. Both of us fell down. It was a pitchfork lying across our path. She picked it up and carried it with her. We halted at the door and looked out. There was already a faint morning gray in the east. A dim light shone through one of the windows of the house. Clothes, pots and pans, broken pottery, and suitcases were strewn all over the yard. We halted and listened. Not a sound.
     "Stay here, Volodenka, I'll go inside the house and see what is going on there. Don't move away from the door, so I'll know where you are."
     "I am scared to be by myself."
     "Don't be scared, there is nobody here."
     "The rats. The man said there were rats."
     "That was us, dear. I am glad he thought it was rats."
     "Don't be long. I am still scared."
     "I will hurry, dear."
     She kissed me for reassurance and left. I stood there in the dark—scared, conjuring up imaginary ghosts from silhouetted things—afraid to move. It seemed like a long time since Vera had left me. Finally, Vera's figure appeared in the light of the doorway—dragging something.
     "What happened?"
     "Something terrible."
     "What do you mean?"
     "They are all dead."
     "What do you mean they are all dead?"
     "Dead. Killed. Hacked to pieces. Shot"
     "Everybody?"
     "Everybody."
     "Senia, Nina?"
     "Everybody,"
     "Can I go inside?"
     "No! It is a terrible sight. You won't sleep nights if you do. No need to whisper anymore, There is nobody around. Even, the cat is dead, cut in two with a saber,"
     Vera squatted down to my level, hugged me and cried loud and uncontrolled, heaving and gasping for breath. I, too, cried, embracing Vera around her neck. I could not understand why that had happened—something beyond my comprehension. I could see the dead, emaciated skull of Grishka looking at me from the hospital bed with those big glassy eyes. Now Senia and Nina looked like Grishka, Grishka was the symbol of death for me.
     "Who were they?"
     "I don't know. It could have been the Whites; more likely it was a band of marauding disbanded or deserted soldiers. The Whites would not have been so brutal."
     "Why did Katia scream so much?"
     "Probably because they were torturing her. We will talk about that later."
     Vera had recovered by now and was her usual calculating self again. She brushed herself off. There was a new sack that she had retrieved from the house.
     "There is not much left to take from the house. Those thieving murderers have cleaned out everything. We better get out of here, Volodenka, before the sun comes up. There could be complications if we stay."
     Vera deftly got me on her shoulders, gathered the numerous bundles and set off into the darkness at a fast pace. She followed a faint trail that led to a stand of woods. It was pitch dark in the forest but Vera never slowed her pace. Vera did not talk, which was very unusual for her. I too kept quiet. Vera was strong, for she was walking with this huge load without stopping to rest. I was very hungry but did not dare to mention it. After we were deep in the woods, Vera stopped and unloaded.
     "This is far enough away from Semyon's house. We'd better stop here, take a breather and eat something. You must be very hungry by now."
     "You are right, I am," We ate a hurried breakfast. There was nothing to drink. Vera packed up our things and we were on our way once again at a more relaxed pace.
     "I think I know what happened . . . there must have been about five or six of those murderers. They came riding in on horses. They looked around and decided to rob the place. That is when they broke the door down. They took the occupants by surprise. The first thing they probably wanted to know was where the "treasure" is buried. Everybody has a treasure of coins and jewelry buried somewhere—a nest-egg for bad times. When we heard the man shouting, he was probably demanding to know where Semyon's treasure was buried. Semyon would not tell him and they shot him. They thought that they could force a woman to talk much easier with the man out of the way. Katia would not tell them either, because she knew they were going to kill them anyway. They shot the children one by one and Katia screamed but would not tell them what they wanted to know. Then they tortured Katia . . . she still wouldn't reveal where the treasure was kept, so they shot her . . . poor Semyon, just came back from the war . . . what an end to such a nice man . . . what a blessing it was that we were banished to the hay loft , . . the good angels are guarding us, Volodia . . . they want us to stay around for a while. ..."
     Vera walked most of the day. We did not meet a living soul. At nightfall, we walked into a village and stopped at the church. The priest took us in after asking Vera all kinds of questions:
     "Where are you going, my daughter? And carrying a little boy on your back with all that load."
     "To Orel, Bariushka (father)."
     "That must be a hundred viorst or more. What takes you away that far?"
     "My husband, Batiushka. A neighbor came from the army and told me that my husband was wounded but recovering in a military hospital in Orel. My neighbor was in the same hospital. I am going to see my husband and am bringing him some food. They say that food is very scarce there."
     "That is fine, Daughter, you are doing good. You can have a place to stay over night and food, for you and your boy."
     "Thank you, Father, God bless you for the good deed." Vera crossed herself.
     "God bless us all," the priest crossed himself, too.
     The priest's wife was very solicitous. We ate plenty and drank lots of tea. Vera was tired and there was not much talk. We went to "bed" on the floor wrapped in blankets without undressing. We were off next morning by daybreak without saying goodbye to the priest and his wife. By mid-afternoon we reached a large city.
     "Are we back in Odessa?" I inquired.
     "No, dear. We cannot go back to Odessa."
     "Why not?"
     "Because we left without paying Zoya. I don't think she would like to see me again. Besides, we had enough of Odessa."
     After a while we came to a large building, a railroad station! I was quite familiar with them. This one looked so much like the others I have seen on my journeys. The heavy wooden benches, the high windows and ceilings, the large hall, and people milling around everywhere.
     Vera found an empty bench, where we made our "home." She left me to guard our possessions and was off to make some inquiries and arrangements to bring food and tea. I was very hungry. We had not eaten since the previous evening at the priest's house. We ate in silence till we had consumed the portions Vera prepared. Then she made a bed for us on the bench from our bundles of clothing and we took a much-needed rest.
     I could not sleep. I was plagued by the memories of the terrible night at Semyon's house. I kept on hearing the shrieks and moans. The terror of that night came back to haunt me while Vera was asleep. Now, after listening to Vera's story as to what probably did happen, the pictures were more vivid and they took on more meaning. Every shot, scream, and moan was accompanied by a scene helped by my imagination. The images of Senia and Nina mixed with that of Grishka's dead, emaciated face. It was hard to think that they were not going to play with me anymore, ever . . . the memories were painful, unbearable. I had to distract myself with pleasant thoughts, with stories of the past, the stories Grandma told me, like the Vakhtei story.
     After Grandpa built the first house, children started coming one after the other. Within twelve years Grandma had seven children: Nochum-Aaron, Itze-Meyer, Ruvin, Isroel-Getzel, Sonia, Riva-Ella, and Leizer. Grandma never tired of telling with pride how the youngest one, Leizer, was born while she was milking the cow, and she brought him into the house, squalling in her apron. In time Grandpa built a second house in the back of the barns. He bought some more land across the street and built two more stores. These were to be used by the growing children. In the meantime the stores were rented out, one to a man by the name Yankel Lifshitz and the other to Moishe-Yekel Vakhtei.
     Yankel Lifshitz paid his rent regularly, but Moishe-Yekel was always late with his payments and, on many occasions, said that he had paid Grandpa, only Grandpa forgot. The Stekolls finally decided to ask Moishe-Yekel to move, but he would not go. They called Moishe-Yekel to the rabbi for arbitration, but he would not come. Grandma insisted that Grandpa take Moishe-Yekel to court. At first Grandpa was reluctant to do it. Jews just don't go to a gentile court; they go to a rabbi. Since this did not work out, he finally relented, and started court proceedings.
     After Moishe-Yekel was notified that he was being sued, he in turn brought suit against Abbo Stekoll and three of his sons: Nochum-Aaron, Itze-Meyer, and Ruvin. He claimed that Abbo Stekoll and his three sons broke into his closed store at night, when he and his wife, Chaye-Pese, were counting their money. They robbed him of money and merchandise and beat him mercilessly.
     A man by the name of Shmerl, the tows drank, testified that as he walked in the dark street one night, he saw a light through the crack of the door of Moishe-Yekel's store. When he looked inside, he saw that Abbo Stekoll and his three sons were beating up Moishe-Yekel and his wife Chaye-Pese. They were also stuffing their pockets with money and merchandise.
     This sounds like a comedy, but the drama was enacted in a tzarist court, in a little town. None of the participants could read or write, there was no legal help . . . both the witness and the judge were probably bribed. The judge condemned Abbo Stekoll and his three sons to five years of "katorga" - hard labor. Grandma fainted when she heard the verdict.
     After the trial, Moishe-Yekel came around to say that if Grandpa would sign over the two stores to him, he would have the judge dismiss the charges. After a family consultation. Grandpa signed over the two stores to Moishe-Yekel Vakhtel for one ruble each. ... of course, the suit against the Vakhtels was dismissed, too.
     All this probably happened in the late 1890s. The hurt was still great years later. Grandma cried whenever she told the story.
     It was almost night when I woke up. It took me a while to get oriented and remember that I was in a railroad station. Vera was repacking things for a new trip.
     "Where are we?" I asked.
     "In Kherson, my dear. I am planning for us to go to Poltava now."
     "But when are you going to take me home?"
     Vera turned to me with a hurt expression on her face. "Aren't you happy with me, Volodenka? Don't I feed you well, take care of you? Don't I carry you on my back?"
     For a while I could not think of anything to say. "Sure I am happy with you . . . you are very good to me. . . ." But something inside of me told me that this wasn't right.
     I liked Vera, but not the same as my mother ... I didn't say this out loud, it would do no good.
     "When will a train to Poltava come?"
     "Sometime during the night. Right now let's have a good meal and we'll be ready to go at a moment's notice. ''
     We followed our customary routine of eating and waiting for our train. When the train did come late that night, we got an upper berth without much trouble; it wasn't very crowded. The train soon got on its way. I was on the upper berth while Vera was on the bottom bench talking to some women sitting on the opposite bench. The swaying motion of the train had a soothing effect on me and I dropped off to sleep.
     It was already the second day that we were rattling in the train. I was left to fend for myself most of the time. Vera did not speak to me except during meal time. This was probably a punishment for mentioning going home. It got colder as we progressed farther north. The landscape was showing patches of snow here and there. The compartment was full now and the air was stale.
     Vera stood up with a bright, cheerful smile on her face that I hadn't seen in a couple of days. "How are you, my darling? We are coming to Kharkov . . . maybe we will stay here for a few days to rest up from this journey. We do need a bath and a soft bed."
     "But you said we were going to Poltava?"
     "We passed Poltava last night when you were asleep. Does it make a difference?"
     "No, it doesn't make any difference as long as we are getting closer to home."
     "We will be home soon enough." Then she whispered in my ear, "I have quite a few things to sell. We have to earn some money."
     The train was gradually coming to a halt. Houses appeared more frequently. Many glistening rails materialized as though spewed out by the train. The people inside became restless and busied themselves with their belongings. The noise, talk, and shouts increased. Vera, too, was getting her bundles together. As the car emptied, Vera methodically collected our belongings and headed toward the exit gate. We were stopped by two militiamen checking documents. Vera released her bundles and put me down. She rummaged through her deep side-pockets and produced some papers which she handed over to the militiamen.
     "I am taking this lost boy to his home," Vera said.
     The militiaman scrutinized the papers, then consulted with the other militiaman.
     "The 'propusk' (permit) here says that you are to go to Vitebsk, Dvinsk, and Rezhitza. How come you are in Kharkov, Citizen Yablokhova?"
     "You know how undependable trains are these days; you start out for Moskva and wind up in Vladivostok. The lines were torn up by the Whites and we had to detour. I was directed by the commissar to go around if necessary. Now we have wound up further from Dvinsk then we were before. And we ran out of food too. We haven't eaten for the last day and night. Look at this boy! . . . skin and bones. I didn't bargain for this when I took on this job. The commissar talked me into it. So here I am stuck, a nurse for a sick boy. . . . "
     Vera went on complaining till the militiaman stopped her.
     "It is all right, Citizen Yablokhova, you are doing a fine deed; the boy's family will be indebted to you. We are just checking documents. As for food, the commissary is in the first building down the street on the first floor. There you can draw some emergency rations for you and the boy. I will give you a new travel permit and two weeks' rations for both of you."
     Vera still had that grim, determined expression on her face as we stood in line to receive our rations. When we were outside, Vera's face relaxed into a broad, satisfied smile.
     "Now we have more food than ever to sell," she said happily. "You have to know how to operate with these people. You have to attack them head on without letup, so that they have no time to think. You keep on talking till they want to get rid of you. You behaved very well, Volodia. You stood there beside me without saying a word. You and I are making a fine team. We will find an inn and stay there for a couple of days and enjoy life."
     We walked through the darkening streets while Vera went on talking continuously. The extra food rations must have elevated her spirits. We finally stopped at a tshainaya off a busy street. It looked very much like Zoya's in Odessa. We had an upstairs room with worn-out furniture and a creaky wooden floor. An ikon hung in a corner of the room, which lent a little color.
     Immediately Vera went to work to make the room livable. She unpacked our clothes, pulled back the comforter on the bed, fluffed up the pillows, pulled the dusty curtains over the one little window, and spread out our food on the newspaper-covered table. It was cold in the room and I began to shiver.
     "We will warm up soon enough after we eat. I'll go downstairs and bring some kipyatok for tea."
     She picked up a package and the tea kettle and left. She was gone for quite a while. My teeth were still chattering, so I crawled in bed with my clothes on, covered myself with the comforter and one of the pillows on top of that. I was beginning to thaw out and fell asleep.
     Pretty soon it was summer. Grandpa and I were on top of a load of hay being drawn by his horse. Grandpa was holding back the reins to prevent the horse from running downhill and turning over. And there, we were home already. And Mama, oh Mama, I was so longing for you . . . and Mama was calling me, "Vulia, Vulenka . . . Volodia, Volodenka" . . . Vera was bending over me . . .
     "Volodenka, you were crying in your sleep. Are you well?"
     I was sorry to wake up to reality. For a few minutes I felt so good; the hurt inside was beginning to melt away —and now to face the cold, hunger, and Vera . . .
     "I saw Mama," is all I could say.
     "You will see Mama again," said Vera. "For the time being, I am your mama. Now, wake up, dear, we are going to eat. I sold the butter to the proprietor for a good price. He gave me six pieces of perfumed soap, a package of flints, darning needles, a pocket- knife, and besides, he will not charge me for our room." Vera was busy setting out the food, pouring the tea and talking constantly. I relished the food and the hot tea. I could feel the warmth spreading from my stomach to all parts of my body. For my second cup of tea Vera had a surprise—a lump of sugar that she managed to conceal from a previous meal. I ate my fill and things began to return to normal.
     "I have to alter your clothes, dear. I will sew pockets to the inside of your overcoat to conceal coins. It may be heavy for you, but you don't walk by yourself anyway, I'll carry you as before. We can also hide small things. Tomorrow I'll find out about trading some of our other goods. I will leave you here. It will be easier for me to move around faster so that I can return to you sooner. I have never been to Kharkov before, so it will take me a while to familiarize myself with the city."
     After Vera undressed me and tucked me under the covers, I noticed her sewing at the lining of my coat. She was absorbed in her work and her thoughts while humming a Russian melody. It was pleasant to watch that large peasant woman sewing my coat from the warmth of my bed. After all, I believed, she did care about me and looked after me and in time she would take me home. I must have fallen asleep.
     I felt a pleasant tickling sensation in my sleep and was trying to wake up. I finally realized that Vera was manipulating my penis and brought it to an erection. I moved my hand to stop her. She brushed my hand away and said:
     "Don't worry, my dear, I want to teach you some things about life and about people. You will like that."
     With that, Vera put me on top of her. I suddenly realized that she was completely naked and so was I. She maneuvered my penis inside her and began lifting me up and down in a rhythmic motion. Pretty soon I was doing it myself without her help. She put my hands on her opulent breasts and made me fondle them. She began writhing and twisting from side to side, while I continued going up and down inside of her. Then suddenly she tensed, and a few motions later, she embraced me hard with her arms and legs. Gradually, she relaxed and, putting me down beside her with her arm still around me, squeezed me tightly to her bosom.
     "Did I hurt you?" I ventured to say.
     "No, silly. You have given me happiness that few people experience. I slept with men before . . . but you are so gentle, so small and innocent. You made me very
     happy, Volodenka. This is what people do when they want to have children."
     "Will we have children?"
     "No, dear. You cannot have children yet. You will change when you get older, when you grow up to be a man."
     "How does one get to be a man?"
     "A boy is a man when he reaches the age of about thirteen. Until then, he can enjoy girls, but he cannot have children. You understand, Volodia, do not discuss this with anybody. It is not customary for a little boy and a grown woman to engage in this sort of thing. It is a pleasant experience that must remain private."
     Vera was quiet for a while—yawned and fell asleep with her arm still around me. I could not sleep; a storm was raging inside my brain. I relived every detail of the past event. Yes, it was pleasant . . . exciting, but also scary. I did not understand it, but felt that we did something that was wrong. This is what people do; for some reason they don't do it in the open. Nikolai Ivanovich and Gerta Petrovna were doing it when I was on the lookout for them. I remembered Marusia . . . she too did it in a different way, though. I wondered why this is such a deep secret. Everybody does it, knows about it, but doesn't talk about it. And now I too have experienced it. It was pleasant, sure, but not so much as to go to pieces over it, like Vera did. Maybe it is because I am not a "man" yet. This is one secret I will have to explore when the time comes. I still felt that what we did was wrong. This may be the reason for all this secrecy. Otherwise everybody would have been doing it in the open. The "it" that has happened (I had no name for it) somehow changed the relationship between Vera and me. She was now more than just a woman taking me home to my parents. We established a kinship ... a bond that was not there before. My body acquired added significance and purpose. To think that just by contact people and animals could propagate and have children was just excitingly simple . . .
* * *
     "It is time to get up, angel," Vera stood over me, waking me gently. "Get dressed and we will have breakfast. After that we will find a bath house and get a good scrubbing. in the afternoon. I will go out and explore the city by myself. We must make some money. I'll try to buy you some colors and paper so you will have something to amuse yourself with while I am gone."
     We ate a hurried breakfast and Vera started carrying out her plans for the day. My overcoat was heavier than usual with coins and jewelry in my inside pockets that Vera sewed in last night.
     The bath house looked very much like the ones in Velikye Luki and in Odessa, with the same system of buckets and steam room. I caught myself glancing sideways at the naked bodies of the women, Of particular interest to me was the hairy triangle made by the thighs and stomach. It seemed that everybody knew I was watching. Everybody was watching me, too. What a change last night's events made in my thinking and behavior. I became self-conscious and shielded myself by holding my bucket in front of me all the time. I was a different boy from the one I was the previous day. I thought that Vera, too, behaved differently. Somehow she seemed gentler and more attentive.
     I was completely absorbed with the events of last night. Vera constantly talked to me while she washed me, I did not hear or react to her—I was absorbed in my own thoughts . . . Vera led me by the hand as we walked slowly from the bath house. There were no drozhkas around. It was cloudy. The wind whirled scraps of paper and dry leaves in the air. The tree-lined street was almost devoid of people.
     "Why are you so quiet, Volodia?"
     "I am cold."
     "We will rush home and have some hot tea."
     Vera put me astride her neck, and with a quickened pace continued towards the hotel. Once there, we filled ourselves with hot tea and food. After Vera put things away, she left me lying on top of the bed with my clothes on. It was very cold in the room.
     I was thinking of my paternal grandfather, Hirshl. I could see him hunched over on his low tripod stool making wooden pegs to drive into the leather soles of boots.
     "Grandpa, why have they nicknamed you the Tzigel-ner?" I asked.
     "Because my grandfather, Nokhum Gutman, came to Varklian from a little town called Tzigelne. They had a kiln to fire bricks. If he were alive now he would be your great-great-grandfather.''
     "Had you known him?"
     "No. My father, Itze-Sholem, told me about him. Grandpa Nokhum was quite a man. He even received a gold medal from the tzar. There was a French king by the name of Napoleon who wanted to conquer Russia. So, he rounded up a big army and marched right into Russia. He went as far as Moskva and burned it to the ground. When winter came, the French could not cope with the freezing weather. Well, men and horses were dying like flies for lack of food and clothing. Napoleon gave an order for his army to retreat. By then, all the fields and roads were covered with deep snow and all the landmarks disappeared. The Frenchmen were forced to hire local people as guides. Your great-great-grandfather, Nokhum, and a peasant friend were hired as guides for the French army.
     There was not much love for the French among the peasantry, because the French requisitioned grain, horses, food, and sometimes burned their houses. So the local population did everything they could to hurt the Frenchmen.
     Nokhum and his peasant friend led several French Army contingents deep in the Russian forests, leaving them there to starve and freeze to death. At other times they led the French into ambushes of Cossacks to be slaughtered.
     After the war, your great-great-grandfather received a medal from the tzar for his deeds. It is enameled gold, in the form of a cross. He asked the rabbi if he could keep it. The rabbi gave him permission—but told him not to wear it or display it."
     "Stop telling the boy your stories and finish the boots you are working on," Grandma Bath-Sheba broke up the magic spell of story telling.
     Grandpa was a cobbler. He was well-known for the quality of his boots and had no shortage of customers. Only, he was slow and meticulous. Grandma accused him of being lazy. He did not produce enough boots to keep his family prosperous. He could just barely eke out a living for his five children: Ruvin-Getzel (Papa), Motl, Faivosh, Golda, and Meishl. He taught all of his children his trade. Papa, being the oldest, did get an education as was the custom. He was sent to Vilna. to study in, the Yeshiva. They only gave him train fare . . . However, some good Jewish citizens each fed the students one day a week. Papa called them the "eating days." Lucky was the student who had all seven eating days. If you did not, you went hungry that day.
     Papa used to tell a yeshiva student joke. "A yeshiva student was expressing his wish—if I were rich, I would buy a building with seven apartments. Then I would rent each apartment to a rich Jewish family. That would assure me of my seven eating days. ..."
     
XII
Kharkov - Lung Inflammation, Voronezh, Nadia
     My feet were very cold, but my head was hot, my eyes were burning and watering. I was cold and shivering. My hands were heavy and I did not have enough strength to pull the covers over me. At times when I dozed off, I saw a white goat that was butting my bed.
     Vera came in late. She came to my bed, took one look at me and exclaimed, "What is the matter, Volodenka?" She put her hand on my forehead and touched my feet, "You are burning up! I'll bring a bottle of hot water for your feet and a cold towel for your head. You must have caught a cold walking from the bath house."
     I could not say a thing, I was numb. Vera quickly appeared with a hot water bottle wrapped in a towel and put it under my feet. This felt real good. Vera wrung out a wet towel and put it on my head. This treatment brought relief and soon I fell asleep. A sharp pain in one side of my chest woke me up. Every time I took a breath, it felt as though I were being stuck with a needle. Vera was hovering over me. She saw the trouble I had breathing. Her face lost her smile and became serious. Again she touched my forehead. "We will have to get a doctor for you," and she ran out of the room.
     Soon an elderly woman came in the door. "Your mama went out for a doctor and asked me to stay with you till she returns. My name is Rosa."
     She sat down in a chair in front of the bed, folded her hands and watched me intently. Her face was pink, with a small, turned-up nose, hazel eyes, and white hair.
     I was taking short breaths to minimize the pain. My eyes were still burning and a noise was pounding in my ears.
     "Rosa, could you please pat another cold towel on my head? This one is dry. I also would like a drink of water." Talking was very difficult.
     "I will get you another cold water towel for your head, but I am afraid to give you water to drink. You will have to wait till your mother returns."
     The moist, cold towel on my head felt good, but my mouth was dry, like it was full of cotton. I tried to take deeper breaths, the pain inside was needle-sharp. Then I felt like something tore or burst inside my lungs, and I felt relief; I could breath easier, with less pain. I must have fallen asleep, When I opened my eyes again, I saw an old man bending over me. He wore pince-nez glasses. He was gently rousing me. Vera stood behind him.
     "Volodenka, darling, this is Doctor Zhivkin. He is going to make you well again."
     "Yes, you will be well again, just do what I tell you to do."
     The doctor shook a thermometer vigorously and placed it under my left arm. He took out a watch from his vest pocket, which was attached to a chain, pushed on the winding stem and the lid flipped open. He hunted for my pulse on my wrist and counted the beats while looking at his watch. After a short while he put my arm down, closed his watch with a snap and said "Hmm." Then he proceeded to tap my chest. He made me sit up and take deep breaths, while he listened through a black tube at various parts of my chest and back.
     "It hurts to breathe deep," I muttered.
     "I know it hurts. Just a few more times and we will be through," the doctor said.
     After examining my eyes, my mouth, throat, nose, and ears, he allowed me to lie down.
     "Inflammation of the lungs," the doctor pronounced. It probably was serious judging from Vera's expression, "There is not much we can do. Give him camomile tea to make him perspire and that will knock down the fever. Also give him ten drops of valerian essence to make him sleep. But first make a mustard plaster and put it on his back. Keep it there as long as he can stand it. Give him all the water he wants, only boil it first. Watch his fever. It is important to keep cold towels on his head; the fever can damage his brain. I'll come back in the morning. Let us hope for the best."
     "Thank you, doctor. Let's keep this boy alive, he is all I've got. How much do I have to pay you for your visit? I have a hundred in 'Nikolaiki' (tzarist money)."
     "That is no good, my dear. The tzar is dead and his money is just paper. Maybe you have a few products of some kind?"
     "How about half a pound of butter?"
     "That is much better. I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll take care of the boy till he is well."
     The doctor left happily carrying the little package of butter, Vera and Rosa were whispering by the door, then Vera went out. I closed my eyes and heard the pounding in my head and the wheezing sounds in my chest and pretty soon . . . nothing . . .
     I felt Vera gently turning me over on my stomach. I was not fully conscious, the pain in my chest had returned. I saw Vera holding a newspaper sheet, covered with a yellow goo - the mustard mix. She covered my entire back with it. It was cold at first, then gradually it burned my skin more and more till I could not stand it any longer. I begged Vera to take it off.
     "Just a little longer, dear. You heard what the doctor said, this will draw out your sickness and you will be well again.''
     When I began to cry, Vera remove the mustard plaster and washed my back. The burning ceased. My back was still hot but it did not hurt; it felt rather pleasant. I was forced to drink two cups of camomile tea with valerian drops. Finally, I was left alone and promptly went to sleep. I only vaguely recall what happened from then on. . . . Occasionally I saw Vera with red eyes hovering over me. The doctor and Rosa were applying cupping glasses, mustard plasters, compresses, and making me drink all kinds of bitter liquids.
     The pain was still there; it was something abstract, just a thing hanging in the air. On occasion, I woke semiconscious to find Grandma consoling me - "You'll grow up and be a big man, a big doctor, and people from all over the world will come to you to cure them. . . ." "Mama, oh Mama, why were you gone so long? I missed you so much. . . ." They would embrace me, kiss me, and it felt so good, then I would drop back into oblivion. . . .
     One day, I opened my eyes and gradually things became clearer and sharper. I heard Rosa talking to Vera in a low voice.
     ". . . No matter how long ago, the hurt over the death of my son is still there. It will never go away. When I worked in a military hospital last year, a young soldier was brought in ... just a kid. He had a wound in his thigh that smelled awful, The doctor lifted his sheet, took one look and pronounced—"gangrene." They amputated the poor boy's leg. For weeks after that the soldier was complaining that his big toe itched ... it itched so much that it was driving him crazy. Only there was no toe, there was no leg. . . it is the same with me. My boy has fallen somewhere, in Germany they say. I know he is gone and will never come back, but that big toe still itches, still itches. ..." She held on to her heart with one hand and wiped her tears with the other.
     "Oh no!" Vera exclaimed, "Not Volodenka, not Vo-lodenka!" And she ran to the corner where the ikon was hanging, dropped on her knees and started pleading: "Not Volodenka, God, don't let him die, don't let him die ... he is all I have; he is so young and innocent ... he has not sinned, I did . . . punish me. Let him live, he has suffered so much, let him live. ..."
     "I am not going to die," I spoke up in a clear voice. The pain was gone, the fog in my head had cleared. I was hungry.
     It was like a clap of thunder hitting the room. The two women, wide eyed, jumped up and rushed to my bed.
     "God has answered my prayers! Volodenka, darling, you are better," Vera shouted with tears gushing from her eyes. "You are going to be well. Rosa, Rosa, we have work to do. Would you like something to eat?" She touched my forehead, "The temperature is gone. For over two weeks you were a very sick boy. The doctor did not give me much hope for your recovery, but I prayed and God has answered me. I will go to church and light some candles."
     "I am hungry."
     "Of course you are hungry. You haven't eaten in two weeks except for a little broth that we were able to force down. Now let us start with a little bread and butter and sweet tea."
     "This sounds great. I also would like to get out of bed and dress."
     "Take it easy, my boy. You have been very sick for so long. You should be careful with the food. Don't eat too much, now. If you do, you may throw up."
     "Yes, Mama dear."
     "It is so good to hear you. Rosa, deary, go downstairs and bring up some kipyatok and we will make tea for everybody. We will celebrate. I will prepare the food in the meantime."
     I ate ravenously, but Vera would not allow more than one slice of bread and butter. I was still hungry after that.
     "I want to get up now."
     "Of course, dear. Your clothes are washed. I knew we would need them again, you did not disappoint me. We should consult the doctor."
     "Sure, Vera, go after him. I feel fine."
     "Watch him, Rosochka, I'll go for the doctor."
     It seemed like the doctor took a long time coming. Again, he gave me a thorough examination - this time with a smiling face.
     "I cannot find anything wrong with the boy. To keep him in bed would be a punishment. Don't take him outside though for another two or three days and then be sure to dress him warmly." The doctor tousled my hair playfully and left. When I tried to stand up to dress, the whole room started turning and swaying. I had to hold on to the bed to steady myself. When I looked in the mirror, I could hardly believe what I saw. I looked the way I did when I left the hospital in Petrograd, only now my face had a deathly pallor.
     With all the love and care that Vera showered on me, I eventually regained my health and I started thinking of home again. The images of my family that I had seen in my delirium were still fresh in my mind. An aching feelling enveloped me whenever I thought about them.
     "Maybe you could take me home now?"
     "Am I not good enough for you?" she threw me one of her reproachful looks. "Aren't you happy with me? Don't I take care of you? Who did not sleep nights when you were so sick? Who cried over you, prayed for you, sold everything I had to get you well? And now you want to leave me. No, my dear, now we must work hard to earn some money. Just think of all that I spent on you. You are going to help me earn it all back!"
     This was not the same Vera, the Vera who was solicitous, caring and loving. Her face turned hard, calculating, determined, I was surprised and disappointed. I did not say anything. This was not the time, I thought. It might take time, but someday there will be an opportunity to do something about it, and when it comes I'd better take it.
     We remained in Kharkow several weeks longer, Vera would disappear for hours at a time and return with various items for sale, and sometimes coin money. She did not confide in me how and what she did to earn these things. I was well-fed and cared for. Yes, we returned to our sex life that we had started before I became ill, but with less passion. I was well again. "Volodenka, I think we will have to move on in a few days. I cannot do any more business here."
     "Where will we go?" I asked with a spark of hope.
     "I think we will go to Voronezh where my mama's youngest sister lives. If we are nice to her, she will let us stay at her house with her and feed us. She used to have ducks, geese, and chickens and a full root cellar. We may rest there a while, so we both can gain a little weight."
     A couple of days later we packed and cleaned the room. Rosa came in; she patted me on the head. "You look much better, Volodenka. Your mamasha is taking good care of you. You sure gave us a big scare. By the way, Verochka, how are you going to pay me?"
     "We will have to come to some kind of an agreement. I can pay you in silver or products. How will it be if I give you ten silver rubles, a pound of yellow cheese and half a pound of butter?"
     "Good, if you add on one of those little sacks of salt."
     "I will not bargain with you, Rosochka. You were so nice to us throughout our ordeal with Volodia. We do appreciate it."
     They went on talking for a while till Vera announced that we were ready to leave. We started saying goodbyes. Rosa had tears in her eyes as she hugged me and gave me a wet kiss on the cheek. We made our way to the street and on to the railroad station where we made our home on a bench to wait for a tram. It was late evening when our train came to take us to our new destination. It was crowded in the train, but not as bad as when Mama left. Vera asked a lady to give up her upper berth "for a sick crippled boy," which she did willingly.
     After a while the train moved. It always appeared as though the station platform moved, street crossings, people, houses—moving faster and faster—rails changing all the time, until finally everything gave out and was replaced by darkness in the window, with only my own reflection in it. By then the passengers had settled down, conversing with their neighbors or napping. Vera was talking to two men on her bench below. I couldn't sleep. I was lying there on the berth looking up at the ceiling and memories of the past crowded in my mind. There was Professor Zoege von Manteuefel at the hospital, dressed in a light brown suit, a white vest, brown bowler, and white spats. Everybody bowed when they greeted him— "Guten Tag, Herr Professor"—and he would acknowledge with a nod of his head. ... I was on the operating table and Professor Manteufel came by - "We are going to straighten out your leg, mein Kleiner" - and walked off. People dressed in white and with face masks of gauze crowded around me, talking in subdued voices, signaling with their eyes. This was strange and mysterious. Somebody tied my hands with gauze to the sides of the table. They covered my face with a strainer covered with gauze. This whole procedure frightened me. I knew I was going to have an operation on my leg, like I had before in Riga by Doctor Tillo, but I did not remember anything like this —I was only three then. Now I was five years old. Mama heard that Professor Zoege von Manteufel was a great surgeon specialist in Dorpat and she took me to him. It was during the German occupation in 1916.
     Somebody was talking to me. "Do you know how to count?"
     "Sure I do."
     "Then count, beginning with one."
     I presumed they meant for me to count the solid wire rods in my mask. I counted, "one, two, three," and stopped.
     "Keep on counting," a voice said.
     "There are only three rods," I argued. By then I smelted a strong odor. The odor got stronger until it was choking me. I was frantic and started screaming, trying to pull my hands loose. I tore the bandage on one hand and must have hit somebody. Strong arms grabbed my hands and shoulders and subdued me. The odor became stronger all the time. I was in a panic and screamed in utter helplessness and terror. There was a pounding in my ears—somebody was plucking a musical string, loud at first, then gradually diminishing, dissipating into nothingness . . .
     "Volodia, Volodenka, wake up dear! You were having a nightmare, you were screaming."
     The feeling of terror persisted for a while, I was shaking, breaking out in a cold sweat, and breathing heavily. Gradually Vera's face came into focus and with it reality. I threw my arms round her neck, hugged her and cried. "There, there, my dear, Mama is with you. There is nothing to be afraid of."
     "Is there something wrong with the boy?" a voice from below inquired.
     "No, not really. The boy and I have gone through many terrible experiences that haunt him every so often."
     "Tsk, tsk, tsk."
     Vera patted me on the back and kissed me over and over again till I calmed down.
     "You had a nightmare, dear; it must have been really bad. Your screams were heart-rending, as though your life was in danger. You want to tell me about it? It will be easier if you do."
     "It was nothing. It was about an operation I had a long time ago."
     "It must not have been nothing. It must have been quite something—making such a big fuss. Try to forget it. You have Mama Vera with you. I'll protect you so that no harm will touch you."
     Vera climbed onto the berth, put her arm around me and we both went to sleep.
     We were on the train for the second day. My only entertainment was looking through the window, broken up by trips to the bathroom and irregular meals. The panorama in the window was shifting continuously—meadows, hills, valleys, rivers, forests, bridges, villages, and sometimes people. Everything was blanketed with smooth stretches of snow, occasionally broken by animal footprints. Sometimes a little town would swish by, with a single man, dressed in a sheepskin coat, waving a little green flag.
     "We are going to be in Voronezh in a couple of hours." Vera stood up from her bench below to talk to me. "We better eat now, get dressed, and be ready to detrain. They say it is terribly cold outside." She continued talking between bites of food, "You will like Voronezh; there are some good people there. My aunt's name is Nadia, Nadia Volkova. She is a school-teacher. Nadia inherited a little house with a large garden from her father. Everything is probably covered with snow. I am sure she salted some barrels of sauerkraut, pickles, and cranberries."
     "Where would she get salt, if it is so scarce?"
     "She is a Soviet employee, and they get a ration every month. She may even get more than the normal amount because she uses the salt to preserve food. She also has a cellar full of potatoes, apples, carrots, and a cold pantry full of chickens and sides of pork. We'll be sure to eat well."
     Vera kept up a continuous stream of talk while she packed, dressed me for the outside, and dressed herself. The train slowed down before coming to a stop. The passengers stood up and moved toward the doors, pushing their bundles and suitcases in front of them. Suddenly, the train came to a halt so that people fell shrieking and cursing on top of each other. There was the usual push to reach the platform of the station. The locomotive puffed contentedly as though resting after a job well done. We walked slowly through the station and stopped when we reached the outside. Vera put me astride her neck, picked up her bundles and started to walk.
     The air was cold and crisp, nipping my cheeks, Here and there we saw a Christinas tree in a window, The streets as well as the sidewalks were covered with trampled snow which made a squeaking noise as we walked. A few pedestrians, wrapped in their warm clothing, were still outdoors in the waning daylight. Only their eyes were exposed to the outside. A few sleds passed us; the horses had frost on their whiskers and blew steam from their nostrils. The leafless trees that lined the boulevards swayed gently in the breeze.
     We passed the center of the city. Bulbous church spires loomed skyward across the square. Vera did not slow down - she knew her way. Pretty soon we were on the outskirts of Voronezh, where we saw wooden houses with ample yards. Vera passed a few winding streets and stopped in front of a log cabin surrounded by a crudely made fence. She opened the creaking gate and we made our way through the snow-packed path to the door. She knocked. A dog barked inside the house. The door opened just a crack, then wider. A woman in her early forties ran out shouting. "Vera, Verochka! You finally remembered your aunt!"
     She flung herself at Vera and almost knocked me off my perch. It was a noisy reunion . . . Vera and Nadia were both crying and talking at the same time, while a big yellow dog was barking and running around in circles wagging her tail.
     "It is almost three years since I was here last."
     "Yes dear, when Papa died. You didn't stay very long."
     "Yes, it was right after my Borenka died, I wasn't much for visiting then. But now I am ready for a good long visit. I need a rest too."
     "Stay as long as you wish. Who is that good-looking boy way up there?"
     "This is Volodia. It is a long story, I'll tell you all about it later. Volodia, meet your Aunt Nadia, you will love her."
     Vera put me down on the ground. Nadia grabbed me immediately, lifting and hugging me and kissing me noisily.
     "Let's go in the house. You must be frozen through and through,"
     We entered a small living room. In the middle stood a round table surrounded by four Viennese chairs. There was a small sofa at one wall and a tall cabinet at the opposite end. Two overstuffed chairs stood at either side of the sofa. The floor was covered with a multi-colored rag rug. House plants crowded all three windowsills in the room. Pictures of landscapes and family portraits covered every empty spot of the walls. Nadia's home was spotlessly clean and pleasant to be in.
     We were still in our street clothes. Vera and Nadia were on their knees on the floor unpacking Vera's bundles and gabbing incessantly. I, too, was on the floor, making friends with the large yellow dog. She licked my face and held out her paw. I took it and stroked her head.
     "Her name is Shtuka," Nadia said, turning her head. Shtuka had light golden fur and floppy ears. She was bigger than I was. She liked it when I patted her and scratched her under her chin. As soon as I stopped she pushed her wet nose against my hand.
     "Vera, my toes and fingers hurt. They feel like needles pricking."
     "The boy has frostbite," Nadia exclaimed, and both women quickly got off the floor. "I know just what to do."
     Nadia grabbed a large kettle and ran out the door. She came back with the kettle packed with snow. They undressed me and Nadia rubbed my toes with snow, while Vera did the same to my fingers. It did not seem logical to me that frostbite can be cured with snow but who am I to argue? After a while, my extremities began to get pink, as life visibly returned to them. The pricking pain persisted for a while longer. Nadia then brought out a big jar of goose grease which she applied to my hands and feet and massaged them for some time. They left me sitting in my underwear on old newspapers while they returned to examining Vera's supplies. Shtuka, smelling the goose grease, licked me, tickling my toes so that I burst out laughing.
     "It is about time this house heard a child's laughter. We need a little merriment in here."
     "You are right, my dear Nadia, you should get married and have children of your own."
     "It is easy for you to say. Who would want to marry an old dried-out teacher when so many young girls and young widows are around? I missed my chance once and it is difficult to recapture it. You know how the song goes:
     "You cannot return, never, never, never What happened then, ever, ever, ever."
     "Chance knocks only once at your door ..." Nadia sighed and her face became sad and pensive. She stroked my short hair. "Verochka, it is good of you to have come here and to have brought Volodia. I think we should give Volodia a bath. From what you told me I gather that you haven't taken off your clothes for several nights. It won't hurt us all to have a bath also. Come help me drag the wooden tub from the porch into the kitchen. After the bath we can all eat and go to bed. I'll put some kettles of water on to boil."
     Both women brought a large wooden tub into the kitchen. Nadia put more wood in the stove, and put on water to boil. Then she brought in buckets filled with cold water which she mixed with the hot until it was the right temperature. By then, Vera had undressed me and she plunged me into the tub. It was too hot at first but then my body got used to it. It was pleasant.
     "Let me wash him. You can grant me this pleasure." Nadia was eager.
     "Sure, go ahead. I'll give you a piece of perfumed soap from my merchandise."
     Nadia was very thorough. "Not so hard," I complained.
     "Nadenka, children's skin is very tender. Just go gently with the sponge."
     "Sorry my boy, I'll be very gentle from now on."
     It felt good to sit in the hot tub and be tended by this thin, beautiful woman with her light blue eyes mat expressed warmth and tenderness. She made me stand up while she rinsed me off with fresh warm water. Then she dried me with a coarse linen towel. Nadia was particularly attentive to my genitals. She lingered over them longer than was necessary and thereby caused an erection. Her face reddened as she quickly turned me around to dry my back. This did not go unnoticed by Vera, Just a faint smile appeared on her face. Nadia put a night-shirt on me, wrapped me in a blanket, and sat me on a chair in the kitchen in front of the table.
     "Sit here, young man, and wait till Vera and I are through bathing, then we will have dinner."
     Both women crowded in the same tub, washing each other, and acting like small children—laughing and apparently having a good time. After a while the three of us were sitting in night clothes around the kitchen table and eating the Russian shchi with a big slice of black bread on the side. Shtuka wanted to participate and was standing around expectantly, until Nadia gave her a bone to chew on. Vera carried me to the living room after dinner and deposited me on the rug. Shtuka joined me and we played together until the games became too rough. Both the dog and I would roll on the floor after she knocked me down. We had a great time. Nadia and Vera were in the kitchen washing the dishes and talking. I could not hear what they were saying. Then both of them appeared. Vera clapped her hands to break up the wild game I was having with Shtuka.
     "Bed time, bed time, Volodenka. Why don't you sleep with aunt Nadia tonight. I will rest by myself."
     "I don't mind sleeping with a handsome man like you, Volodenka." Nadia picked me up and carried me to her bedroom.
     It was a small room with a large bed piled high with comforters and three thick pillows with embroidered pillow cases. An ikon adorned the wall at the head of the bed. White curtains covered the window. Several house plants lined the windowsill. The other two walls had one picture each.
     Nadia pulled back the comforter to reveal coarse linen sheets. She lifted me up high in the air and dropped me down playfully on the bed. I sank down in the soft mattress. We both laughed loudly.
     "There you are. I think you will be comfortable here. I, too, will get ready for bed."
     Nadia turned out the light and walked out without closing the door. I could hear Nadia and Vera whispering, then break out into muffled laughter. I was warm and comfortable. It did not take long to fall asleep after the busy day.
     It was Nadia's pulling back the covers that woke me up. By the faint blue starlight, coming in through the window, I could see the outline of Nadia's beautiful naked body getting under the cover. She lay down beside me on her back for a moment breathing heavily. Placing her arm around me, she pulled me close to her and kissed me on the lips; she held me tightly, kissing me over my whole body. Then she took my hands and put them over her breasts,
     "Aren't they pretty?" she whispered. "You can play with them if you wish."
     Her breasts were smaller than Vera's but well-formed and felt nice to the touch. Nadia apparently delighted in my stroking and playing with them. She hesitated in apparent indecision, then her hand pulled back my undershirt and wandered to my limp penis. She fondled it till an erection was accomplished, then rolled me over on top of her. Her breathing became more vigorous as her excitement grew. She opened herself up to me and put her legs around me, becoming very excited. After a relatively short time she tensed—squeezing me tightly. She had had enough. She lay back—motionless now, but still holding me in her tight embrace between her legs. I had to nudge her to release me.
     "Forgive me, Volodenka, for being so brutal. I could not control myself. My emotions overpowered me, This is because I have not been with a man in such a long time, I promise to be more gentle next time, if there is to be a next time. You were very nice and considerate with your Aunt Nadia. I will always remember that you gave me a few moments of happiness that I stole from you—happiness that I will treasure the rest of my life."
     Nadia went on whispering in my ear for some time, still embracing me but gentler now. Neither one of us could sleep for a long time.
     Nadia's squirming in bed woke me up. The gray of the morning appeared in the window. I felt Nadia's soft body touching my back, as I was, fetus-like, cradled between her arms and legs. I was comfortable, warm, and felt safe and protected.
     "Volodenka, dear, can we do it again ... a little more? . . . who knows if or when Vera will let me sleep with you again? Please, darling, do me this favor. I am a very lonely woman and few good things come my way."
     She was whispering in my ear and caressing me all over my body. I did not resist. She rolled me on top of her again as she did last night. This time Nadia was more relaxed, without the anxieties that plagued her before. Her motions were deliberate and calculating for greater sensuality. After a time, Nadia went into a state of ecstasy; she tightened, as though being jolted two or three times, then gradually relaxed into utter limpness as all motion stopped. She still breathed hard, her eyes closed, her arms thrown back above her head, but holding me with her legs, unwilling to release me.
     "This moment will stay with me the rest of my life," she whispered in my ear as we separated. "This was an experience I will cherish for ever. I felt it so deeply, so absorbingly, that I wanted to scream like a wild beast. I wonder if other people feel the same way. I know you are not grown and not yet physically developed to feel as much or even to understand such things. When you grow up, you will learn and realize what we just did and how one can feel about it. You will learn the secrets of life which can bring infinite happiness but sometimes sorrow and distress . ."
     
XIII
Shtuka; Geese
     Vera was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. She was frying black bread with sliced onions in pork fat. It smelled heavenly on an empty stomach.
     "Well, did you enjoy sleeping with Aunt Nadia?" Vera asked me with a sly smile.
     I blushed, looked away, and did not answer. Vera knew! It was all put up. That was what all the whispering was about. And those giggles outside the bedroom door last night, I fett as though Vera had sold me to Nadia like I was a piece of merchandise. I was deeply hurt. Now it came back to me what she said on two different occasions. Once she said that I would have to work and help her to make up the expenses I incurred when I was sick. Another time she said that if we were nice to Nadia she would let us stay with her. It all fit, I was being "nice" to Nadia and I was "working" and helping to make up Vera's losses.
     Both women chattered incessantly all through breakfast. I did not pay much attention, I was absorbed in my own thoughts. Here I was, the captive of the two women. Even if I had enough to eat and was protected and safe, this did not solve my desire to return to my family. How am I going to tear myself loose from Vera, the impostor, and return to my real mother? I would have to find a friend in whom I could confide and ask him to tell the militia about my situation. Who would believe me, an eight-year-old kid? Perhaps, God would help me—could perform a miracle. Would He? After all the crosses I made on myself . . . He understands ... in the meantime I must act happy and contented . . . not give myself away. I must keep Vera's confidence; she must not suspect me of wanting to leave her, otherwise, she might become suspicious.
     "Why are you so quiet, Volodenka?" Nadia turned to me. "Of course you are bored, listening to us blabbing all the time. I have a surprise for you. How would you like to go outside and feed the geese in the back yard?"
     "Sure."
     "Dress warmly and make friends with the geese. They will help us celebrate our Christmas."
     Nadia led me by the hand through the back door. We went down the back porch steps onto a trodden path in the snow. We passed a shed behind which there was an enclosure. Nadia handed me a kettle filled with cooked peas. "Volodia, go through the gate and make friends with the geese."
     "Where are they? I don't see any geese."
     "They are in that little shed. When they hear you, they'll come out readily. I have to leave right away. Today is the last day of school before the Christmas holidays. Goodbye, dear, have a good time with the geese."
     "Goodbye, and thank you."
     I did as I was told. When I was closing the gate, a goose appeared from the shed. I noticed right away that it was a gander by the knob on his head. I was used to geese from home; Grandpa always kept geese in winter. The gander honked very loudly, stretching out his neck and making a hissing noise as he approached me, threatening to nip me. I sat down on an overturned wooden box and held out the container of cooked peas. This pacified him as he gobbled them. As he did so I patted him on the head. He emitted a few loud, cheerful honks and four other geese joined him. The geese surrounded me, pulling on my sleeve for attention.
     The geese ate noisily, "talking" and lifting their long necks to help the food go down. I patted them while they were eating. They were apparently used to human beings and did not shy away. The gander was bossy with the other geese. He lingered while the others left, after the food ran out. He stretched his neck, nipping me gently on my cheek. I kept on patting him; he jumped on my lap "kissing" me all over my face and neck. We both were enjoying each other's caresses and attention.
     Meanwhile, Shtuka was barking outside the fence-apparently jealous of my attention to the gander. I tried to make a snowball to throw at her but the snow was too powdery. Finally, I let the gander go and went to the gate where Shtuka, elated, ran back and forth in anticipation of my coining out. No sooner had I closed the gate, than she jumped on me and knocked me down. Now we were both rolling in the fluffy snow. She barked and I laughed and giggled. This exercise made me warm all over; even my paralyzed leg felt warm. All anxieties and worries were gone for the time being, A feeling of exhilaration took hold of me, till I heard Vera's voice calling.
     "It is time to come in the house, dear, you may get chilled. Well, did you have a good time? You were out there for almost two hours."
     "Yes, I made friends with the geese. Shtuka was jealous, so I played with her too. We all had fun,"
     "I am glad you enjoyed yourself," she said when we came in the house. "My, your cheeks are so pink . . . hot and wet, too. Let's get you out of those wet clothes, then you can eat."
     I was very hungry and gulped hot cabbage soup just short of burning myself.
     "I have to go away. I'll bring in Shtuka to keep you company. Aunt Nadia will be back in a couple of hours, I will be back in the evening. If you get hungry, you know where the bread and lard are. I want to find out what goes on in this city - if we can do some business here. Then we will know how long to stay."
     I was alone with Shtuka, She did not let me get bored, As a matter of fact, she did not give me one minute of peace. She and I played like two children until both of us grew tired, then Shtuka curled up in my lap and we both took a nap on the floor. I was hungry when I woke up, I did as Vera told me. I shared my bread and lard with Shtuka, Our play after that was of a quieter nature. We were both on the floor, I confided in the dog about my wanting to go home to my family, about being a captive.
     She looked in my eyes as though she understood. "Vo-lodenka, darling, I am back! I don't have to go back to school for many days," Nadia came in with a rush of motion and talk. "Where is Vera? Are you all by yourself?"
     "Vera said that she was going to the city and will be back in the evening."
     "What did you do all day?"
     I told Nadia how I spent the day.
     "You did a lot of playing. How would you like me to read you a story?"
     "That would be great. I know how to read, but not too good."
     "Let's see how well you read."
     Nadia brought out a few children's books. I read slowly, but when I finished the story, Nadia exclaimed, "You read very well . . . perhaps too slowly, but accurate."
     "Now it is your turn, Aunt Nadia."
     "Come and sit on my lap! I will tell you a Russian legend."
* * *
     Once there lived a Russian farm boy by the name of Ilya Murometz. He was tall and very strong. A wise man came to him one day and handed him a chalice with a potion, saying—"Here, Ilya, drink this and it will make you very strong, stronger than you have ever been, stronger than any man alive."
     Ilya drank the potion, shuddered, and stretched his muscles.
     "How strong are you?" the wise man asked.
     "I feel so strong, that if the earth and moon were connected with a shaft, I could seize the shaft and twist it around so that the earth would be on top and the moon on the bottom."
     "This is too much strength for any man to possess," said the wise man, and he mixed another potion and handed it to Ilya to drink. "How strong do you feel now?" the wise man asked.
     "I feel strong enough to pull out an old oak tree by its roots." replied Ilya.
     "Ho, ho, this is about right!" the wise man exclaimed. "Now you will be prepared to fight and protect Mother Russia.''
* * *
     I liked stories about strong, powerful men. I never tired of hearing stories of King David, Samson, Judas Maccabi, Bar-Kokhba, and others. When the story ended, I turned around and gave Nadia a hug and kissed her. She was visibly moved by my emotion. She also gave me a tight hug and a kiss. Then after a moment's hesitation, she said:
     "Why don't we enjoy ourselves, while Vera is gone."
     "All right, what do we do?"
     "Come with me, I'll show you."
     She carried me to her bedroom. She stretched out on the bed and we repeated what took place the previous night.
     "Volodenka, please don't tell this to Vera. She may not approve of my doing it so often, but I just couldn't help myself. When you sat on my lap, you aroused me. Then when you kissed me, the devil took hold of me and I just couldn't control myself anymore. You really are a boy made of gold. You brought me so much happiness that I haven't had in years."
     We went to the living room. Nadia sat in a chair by the window, watching the pink clouds painted by the setting sun. She looked sad, deep in thought. I was looking at pictures in the books we read a while ago.
     "Day after tomorrow is Christmas, and we don't even have a tree," Nadia said pensively, still looking through the window. "We always used to have a tree and presents. Grandpa Frost would come by in a sled with a troika-bells tinkling and the sled fall of presents . . . Mama and my older sister would cook and bake all through the night, stuffed goose, kulebianki, pirozhki, bublichki, kulichi . . . now everybody is gone, either dead or spread out all over Russia. I am the only one left to keep a home for the others when they return . . .
     "Nobody goes to church anymore. The batiushka (father, priest) has to go begging for a meal, and people make fun of him. The old ways are gone; perhaps, never to return. War, revolution, disorder, chaos, followed oae another. We are like a ship caught in a storm without a rudder - without direction, without any control of our destiny. And I, what am I, but a little speck of dust caught in the universal swirl like a dry leaf in the wind , , , like a dry leaf in the wind. ..."
     Still peering through the window, Nadia went on talking almost to herself. I also felt the uncertainties of the time. My world, too, was crumbling. There was nothing to hold on to. "... Like a dry leaf in the wind . . . like a dry leaf in the wind . . ."—Madia's words echoed in my mind. My family, always my tower of strength, was gradually disappearing and was being replaced by Vera. Vera was good to me most of the time, but sometimes her actions were contrary to her words. Without hesitation she would lie and cheat . . . without remorse or pangs of conscience. Her behavior made me come to the conclusion that she would be nice to me as long as I was useful to her. She would not hesitate to discard me when I had outlived my usefulness or somehow got in the way of her plans. I must find a way to free myself from her before this happenend. But who would believe a little kid? Vera could out-talk, out-cheat, out-He anybody. What chance would I have? I would have to hold on to my memories of my family, of my home, and wait for the opportune moment to break loose. For the time being, I must play along and make myself useful, be unobtrusive, not complain, and pretend to be happy. After all, I had enough to eat, and that was not a little thing. To be sure, I was being sexually exploited, but that was the price I had to pay while in this predicament.
     It was dark in the room. Only bluish starlight was coming in through the window. Shtuka lay quietly at my feet while I patted her. Nadia's silhouette moved.
     "Let's turn on some light and fix supper. Vera will probably be here soon."
     Nadia busied herself in the kitchen while I went back to the books—much to the dislike of Shtuka. Vera came through the door with a gust of cold air.
     "Only dogs and wolves can stay out in this weather. What are you fixing, Nadenka?"
     "Something special for Volodia, If you are a nice girl you may have some too. I am making a herring stew with onions and potatoes. It calls for cream thickener, but I will use water and flour instead. There is no milk and no cream, unless I milk the geese. . . . Thank God for the extra rations. With my supplies in the cellar, I can make out pretty well."
     "How do the people without government jobs make out?" Vera asked. "I'll tell you how. They lie, cheat—do everything against the law to keep themselves alive. When they catch you , . . (she pointed a finger to her head). Better this way than dying from hunger. There are the Bolsheviki, the Mensheviki, and three or four White armies fighting each other. On top of that, bands of marauding deserters raid the towns and villages. Volodia and I just barely missed being killed by one of these bands. It was lucky we were sleeping in a hay loft. They didn't know we were there."
     "I'll tell you a secret, Verochka, I kind of miss the old times. We did not have much, but we have even less now. As a matter of fact, I don't even know whether we are entitled to have anything. Some say that one cannot own private property ... It used to be so romantic to have the tzar with his family, with alt the pomp and ceremony. Now everything is drab - every day the same. It is a pity they shot them."
     "Pity the devil! He is the one that started this mess. He had to satisfy his ambition and play war with Russian lives."
     "It was Queen Alexandra that put him up to it—she and her lover, Rasputin, were pulling the strings. It was nice before it all started. . . You remember Papa? He used to come home dirty and tired from the railroad yard on Saturday. He would bathe and put on his good Sunday clothes for Church the next day. Before dinner, he'd sit in the living room in his big chair, and Mama would bring him the Russkoye Slovo newspaper. Papa could barely read . . . just the headlines. Papa's idea of luxury for the week was a newspaper every Saturday evening. Ceremoniously, he would stuff his pipe, light it, blow smoke and take out his spectacles. We, little ones, were to sit quietly on the floor and listen. Then the reading would begin, slowly, letter by letter. 'U-B-I-L-I . . . hey, Natasha Al-exeyevna, listen to this!'
     'What is it?' Mother would shout from the kitchen.
     'It says here in the paper that they killed someone,' then Papa would read on. 'M-I-N-I-S-T-R-A, listen Natasha, they killed a minister, a minister!'
     'Times are bad, people become desperate,' was Mama's reaction.
     'V-I-T-T-E', they killed minister, Vitte! Natasha, you hear? They killed the minister Vitte!'
     'Yes, I hear. It will come to no good.'
     "A newspaper every week was too expensive for mother." Nadia continued. "She would fold up the one from last week and hand it to Papa. He never knew the difference and a similar scene was repeated the following Saturday. 'U-B-I-L-I . . . Natasha, you hear, there was another killing! U-B-I-L-I M-I-N-I-S-T-R-A. Natasha, they killed another minister! ..." After a few headlines papa's eyelids would droop and he would nap until dinner time. Gone are those days - never to return. There used to be something solid to hold on to ... something to be sure of. One felt safe and secure."
     "Don't forget, my dear, we too have changed. You were safe and secure because your father had provided for you. What if he had lost his job, yes, what then?" Vera insisted. "Did he have money saved to tide him over? No! It took a lifetime of work for your father to build this house and mother to have a garden when he died. We, their children, did not know how hard it was for our parents to eke out a living, how unsure they were of their jobs, how unsure they were of tomorrow."
     "I think this young man ought to go to bed," Nadia said after dinner.
     "Right you are, my dear Nadia." And off to bed I went.
     Something was going on in the house. I had a hard time waking up. There was a light in the kitchen and I could hear Vera's and Nadia's voices. I tried to listen but could not make out anything. I got down on the floor and crawled to the kitchen. They noticed me immediately,
     "Oh, Volodenka, we woke you up."
     "What happened? What are you doing with all those feathers?"
     "Burglars!" Nadia cried out. "I heard Shtuka barking and the geese honking, so I ran out to investigate." Nadia was brushing feathers out of her hair. "I saw two boys by the shed. When they saw me they ran away. They took one goose with them though."
     "Which one?" I eagerly inquired.
     "The gander," Nadia said. He was in front probably, protecting his family. We decided to kill the rest and freeze them. So we will not have to worry about burglars any more.
     Tears came to my eyes, "The gander was my friend." "Nothing we can do about it now," Nadia said. "We were going to kill them anyway to have a goose for Christmas, So it happened one day earlier. Don't be sad about it"
     "Here's a goose to pluck," Vera consoled me, "Just pull out the feathers and put them in this basket. The down we will remove later. Do not pluck the wing feathers. Aunt Nadia cuts off the wings, with the feathers, and uses them for dusters."
     The grief of losing a dear friend eventually subsided as
     I plucked away on my goose.
     "Continue, Nadenka," Vera said. "Tell me more about Vasia."
     "Where was I? Yes, so he asked me to go fishing with him. I went. What could I lose - my virginity? I was already thirty-five. I don't have to tell you that there wasn't much fishing done on that trip. He had a small rowboat. We were just gliding along with the stream. Then he tied the boat up at a wooded shore. We found a secluded spot and I spread out the food that I had brought along. Vasia had a bottle of vodka. We ate and drank, then Vasia started exploring me as though he had never been with a girl before, I let him. We went on many 'fishing trips' like this one until I got pregnant. Vasia was soon drafted and went off to the Japanese war. He never came back . . . Here I was carrying his child, a bastard. You know how the folks felt about this sort of thing, I didn't care. This was the only thing Vasia left me. He was a nice spunky boy . . . looked just like Vasia, For a while I lost all my friends . . . nobody would talk to me. I didn't care, I had my little Vasia and I spoiled him. When he grew up, he ran off and joined the Communist Party. He was going to build a better future for Russia . . ."
     After I finished plucking my goose I went back to bed. The geese became alive again in my sleep; they were all around me, pecking at me, loving me . . .
     
XIV
Christmas, a Sleigh Ride; Goodbye, Voronezh
     Vera and Nadia were still fussing with the geese when I got up in the morning. They were cutting up the grease mantles in about one-inch squares and dropping them in a hot kettle.
     "Ah, here is Volodenka," Nadia greeted me. "I have a surprise for your breakfast." With, that, she dropped a slice of black bread into the boiling grease and when it browned, placed it on a plate. She spooned out a few cracklings, put them on the bread and sprinkled it with salt. It tasted heavenly.
     "Can I have another one, please?"
     "Sure, my golden boy."
     As I was eating my second slice I noticed the four geese hanging by their bound feet on hooks from the ceiling. They looked pathetic with their heads cut off, the skin removed, the bellies open and empty. There were separate dishes containing livers, gizzards, and wings.
     "Get washed and dressed so that you can go outside and feed the entrails to the crows. That should be fun for you."
     "I can do that, Aunt Nadia."
     "Then let's do it right away."
     Nadia washed and dressed me quickly and I was in the yard in no time with a kettle full of viscera. Shtuka was beside me. "There are lots of crows watching you, but you cannot see them. Just throw out a piece of gut and see what happens."
     I did not see any crows, but I did as Nadia told me to do. Crows started flying in from everywhere; it was miraculous.
     "The crows sit high in the trees, Nadia explained. They watch what is going on all around them with their very sharp vision. When they see something unusual going on they come to investigate. They are used to people throwing out scraps of food for them. They clean up the garbage and everybody is happy,"
     Nadia left. There were swarms of crows fighting among themselves for every scrap of food. I was dishing out small amounts to prolong the fun. Shtuka was barking at the birds but stayed near me. After the kettle was empty, the birds flew to the roof and after a few "crraah-crraahs" disappeared from sight. Shtuka and I played in the snow till I was called back in the house.
     "Here are a couple of books for you to read, Vo-lodenka. You should practice reading. Verochka, we have to think of the boy's schooling. Why don't you leave him with me for the winter? I will take him to school. I promise I'll feed him everyday and educate him, too."
     "It is still time enough for him to get educated but I'll keep your suggestion in mind."
     I was reading the books Nadia gave me while the women were busy in the kitchen preparing tomorrow's Christmas dinner. Nadia left the house for a while and came back with a very small Christmas tree and a few small packages. In the evening we sang some songs. Nadia accompanied us on the mandolin. The little Christmas tree stood in a corner with no ornaments. Three little packages tied with red woolen threads rested at the bottom of the tree. All of us were tired after a busy day. We had hot tea mixed with honey, and goose cracklings with bread, which was our dinner. After a few yawns, we all went to bed. I stayed with Vera; there were no "extra demands" on me that night.
     There was a festive mood next morning at the table as we ate breakfast.
     "I think we should take Volodia to church," Nadia said.
     Vera consented without much enthusiasm,
     I was scared but did not dare to express my misgivings. I did not know if Vera told her that I was Jewish . . . she must have known, though . . . they were sure to put the sign of the cross on me. I was fearful of this; it seemed to me that this would convert me to Christianity, That I would not do. I decided that when the priest made the cross on me, I would close my eyes and it wouldn't matter.
     It was a small, gray, wooden church with a bulbous steeple topped with a cross. There were few people. The communists must have frightened them away. There was talk that one could lose his job and privileges by going to church.
     The chants were nice. The priest, dressed in clothes embroidered with gold, with two little boys on either side of him, went around with a golden container that emitted a peculiar-smelling smoke. He made the sign of the cross on the whole congregation, and not on each individual as I had feared. The services ended quickly. Vera and Nadia held me by my hands to keep me from slipping on the icy snow. We walked all the way home. It wasn't very far.
     Vera and Nadia immediately got into action. They covered the table with a white linen table cloth and arranged white plates and cutlery at each plate as well as the presents. I was filled with anticipation and impatient to see what was in my package. Nadia took out a green bottle and three glasses from the corner bureau.
     "I think Volodia can have some vishniovka for Christmas. ''
     "Ask him if he likes it first."
     "I like it." I knew what it was. It was similar to the cherry brandy that Grandpa made back home. I was careful not to mention my home. I still did not know what Nadia knew about my relationship with Vera. Nadia poured the clear red liquid into the three glasses and handed one to each of us.
     "Let us drink to the end of the revolution and for a little peace and quiet on this earth," Nadia said lifting up her glass in a toast. We toasted each other.
     The vishniovka was as strong as Grandpa's but did not have the syrupy sweetness and thickness that made Grandpa's brandy so smooth.
     "Now let's open the presents," Nadia suggested.
     Finally, we got to the important thing! Grownups have a way of delaying such matters ... I pulled the red wool bow of my package and unwrapped the newspaper. After removing one layer after another, at the bottom was a harmonica with shiny metal covers. I immediately began playing the scale back and forth,
     "Aren't you going to say, 'thank you' to Aunt Nadia?"
     "Thank you, Aunt Nadia. I guess I was too excited and forgot It's great but I cannot play a tune yet."
     "I'll teach you, Volodenka. I teach the children in school too."
     Vera unwrapped a red silk kerchief, her present from Nadia. She folded it into a triangle and wrapped it around her head.
     "It goes well with your hair and face,"
     "Thank you, Nadenka. Now open yours,"
     Nadia unwrapped a silver pin. It was a combination of a cross, an anchor, and a heart. This signified Faith, Hope, and Love and was very popular at that time. I have seen it worn by many people in Petrograd, as rings, pendants, and brooches.
     "Thank you, Verochka. I did need a new piece of jewelry to brighten up my clothes . . . now we'll eat!"
     I was busy picking out a tune on my harmonica and was only stopped when Nadia carried in a whole browned goose to the table on a big platter.
     "I cooked it overnight in a sealed oven which gives it a good baked-in flavor," Nadia said while scooping out the bread and apple dressing and carving up the goose in manageable portions. With it, she served sweet-and-sour cabbage, raw carrots, and yellow rutabaga slices. Nadia crossed herself, said a prayer and we began our meal.
     I hadn't seen such a feast since I left home in Varklian. I briefly remembered that only yesterday I was patting the goose we were eating now.
     "I am very fortunate to live outside the city and have this little garden where I can plant seeds in the summer and store up food for winter. People are dying of hunger all over Russia."
     "My dear Nadia, I have seen it first-hand. You should have seen Volodia—what he looked like a few weeks ago. Thank God he has filled out—his arms and legs don't look like matchsticks anymore, I have seen the bands of the 'bezprizornie' running in the streets at night, attacking man and beast for food. Here and there the frozen body of a little child, with unmoving eyes staring at you. It breaks your heart at first, then when you see so much of it, you become hardened. All you can do is shake your fist at the sky. Yes, deary, you have many blessings, and thank you for sharing them with Volodia and me."
     "I am glad to do it, Verochka. You and Volodia have brought a lot of happiness and cheer into this house, which I have not enjoyed in a long time. I hope you can stay a while longer after the holidays."
     "Thank you, dear, but we will have to leave after the first of the year. We must make some money to live on."
     After dinner I went outside to play with Shtuka while the women cleaned the kitchen. Nadia joined me after a while. She brushed off the snow from my clothes.
     "We are planning to go to the city and have a sleigh ride. Would you like to go with us or would you rather play with Shtuka?" She was obviously joking.
     "I'll go on the sleigh ride and you play with Shtuka."
     We both laughed. Nadia picked me up, gave me a big hug and kiss and ran with me to the house. Vera was ready to leave and was waiting for us at the front door.
     We walked for several blocks. It was a cold, overcast day with a gentle wind. Walking made me feel warm. Very few people were on the streets. All the stores were shuttered. Soon we arrived at a place where there were several horse-drawn sleighs lined up at the curb. We rented one, made ourselves comfortable on the cushions, and away we went, with the sleigh bells tinkling. The driver sat on a high perch in front of us. The horse ran quietly through the packed snow. The rush of air, created by the motion, bit my cheeks and made my eyes water.
     Every once in a while the sleigh would skid and the women had to hold on to the side handles. They screamed with delight with every skid and shook with laughter afterwards. It was really a lot of fun; we spent most of our time laughing and shouting to each other how pleasant it was. Vera shouted to the driver to turn around, but he did not hear her. She unhitched the leather apron and stood up to touch the driver. At that moment the sleigh lurched and Vera fell out onto the street. Nadia and I yelled at the driver to stop. He finally heard us and turned around.
     "You lost your best-paying customer," Nadia said. "You'd better pick her up if you want to get paid."
     "Sorry, Citizens, I am hard of hearing." He drove slowly towards Vera who was still sitting in the snow, laughing with tears running down her cheeks.
     "Anything broken?" Nadia inquired,
     "I landed on my big ass. Luckily there are no bones." Vera was still laughing. And to the driver she said, "Turn around and take us home. I think we have had enough fun for one day."
     Vera climbed back into the sleigh. Nadia gave directions to the driver. The return trip was slower and not as much fun,
     "Well, did you enjoy the ride?" Nadia asked me while taking off my heavy street clothes.
     "Yeees, I could have ridden some more. This was a lot of fun."
     "Hard to satisfy you, young man. We will ride another day."
     "Thank you, Aunt Nadia,"
     "You ought to be going to school, Volodia. I hope Vera settles down somewhere pretty soon so that you can go to school."
     This was a shock to me. So Vera was going to keep me? She did not tell Nadia who I was or where I came from? All the fun, the food, the care, yes, and the love shown me by these two women evaporated with the thought that I might never see my home, my family, again. I stood there absorbed in my own thoughts. I was hurt.
     "What is the matter, Volodenka? Don't you like school? You have to get educated, my dear, so you can become a great man, for us to be proud of you."
     "You are right. Aunt Nadia," I finally found my tongue again. "Mama . . ." I started saying, "Mama says the same thing," but did not finish the sentence and started crying.
     "Forgive me, Volodenka, I did not mean to upset you, Your leg is not a hindrance to learning. You can be the greatest man in Russia. Your head is good and you are smart. I wish Vera would leave you with me for a while so I could teach you and take care of you."
     "I would like to lie down. I don't feel too good." My spirits were very low. I wanted to be by myself to think out my situation—to find a way out.
     "All right my dear, go and lie down, rest up and you will feel better. Vera, Volodia does not feel well. He needs a rest. I'll put him down in my bed."
     "What is the matter, Volodenka?" Vera came running from the kitchen. She put her hand on my forehead. "No, no fever. Don't scare me like that. Does anything hurt?"
     "No, nothing hurts. I just want to lie down and rest. Maybe warm up a little bit."
     "Nadenka, put him to bed and take care of him."
     "Come, young man, you are going to have a nap, Mama said so."
     Nadia took me to her bedroom, took off my shoes and put me on top of the blankets on the bed. She started tickling me to make me laugh but I pushed her away. I guess she understood that I wanted to be alone, that something was bothering me. Nadia walked out and closed the door behind her.
     I faced the reality of my condition. I came to the conclusion that all the food, entertainment, and comforts were less important than returning to my family. I felt like a prisoner but had to keep it quiet; I could not share these thoughts with anyone. I had to put on an act. I shed bitter tears. Why, why does God punish me so much? Was it not enough that He made me a cripple? What was to become of me? I might drop out of a train and get killed. ... So then what? Who cared? . . . There must be a solution. After all, there was my very own family who cared for me. I must bide my time; some day an opportunity would present itself. God had not abandoned me. Perhaps, He was teaching me a lesson. I could stop the first militiaman at a station and tell him all about myself, about how Vera refused to take me to my home as she was supposed to do—that I was not her son, that my parents lived in Varklian. . . . Who would believe an eight-year old-kid against Vera. Vera, the most experienced liar, actress, story teller? I knew! When I told the militiaman about me, I must also tell him about Vera being a speculator. I could show him the things that were stashed away in my special pockets, then he would believe me. That would do it! It would be a dirty trick but that would do it! Yes, yes, that would do it! I had the answer, the solution for my troubles. I would tell the militiaman everything, E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G!
     I felt better. For the time being, I would play my part, I would not even mention "home." I would act as though I forgot about home, I would act "happy." Then, at the right moment . . . when would that be? How would I know? An angel from God will tell me. Like He pushed Moses' hand away from the gold towards the hot coals. I had to be careful not to give myself away. I must have her full confidence; I thought I already had it, I must stay calm and not make a fuss.
     I must have fallen asleep. Vera was standing over me, testing my temperature with her hand on my forehead.
     "You feel all right, Volodenka?"
     "Yes, Mamashenka, I feel fine." Was I overdoing it?
     "Good, Goldie, I was a little worried about you, the way you acted this afternoon. The ride in the sleigh must have been too tiring for you. In the future we will be more careful. Aunt Nadia wanted to be nice to you."
     "I am hungry."
     "This is not new. Come, dear, we will find some goose leftovers." She picked me up and carried me to the dining room. "Nadia dear, this young man is hungry. Can we find a few crumbs of bread for him?"
     Nadia came in with a book in her hand. "By all means, let's feed him, maybe we can spare a little cold water, too." Nadia continued in the same vein. The two women fixed dinner, while I sat at the table waiting patiently. Even though the dinner was cold, it was tasty. For a while we ate in silence. Then Nadia put down her knife and fork, looked at us, unsure how to begin. "I was just thinking, why don't you leave Volodia with me for this school term. You can go about the country doing your business. I will take care of him like his own mother."
     "Like his own mother?" Vera repeated questioningly. "No my dear, we appreciate your offer, but Volodia has to stay with me for personal as well as business reasons. Besides, one of these days, I will have to find his family." She gave me a very meaningful look.
     I was not listening anymore. So Vera did tell Nadia everything. They were just using me as a plaything. They intend to make me pay back everything that was given to me. They were both out for their own ends. At least Vera was thinking of taking me home, "one of these days" . . . No, she cannot take me home and she knows it. She would be arrested and punished when the truth came out. She would abandon me to fend for myself, somewhere, far away, so that she could not be traced and found.
     That night I slept with Vera. We engaged in our "game." I was passive but cooperative. She enjoyed herself.
     The next few days until the New Year were uneventful. I ate all I could. I slept alternately with Vera and Nadia. Nadia read Aesop's Fables, translated into Russian by Krilov, to keep me from being bored. After each fable we discussed the moral lesson to be learned. I could not understand how a person could preach morality when she could be so evil. Nadia was attentive, sensitive, pleasant, and religious too. But then, having sex with me seemed to be a normal thing for her to do. Vera, on the other hand, did not profess to be saintly. She Was toughened by the hard knocks of life.
     Nadia gave a party for some of her teacher friends on New Year's Eve. Against my will I was sent to bed before the company came. I heard several people come in, talking and laughing. Later they sang, accompanied by Nadia's playing the mandolin. I could not sleep knowing that there was a party going on. It rankled me that I was excluded. Vera never excluded me from anything. It must have been late when Nadia came to bed. She had vodka on her breath when she kissed me. She was probably tired because she did not bother me that night.
     We slept late on New Year's Day. Vera and Nadia had hangovers; they complained of headaches and an insatiable thirst for water. Things returned to normal in the afternoon.
     "We plan to leave tomorrow, so I'd better start packing tonight. We have taken advantage of you long enough, Nadenka, and we did have a wonderful time. How can we ever repay you?"
     "You are talking nonsense, my dear, you are my kin. Who else do I have? Besides, you brought happiness with you, like a spring breeze through an open window. You brought laughter, talk of the past, music, and yes, Volo-dia. I will miss both of you. I hope you return soon."
     "It is so good of you to say those nice things. We will miss you, too, Volodia will miss your reading , , , and Shtuka, But we have our own way to go. Maybe someday I will be back for a visit . . . who knows what the future might bring?"
     "I better get busy and prepare some food for you to take along. I will unfreeze and roast a goose tonight. It will keep for quite a while. I'll wrap it in oilcloth so that it doesn't leak. I will also dry sukhari, boil potatoes, and give you a sack of apples . . . Volodia likes them,"
     The evening was spent in packing, preparing food, and making small talk. They decided that I should sleep with Nadia, that being the last night of our visit, let her enjoy my company for the last time. That night Nadia was particularly passionate and sensuous.
     "I think you better come on top of me before I fall to pieces."
     Nadia was weaving and twisting through the whole procedure until she finally had several spasms and everything stopped, discontinued in exhaustion and rest. Nadia settled down talking pensively—pausing often.
     "You must think that I am a very bad woman. I am lonely. I have not had a man in a long time . . . when Vera told me about what both of you were doing, it aroused me. Since you are no longer innocent, I thought I might enjoy it too. One more or less will not make any difference. These are different times, everything is falling apart, our morals, our social structure, even our thinking, I don't even know if I am going to be alive tomorrow. The revolution has destroyed the moral structure of the people. It destroyed many values and has established nothing in return. ... I have stolen moments of happiness from you, happiness that will probably have to last me a lifetime. I am really not a bad woman. People want to live today, for there may not be a tomorrow. This drives people to fast living, to experience everything in reach, for life may be too short. You are very young, Volodenka, you probably don't understand what I am talking about. Maybe when you are older you will remember me, and instead of damning and cursing me, you will just pity me—a lost soul in the hurricane of the revolution."
     I don't know if her words explained anything to me or not, but it had a soothing effect on me. It showed me that she was not completely callous . . . that she had second thoughts about what she was doing. It explained to me what Vera told her about me and why she acted the way she did. I fell asleep with Nadia's arms around me.
     Next morning all was hustle and bustle. Nadia took me outside to play with Shtuka while the women packed and probably talked confidentially. Shtuka was as frisky as ever. We rolled in the snow, I laughed and she barked. I forgot all my problems. The world consisted of just Shtuka and me.
     "Volodenka, my Gold, it is time to go, dear." Nadia came after me, her eyes red from crying. "Shtuka will miss you, and so will I. Come, dear, we will eat a big meat now . . . who knows when you will be able to eat next."
     Bulging burlap sacks were stacked in front of the door ready to go. We ate a hurried meal. Few words were spoken. I felt some kind of a chill coming over Vera. Something must have happened between these two women while I was outside. We said our goodbyes, hugging kissing, and crying. Finally, Vera lifted me astride her neck and picked up the bundles. Nadia opened the front door as we stepped outside, facing the gray chill of the morning.
     "Go with God's blessing," Nadia said with tears running down her cheeks. "Come back and see me sometimes."
     "I will," is all Vera said without turning around.
     I turned my head to watch Nadia waving to me, till we turned the corner and Vera quickened her step. I felt sad leaving Nadia and Shtuka. After all, we did have some good times. Gradually, I became absorbed in the excitement of going on another journey. There was that expectation of something new—new adventures, new faces, new places.
     It was a long walk to the station. There were few pedestrians or vehicles on the streets. The sky was laden with gray clouds. The air was moist and bitterly cold. We heard sounds of music coming from afar. It became louder as we progressed down the boulevard. On a side street, people with red banners were congregating for a demonstration and marching to a brass band.
     "All they know to do is to demonstrate. Why don't they go to work and get the country going again?" The first words Vera had spoken since leaving Nadia's house.
     "Where are we going this time?" I wanted to break the monotony and draw Vera into a conversation.
     "I think I'd like to go to Moskva. They say that it is going to be the new Russian capital, I bet the Petrograd people won't like that. Moskva is really the old capital of Russia, Peter the Great changed that. They say that the city is full of foreigners that Peter brought in, to learn good manners from them and teach the people to become civilized. Moskva really should be the capital, because it is situated in the middle of Russia. There are a lot of beautiful churches with golden spires. I wonder what is going to happen to all these churches now that the clergy is blamed for all the ills of Russia."
     "How long are we going to stay in Moskva?"
     "I don't know. We'll find a place on the outskirts of the city and then we'll see how it goes."
     "Is Moskva a big city?"
     "Yes, it is one of the biggest cities in Russia, maybe the biggest. The old nobility, the Boyars, lived there. They ranked in importance just below the tzar's family and the princes until Peter the Great abolished all their titles. They are still smarting over it. Now all the titles have been abolished, we are all equal, equally poor and next to nothing in importance. Only the commissars have privileges and authority. They tell you when to blow your nose, and when to scratch your ass. I hear that they too are shot for the smallest infraction. It doesn't take much to be shot nowadays. Sometimes, if one only points the finger at you, you've had it, to the wall! Yes, my dear, you have to be smarter than the next guy to survive. Sometimes you have to act smart and sometimes act dumb. In most cases the dumb person gets by much easier . . , one time I had a militiaman point his gun in my face shouting, 'Where are your jewels? All the gold has to be turned over to the State! Don't you know that?' He was lying, he wanted to rob me.
     "Jewels? What do you mean?" I acted innocent.
     "Jewels, gold," he persisted, "like earrings that you wear on your ears."
     "Ah, those. Mama never bought me any. You see, I wear cotton threads in my ear lobes so that the punctures won't close up. I don't have any gold. I saw gold once when I worked for my barinia (mistress). They had a lot of gold. It is yellow and shines beautifully ..."
     "Shut up!" he shouted, and walked off . . . Anybody who wears a red arm-band has a gun and they shove it in your face at the slightest pretext."
     Vera went on talking like this till we reached the train station. I have seen quite a few train stations by now. It was very crowded. Vera found a vacant corner on the floor near a bench where she unloaded her bundles and put me down.
     "You sit here, Volodia, while I find out about a train."
     Vera left. She relied on me. Good! Now if I only had the courage to walk up to a militiaman ... I looked all around me, Opposite me on a bench sat six women, Four of them were sleeping in peculiar positions. The other two were talking to each other. They appeared to be twin sisters. They were dressed alike in black coats trimmed with lambskin around the collar, bottom edge, sleeves, and pockets. Both had fur hats to match that looked quite smart. On their feet they wore black soft-felt boots in rubber galoshes. Their faces were rosy with high cheek bones and narrow slits for eyes. I suddenly realized that they must have been talking about me, because of their furtive glances directed at me. This put me on guard. There were plenty of people around. Nothing to be afraid of, I told myself.
     "Hey boy, what's your name?" one asked.
     "Volodia."
     "Volodia what?"
     "Just Volodia."
     "You don't know very much, do you?"
     Silence.
     "What's wrong with your leg?"
     "Sick."
     "You are a smartass, aren't you?"
     Silence.
     "What have you got in that white sack of yours?"
     "I don't know."
     "Let's have a look."
     Both women got up and headed towards me, I felt threatened, because they hid me from view,
     "Don't!" I screamed. But they kept on coming.
     "Militia! Help! Help!"
     "What is going on here?" A militiaman materialized.
     "Nothing, nothing, we just wanted to help this little boy, but he is very touchy."
     Something dashed in front of me—slap, slap. It was Vera slapping the woman.
     "I am this boy's mother and I won't stand for anybody molesting my child."
     "I just wanted to help this Little boy,' the woman repeated, holding her cheek.
     "Help him with what?" the militiaman demanded.
     "I don't know, I thought he needed help,"
     "What was she doing to you?" the militiaman asked me.
     "She wanted to see what is in my white sack."'
     "He is lying," the woman professed.
     "My boy does not lie," Vera shouted "They wanted to rob us. Aren't you ashamed, robbing an innocent, crippled little child? And look at them, all dressed up like boyarinas (ladies). Shooting is too good for them!"
     "All of you, show your documents. . . . Where are you going?"
     "Yaroslavl. My husband is in a hospital there. He was wounded in the war. This is my sister. I did not mean any harm to this boy, honest. I thought he was uncomfortable and wanted to help him."
     "All right, I am not going to take you in, but be careful what you do from now on. Move on and let this woman and child have the room on the bench!"
     "Certainly, certainly, Comrade militiaman, we will move on. Thank you, Comrade militiaman, thank you,"
     "Now, you." The militiaman turned to Vera,
     "I am taking this boy back to his family. He was lost. I am really not his mother as I said before, but I am minding him just as a mother would do. Here it is in the documents,"
     Now! I must tell it to the militiaman, that she is a speculator just dragging me around from city to city . . . I had no courage in front of Vera. I would have to rehearse it a few times. There would be other chances . . .
     "How come you are here in Voronezh?" the militiaman said after examining Vera's documents.
     "I am an ignorant woman. They must have put me on the wrong train."
     "Vera Yablokhova, go to the Commissariat and they will direct you to the right train."
     "I am almost out of food."
     "Tell them about that so they will give you a new food ration allowance, too."
     "Thank you, Comrade militiaman, I'll do as you say. Thank you again."
     We moved over to the bench. Vera was debating with herself:
     "Going to the Commissar may get me in trouble. It is one thing dealing with an ignorant militiaman and another to deal with a commissar. Most of them are too well-educated to fool. But how can I ignore two more weeks of food rations? I think I'll take a chance ... I dealt with them before, I'll go. Volodenka, I shall leave you again to get some more rations. You did real well with those two women. Don't fall asleep . . . watch our things."
     Again I was the guardian of our worldly possessions. I had to think about telling my story to a militiaman to free myself from Vera. I needed more courage. When Vera was not around and the opportunity presented itself, that would be when I could approach someone with authority . . . anyway, I was positive that Vera trusted me. . . .
     
XV
In the Train Again, Anatoli Kirilenko
     Vera took a long time to return. I was used to spending long hours by myself, waiting. Waiting for somebody because I was always dependent on others for help. I learned to occupy my time observing and reminiscing to drive away the boredom. Now I was thinking of when the war began. From the grownups I first heard the word WAR (it must have been when Russia entered the war in 1914). There was a feeling of excitement in the air, exuberance and even gaiety. It didn't mean anything to us kids at first. Then one day we heard a remble of wagons rolling through our main street. We ran out and saw endless military units passing through. There were horse-drawn wagons, artillery on wheels, uniformed foot soldiers marching with an occasional brass band. The most entertaining were the dragoons on spirited horses, with scabbarded sabers dangling on the side and pikes topped with glistening spear heads. This went on for days. At night, the officers would be billeted in the private homes. There was ample food and drink, loud talk, political arguments, music, and songs.
     We children had a ball. The officers tied their horses in our back yard to rest for the night and left their saddles cooling on our porch. My brother and I and Uncle Get-zel's three children would mount the saddles and wave the wooden swords that Grandpa made for us. We shouted and slashed at the imaginary enemy. The reality of the genuine saddles made our imagination mutch more vivid and the fun we had was great.
     Father hung a map of Europe on our living room wall. His friends would come in the evening to discuss the progress of the war over innumerable glasses of tea. They placed pins from Mama's pin-cushion to indicate the battle lines. My brother and I also wanted to play war on the map and put in pins of our own. This caused great confusion for Papa and his friends. Of course. Papa knew right away who did it and scolded us. We promised not to do it again. Grownups will never understand that children like to imitate their elders.
     The mood changed quickly when trains of horse-drawn vehicles started going in the opposite direction, carrying wagonloads of wounded soldiers. Father was drafted, but was rejected because of poor vision. Two of Father's brothers, Faivosh and Mod, were inducted-so was Uncle Getzel, Mania's brother. There was hardly a family that did not have several members serving in the army.
     There were those who dodged the draft by various means. They would take some substance that hastened their heartbeat. Others would sever the tendons of the right trigger finger . . . house searches began for draft dodgers.
     A story was told that a band of Cossacks broke into a house in the middle of the night to make a search.
     "You have here three old people and six beds! Where are the three young people hiding?" shouted the Cossack leader.
     "We sleep two in a bed," whispered an old man in the Cossack's ear."
     "Ah, two times three is six," muttered the Cossack, "Let's go! ..."
     Things were not going well at the front. Shortages developed in products and supplies leading to rising prices. Mama was unhappy because it was hard to obtain merchandise for her store. Luckily, Papa was teaching language and arithmetic in the elementary school.
     One winter day, Papa, along with other "substantial" citizens of Varklian, were called to the military commandant's office. They were told that the Russian high command ordered a general retreat at the front. He could not predict when the Germans would enter Varklian, so there might be a time when our village would have no state sovereign power. This meant that there would exist, for a time, a state of "bezvlastie" (lawless state). He heard that the peasants in the neighboring villages were planning a pogrom against the Jewish population. Therefore, the commandant called together the prominent citizens to warn them so that they could take protective measures. The commandant suggested that the town should form an "okhrana," a home guard, to protect the town. Rifles and ammunition would be provided.
     "Just patrol the streets day and night," added the com-mandant, "Carry the rifles in full view. . . .Be sure to make a lot of noise, shooting once in a while, shouting to each other, and there will not be a pogrom. The peasants have no guns. They have axes, knives, pitchforks, scythes, spades, bat no guns. I am sure that they will disband at the sight of your guns."
     So Papa came home with a rifle.
     "Is it loaded?" Mama asked.
     "I don't know."
     "Why don't you look?"
     "I don't know where to look, I never handled a gun"
     "Oh God, save us from our protectors. . . . Does anybody know how to shoot a gun?"
     "Avremke Greenman said that he knows how the gun works. He was in the army till he got wounded, so he knows how to shoot He will teach us after the Russians retreat."
     "It better be right away if you are to learn, from which end the gun shoots. . . ."
     Alioshka rode in on his sled and hurriedly went to see Grandma. Alioshka was Grandma's friend—a peasant who lived several viorst from town. He was tall and broad shouldered, white-haired, and whiskered, always smoking a pipe of acrid "makhorka." He was the only one that Grandma allowed to smoke in her presence; they were old cronies. Alioshka always owed Grandma money and was paying her back in hay, chickens, rye, berries, aad other products. Alioshka grew up with Jewish people; he understood and spoke Yiddish.
     "Paniushka Sheine Gene," Alioshka said, "bad things are going on in the villages. The peasants are restless. There are rumors that the Russian Army is going to leave and there is not going to be any law to protect you. The peasants want to come here to rob and maybe kill a few people too. You'd better hide. . . . Better stay with me for a while."
     "You go back and tell them that we know this and we are not afraid. The Russians gave us many guns to protect ourselves. If they come, there will be a lot of blood spilled-their blood. Thank you for coming to warn me anyway. Here are five rubles for you, buy yourself some better tobacco." The okhrana was organized after the Russians left. Avremke Greenman was the "commanding general"; he was the only one experienced in arms. He divided the people into four groups to patrol the town around the clock. Some had real rifles, others had wooden make-believes. Some learned to shoot, others merely to hold their "guns" in a threatening position, Papa among the latter. My mother was relieved to know that he would not be a threat to himself and to others.
     The okhrana was on guard day and night; firing a few shots now and then for effect. There was no sign of a pogrom or unrest throughout the lawless period.
     Then on a bitterly cold, windy, sunny day, the German soldiers in green-gray uniforms appeared. They wore hats without visors. There was no bombardment, no fighting. They just drove in unexpectedly in trucks in the middle of the day. It was all done quietly and in a well-organized manner. They assigned soldiers with maps and chalk to mark numbers on each house and to name the streets. Before this we had neither. They also strung out wires for military telephones. The town was to support the occupation troops with food. Each household was apportioned an amount of food per month by the authorities.
     Soon we learned the word "ersatz." We had ersatz sugar in the form of Sakharin, ersatz marmalade for honey, margarine for butter, and others. The Germans suffered shortages also. They were glad to come into an area that had suffered relatively little from the war. There was ample food. However, this did not last long. The area was soon depleted of cattle, chickens, ducks, geese, turkeys, cheese, butter, and grain.
     Vera returned with a wide grin-carrying several small sacks.
     "I knew I could rely on you. You must be very hungry; well, so am I. Wait till I tell you what happened." She grabbed the tea kettle and ran off for kipyatok. She resumed talking while eating the new foods she brought back with her. Lard was hard to get and our bodies needed some fat. It tasted good on bread with large salt crystals to give it crunch, washed down with tea.
     "Good, eh?" Vera said after a few bites of food, "I went to the Commissar of the station to tell him my story. While shedding a few tears I asked him to come and see you for himself I showed him my documents from Velikiye Luki and I had to be "nice" to him. As a result, we have new special documents. special rations, and tonight we are off to Moskva. We have good items to sell. Volodenka, we will do well in Moskva ... I can't wait to get out of here. Moskva is a very large city. It has wide boulevards, and a river which is also called Moskva. We will have good times up there."
     Vera went on talking excitedly about the forthcoming trip to Moskva then cleaned up so we could leave soon.
     Boarding the train always lent excitement-anticipating what was in store for us. As usual, Vera lifted me astride her neck. Both her arms were more loaded than before.
     Vera was a powerful woman who was experienced in pushing her way into a car and getting an upper berth. I
     saw through the window a man in dirty clothing with a blackened face walking from car to car hitting something with a hammer under the car that sounded like a bell.
     "Why is that man hammering?" a woman in the compartment asked the person next to her.
     "That is to test if anything is broken," a man's voice answered. "He can tell by the sound if there is a cracked axle or wheel; just like a cracked clay pot does not ring right."
     Vera was sitting below me by the window. Next to her was a man wearing a felt hat with ear muffs. Next to him was another man and the rest were women.
     "My name is Anatoli Kirilenko." Vera's neighbor introduced himself.
     "My name is Vera Yablokhova. Judging by your name you are from the Ukraine?"
     "Yes, I was born in a little village near Kiev. But what does, it matter"? We have in Russia over a hundred nationalities and as many languages. We should be one big family after the revolution. We are all citizens, comrades, brothers and sisters of the same motherland. We all have to pitch in and rebuild our land, our society for the common good. There is no room for petty nationalism. The more of us that participate, selflessly, the sooner we will achieve our goals of plenty, of liberty, and freedom, of peace and brotherly conduct from man to man."
     "I guess we will have to learn a lot of new things. This may not be so easily done with this generation that was brought up under the tzar's regime."
     "You are right, Citizen Yablokhova. We will have some resistance from the old generation, but we cannot compromise. We cannot compromise with our future, with the future of the revolution, with the future of our great nation, indeed, with the future of the world."
     "This all sounds good on paper. What will happen when you ask the Ukrainian farmer to share his crops with the rest of the country? What will happen when you demand the Tajik give up his extra wives? What will happen when you start moving the Kazakh from his yurta (tent) into a house?"
     "I did not say it was going to be easy or simple. A whole generation, or perhaps two, will have to suffer so that our children may enjoy a life of culture, political stability and plenitude. We cannot afford to be softhearted, we cannot afford to deviate from ..."
     The train suddenly gave a tug with such force that the passengers on my side fell on the women on the opposite side. I fell off my berth on top of the other people. Vera's fall was stopped by the little table in front of her. She complained of hurting her ribs. The train, however, did not move.
     "What was that?" several people spoke up in unison.
     "They probably added more cars to our train," somebody said. "The workmen are callous or inexperienced."
     "You're probably right," Kirilenko said.
     It took a while to establish order. The conversation, however, was interrupted. I looked out the window. There were a few people on the platform just looking on. Militiamen and conductors with lanterns were walking back and forth. Then one conductor started waving his lantern and the train started squeaking, creeping, moving. It gradually accelerated—passing street lights, changing rails locomotive whistling—and soon we were in the country, then darkness fell.
     Vera climbed on my berth and whispered: "Let's eat something before we go to sleep. We have no water, so eat everything with a bite of apple that Nadia gave us."
     We ate out of sight of the others. When everything was packed up again, Vera spread her coat underneath us, she put her arm around me and we both went to sleep, rocking and swaying with the train. 
* * *
     Two days later the train was standing at a station called Ryazan. The berth was like home to me. It must have been very cold outside; the window was covered with a layer of flowery frost. Vera removed the lacy frosting by breathing on the window and wiping it with her kerchief. Finally, we could see outside. The sun shone on the snow-covered roof of the station, Icicles hung from the eaves. "I would like to go outside for a while, Mama."
     "Sure, Volodenka, it is a nice day for a walk. We will dress warmly and go out for a few minutes. Tovarishch Kirilenko, will you kindly watch our belongings while Volodia and I take a walk?"
     "Certainly I will watch, Tovarishch Yablokhova. Take your time . . . your belongings will be safe."
     It was so cold outside that I had to cover my nose with my shawl-my eyes were watering. The sky was clear and blue and the air was still. I was holding on to Vera's hand so as not to slip on the icy ground.
     "How much longer are we going to stay here?" I asked.
     "They said a couple of hours; it will probably be twice that long. We ought to be thinking about eating. Wait here and I will go inside and bring the tea kettle for water."
     I was left holding on to the steps of the car while Vera went inside. She returned with the tea kettle and we walked inside the station, where there was a tall counter with a couple of huge, shiny brass samovars. There were also several glass jars containing hard candy that attracted my attention, also sukhari. We joined a small line at the samovars. After Vera paid for the kipyatok, she inquired about the candy. She made a face when she was told the price. After a short argument with the woman at the counter she bought only one piece of candy, presumably for me.
     "You will have this with your tea instead of sugar." Vera handed me the candy wrapped in newspaper. "I thought we should celebrate with a little piece of candy. It cost an eye and a tooth. I hope you can save the candy till after we eat."
     "I will." I was resolute.
     The candy was burning a hole in my pocket, but I had to keep my word. During our meal on our berth away from curious eyes, I drank my tea without the candy. I was going to have the candy all by itself and enjoy it fully.
     "Would you like to have half of it? I asked Vera. "I can bite it off."
     "No dear, it is all for you, enjoy it. It was very nice of you to offer it to me, though."
     Vera climbed down to her seat, while I stayed in my berth looking out of my window. Kirilenko was the only passenger in the compartment that had begun the trip with us from Voronezh. The others were all new, and all women. They talked in low voices. It was crowded, there were no empty seats.
     "Would you like to have a glass of tea?" Vera asked Kirilenko. "There is some hot water left in the teapot. I see you have not eaten since this morning. Perhaps I can give you something of ours?"
     "Thank you, Comrade Yablokhova, I will accept your offer of tea ... as for food, I have my own. Food is so hard to get; save it for the boy."
     Vera prepared the tea while Kirilenko brought out sukhari from his bag and what looked like very hard yellow cheese. He dunked the sukhar in the tea and scraped off crumbs of cheese from a large chunk with his pocket-knife.
     "When do you think we are going to arrive in Moskva?" Vera wanted to talk.
     "It is hard to say, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day. It depends upon how much other traffic there is. The rail is the only means of transportation. We need to haul the military men and equipment; that comes first. We cannot let the Whites take over the country to restore the monarchy. Then we must haul food and raw materials from the sources to the people in the cities and the factories. After that we can take on passengers like you and me."
     "Is the war really over?"
     "Officially, yes. We made a peace agreement at Brest-Litovsk in 1918, It seems, however, that the Allied powers are unhappy with the Communist Revolution. I heard that an English cruiser was shelling Petrograd from the estuary of the Neva. I also heard that an American Expeditionary Force landed on our Pacific shores and was repulsed, The Whites, too, are giving us trouble. The Whites are not just one army, they are a conglomerate of many colors and parties. There are the Mensfeviki, who would like to bring back Kerensky; there are the Monarchists, who would like to bring back the tzar. They in turn, have several generals in the field with little armies, composed mostly of the tzarist officer corps. They are small and insignificant, but they can do damage. They make hit and run attacks and ambushes, they tear up rail lines to disrupt our transportation, and they rob the civilians. We will eventually get rid of them; they will mix with the civilian population and disappear. Then there are the bands of renegades. They are led mainly by deserters and discharged soldiers. These bands have no cause, no ideals, no religion and no mercy. In the end they too will run out of steam, the Revolution will ..."
     The train started moving jerkily. All the people crowded around the window to see the station move away. No matter how many times I experienced this, it was still exciting. I sat there in the car watching the landscape moving; the spare rails glistening in the sunlight, they too appeared to be moving, changing, curving, and disappearing. Once we got out in the country, the monotony of the clickety-clak, clickety-clack took over.
     "You were saying, Tovarishch Kirilenko?"
     "I wanted to say that the revolution, our revolution, will overcome all the obstacles that are plaguing us now. It is too big, too right, it is global, nobody, can stop it A new era is dawning." Anatoli spoke with fire and conviction his eyes were shining and staring into space. I did not understand too much of what he was saying, but he made me feel that one could not argue with anything he said. He was promising good times, but to accomplish them we would have to go through bad times, and this was what was happening right now.
     Vera and Kirilenko went on talking. He did most of it, I only listened in on snatches of it. Most people were talking of revolution and politics. The names that were heard most often—Lenin, Trotsky, Marx, Engels, Bukharin, Zinovyev . . . names that later became famous or infamous; they were the people who were the ideologists and leaders of the Communist Revolution.
     "... And now I am going to Petrograd as one of the delegates of the Soviet of Voronezh. The delegates from all over Russia will make industrial, agricultural, and economic decisions. We will take back with us what we learn and disseminate it among the cadres of the party. . . Petrograd is a very beautiful city."
     "Have you been there many times?"
     "No. I have never been to Petrograd. But I have read about it in history books, how it was built. Peter the Great built it on the marshes of the Neva, and thereby established an outlet to the Baltic Sea. He named it for himself -Petrograd. As our great poet, Pushkin, wrote - 'He chopped out a window to Europe.' Peter proclaimed Petrograd the new capital of Russia and Moskva as the second capital."
     "The tzar must have had a lot of power to do that."
     "Yes, the tzar had unlimited power; he could do whatever he wanted to. The laws and courts were only for us simple citizens."
     "I dare say it may have been a good idea to get rid of him, but did they have to shoot him and his whole family?"
     "I think it was done in the heat of the moment. It was probably a good thing anyway, so that there will not be any pretenders to the throne, and it will be harder to reestablish the monarchy. Anyway, what was done was done. We have to go on from here to rebuild our country as well as our society."
     "I do hope things will change for the better and the sooner the better. It is beginning to be too hard to bear. What with food so hard to get, Volodia has not had any milk or eggs in over a year. He probably doesn't remember what they taste like or even what they look like."
     This brought on memories of Grandma sitting on the wooden tripod and milking the cows. She was already partly blind at the age of 72, but she would not give up milking the cows. Pull-squirt, pull-squirt and a thin white stream would hit the wooden bucket with a dull sound. When the bucket was half-full, she would pour the milk into a red clay jar through a cloth strainer . My brother and I were there with cups in our hand; our two cats were also there ready to lap up some milk. Grandma would fill our cups and a dish for the cats from the clay pot. We drank the milk while it was still warm. Nothing ever tasted as good as that—it wasn't pasteurized, homogenized or skimmed . . . My mouth watered, remembering the tastes of home. Would I ever return to my home again?
     The dialogue between Vera and Kirilenko continued for days on end. We were stopping at little towns with people getting off and others getting on. The train was becoming more crowded as we got closer to Moskva. We drank tea, ate, talked, and slept. Then one day I noticed that we were passing more populated places. A certain nervousness enveloped the people on the train, as we were approaching Moskva. Vera, with Kirilenko's help, repackaged our belongings to consolidate them for easy carrying. People stood up and headed toward the aisle as the train started slowing down. We were passing the outskirts of the great city, lined with many-storied apartment houses. The locomotive was whistling more often as we crossed streets with people and horses waiting behind barriers, Slowly, we came to a stop and all the people lurched forward supported by one another. People were climbing down from the roofs, throwing down their bundles and helping each other. It was surprising how people, even for a short journey, could sit on the roof of a train, especially in cold weather. It took a long time for the train to be emptied. Our friend Anatoli Kirilenko was waiting for us at the door.
     "I waited to bid you goodbye, Comrade Yablokhova. I hope you and Volodia will have a good stay in Moskva; find a good job and make a good home. I must catch a train to Petrograd, but before that I'll pick up my food ration."
     "Thank you for the attention you have given me-an uneducated peasant woman. I have learned a great deal from you in those few days that we have spent together. The political situation is much clearer to me now. With this knowledge, it will now be easier for me to bear the burden of the shortcomings."
     "It was a pleasure to talk to you. You helped pass the time away so much faster, more usefully, and entertainingly. I enjoyed having you as a traveling companion Goodbye and good luck."
     "Goodbye."
     "Goodbye."
     Kirilenko went off, clutching his worn satchel, and soon disappeared into the milling crowd. Vera stood there for a while looking around so as to orient herself. It was a big place and crowded with people. Then Vera picked up her bundles and with a sure stride walked toward the entrance of the Moskva station.
     
XVI
Moskva; Mikhayil Alexeyevich Zorin
     Vera opened the double doors to the station and we entered Moskva. It was a huge station-filled with people to its capacity. She stood there for a moment to think of what to do next. Diagonally, at the far end were counters of food to be sold, "Let's inquire at the counters. Maybe they can tell us where we can find a place to stay."
     Vera approached one of the counters and spoke to an old man with a white beard. She put on one of her more pleasant smiles but at the same time her face had a worried and bewildered look.
     "Uncle, would you know where a woman and a child could spend a few nights? We do not have much money."
     The man looked us over for a moment, swallowed whatever he was eating, cleared his throat, wiped his mouth with his dirty white apron and spoke in a low voice. "You may be the right woman, and then again you may not, but I will give you a chance. My wife died about six months ago and I live alone; If you can keep the house in order and cook one meal a day, you may stay in my house. I will also supply the food for the both of you. No pay."
     "This will be fine, God bless you. It is very fortunate that a peasant woman, coming to the big city, can find a place to stay right away. Don't worry, Uncle, I'll keep house and I can cook too. Just give me the things to put in the pot."
     "So it is a deal?"
     "It's a deal."
     "Here is the key to the apartment; I will write down the address for you. It is too far to walk with a kid and bundles. Take a sled . . . the driver will take you there."
     He wrote down the address and handed it to Vera.
     "I am afraid I cannot pay for the sled. Just tell me how to get there."
     "Don't talk nonsense, woman, you will never get there on foot. Here, I will give you some money for a sled. I hope you are not too much trouble." The old man produced a leather purse from under his apron, unsnapped it, and gave Vera several silver coins "This should be enough. You can keep the change. My name is Mikhayil Alexeyevich Zorin. What is your name?"
     "My name is Vera Yablokhova, and my son's name is Volodia.''
     "What is the matter with the boy?"
     "He had infantile paralysis; it left him with a paralyzed leg. He is a good and quiet boy; you will like him."
     "I come home about six or seven in the evening and I like to have my dinner cooked and ready. You will find plenty of food in the kitchen pantry. There are nosy neighbors around so try to avoid them. They can mean trouble. It is best you don't talk to them or tell them anything."
     "I hear you, Uncle. Thank you for the money. You will not regret taking us into your house. You'll see, I am a good woman."
     "Go, I have no time to talk to you now. Here, young man, this is a present for you," He brought out from behind the counter a large dried pretzel, called a "sushki," and handed it to me. It was made of white flour! My face must have expressed surprise and pleasure.
     "Thank you, Uncle Mikhayil Alexeyevich, I like this present," I said in a loud voice.
     "You are a nice boy. We will get along just fine."
     Vera turned and went to the exit. Someone politely opened the door for us. We entered a huge square lined on all sides with sleds for hire. A biting wind was blowing, making the cold more intense.
     "Hey, grazhdanka (citizen), come with me, I have a good sled and a good horse."
     "He is a liar. . . he rescued the horse from a glue factory. Come with me," said another sled driver.
     Many of the drivers of the nearby sleds coaxed" as to hire them. Vera questioned the price of each sled and decided on an elderly driver with a wooden leg. He nimbly jumped down from his high perch with a crutch under one arm. He threw our bundles into the sled and then we followed. Vera showed him the address. The driver looked at it and said "I'll find it." He jumped back in the driver's seat, picked up the reins and away we went at a fast trot. The pace slowed considerably after a few blocks. We were passing broad boulevards lined with apartment houses and leafless trees. Packed snow with icy spots covered the streets. A thin fog made everything appear colorless, except for the red flags on most of the houses. We had to turn off on a side street to let a demonstration pass. There were red flags and red banners with gold writing which proclaimed: "WORLD PROLETARIAT UNITE!" or "LONG LIVE THE COMMUNIST REVOLUTION" or "LIBERTY, EQUALITY AND FRATERNITY" or "BREAD AND WORK" and many others. Militiamen with rifles over their shoulders were managing the crowd. A brass band was playing the "International" as the crowd sang. I had learned to sing it in the hospital in Petrograd.
     "This is all we hear nowadays. They better go to work before we all starve to death!" our driver shouted to us.
     "Aren't you afraid to say it out loud?"
     "No. What can they do to me-take my other leg? I am a crippled old man. I went through the Japanese war and came back without a scratch. They were not too bashful to send me off again against the Germans. They wanted my leg, I guess. Now they want to shut me up. That they cannot do. They can have my other leg with my life thrown in at no extra charge. It really is not worth living anymore. What is there to look forward to-more hunger? Better to die now while the memories of the good old days are still fresh in one's mind."
     "This kind of talk will get you in trouble, old man. Think what you will, but don't say it out loud. I will not denounce you. Many times I feel the same way, but things are bound to change for the better, they cannot get worse."
     The conversation died. We rode for a long time. The sled stopped in front of a three-story apartment house. Vera paid the driver, He thanked her with a "God bless you," and rode off. We stood there for a minute looking at the building and its surroundings. It was a drab gray which was once white. The lower floor had faded green shutters. We opened the door into a dark entryway. Vera flipped a switch but nothing happened. We made our way upstairs to the second floor. She had to use several precious matches to find number thirty-five. The key worked. It led to a narrow, dark hallway, to a living-dining room, then to a single bedroom. To the left of the hallway was a small kitchen and a bathroom.
     Vera took possession of the place like an experienced housekeeper. She put me down on the sofa in the living room and told me to undress while she went in the kitchen to make a fire and heat water for a bath.
     "The first thing we are going to do is take a bath." She was talking from the kitchen. "We haven't taken off our clothes in over a week. We smell so bad that even the horse couldn't stand us, that's what made him run . . . After we are cleaned up, I will fix up the place and cook dinner for the old man. We have to make a good impression on him so that he will like us and trust us. We were lucky to find a lonely old man who needs a little care and people to talk to and boss around. Be nice to him and call him Grandpa. He will like that. Are you already undressed, dear?"
     "Almost."
     "Hurry! The water will be boiling pretty soon. I will use a piece of perfumed soap. It is a shame to use it on us; perfumed soap brings in good money. Why worry; we have room and board all paid for. Let Mikhayil Alex-eyevich enjoy it, I will make him pay for it later."
     The bathroom was a crowded place. There was a stool, a bath tub made of sheet metal, and room for only one person. Vera ran cold water in me tub from me single faucet and mixed it with hot water from the kitchen. The mixture was only luke-warm. Vera gave me a very good scrubbing until my skin was pink. Then she wrapped me in a towel and carried me back to the sofa.
     "Now get dressed while I take a bath."
     I heard Vera singing and splashing in the water, enjoying herself. I dressed myself and began to explore "our new home" more thoroughly. I started with the small bedroom where there was a large polished wooden bed piled high with pillows and comforters, also a wooden wardrobe and one chair. There was one picture on the wall of a bald man with high cheek bones and squinty eyes. I learned later that this, was a picture of Lenin, the GOD of the communists. In the center of the living room was a table with four chairs. A four-drawer cabinet occupied one end of the room and the sofa was at the other end near the single window. One whole wall was taken up with bookshelves, fully stacked with books. The opposite wall had one picture, of a bushy-haired, bearded man, which was a portrait of Karl Marx, another communist Leader.
     The kitchen was much more interesting. It had many shelves containing cutlery, pots and pans, dishes and cups. Inside a small pantry, I found jars with honey, pickles, jellies, preserves, cheese, and a small barrel of herring. There were wrapped packages between the double window panes. Judging by the pantry, Grandpa Mikhayil was a man of influence and means, I thought to myself. We were going to eat well here!
     Vera came out and put on a new black dress. "I think I will put on a little perfume," she said as she dabbed herself. "The buyer won't notice the few drops missing, I want to look my best. We have to earn our keep. Now to cook up a nice dinner."
     Vera went to the kitchen, taking into account the products in the pantry and in the window. She was apparently very pleased with what she found. I went to the living room and laydown on the sofa to take a nap. But who could sleep with all the noises coming out of the kitchen-and the mouth-watering smells of onions frying, cabbage cooking, and the fragrance of fresh bread baking that wafted into the living, room? I could visualize the foods that fitted the smells. Suddenly, all was quiet. Vera appeared holding a table cloth. Her face was beet red, warmed by the stove and work.
     "You must be hungry, Volodenka, go in the kitchen and have a 'pirogue' stuffed with meat, cabbage, and onions. That will satisfy your hunger till grandpa comes home. If you are very hungry you may have two of them. I hope he likes them. He may chase us out of the house for being so extravagant with his products. Then again, he might appreciate a good meal once in a while."
     I was in the kitchen eating a pirogue. I was really very hungry and had a second one. I could have had a third and fourth-there was never enough for me in those days. I could eat till I got sick. Vera continued talking to me from the living room. I did not pay attention, I was preoccupied with the pirozhki. They tasted so good; the fat was just running down my fingers. I must have been hungry for fatty foods, for they appealed to me very much.
     ". . . So maybe we will stay here for a while and see what happens. Do not mention it to him. Remember, we are from Voliukhovo, near Voronezh. I will do the talking. If he asks you anything about us just say you don't know. It looks as though he has good contacts, judging from the food he's got stocked up. He does the selling at the station, so he must have an 'in' with the people in power. He is probably a Soviet employee, which puts him in a separate class from us simple citizens. They are the bosses and we are the peasants."
     The front door swung open and Mikhayil Alexeyevich entered. He was wrapped in a fur coat; a brown fur papakha covered his head to his eyebrows. He wore heavy felt boots with leather soles and woolen gloves. He looked as large as a bear. In one hand, he carried a bottle wrapped in paper. He brushed at his moustache and beard, and cleared his throat. "Well, I see you got here."
     "We did, Mikhayil Alexeyevich. Volodia and I made ourselves at home. Dinner is ready. I hope it suits you."
     "This is better than I had expected. To tell you the truth, I thought that you would steal all my possessions and leave. I guess I am a suspicious old man. There is so much thievery going on these days that one is suspicious of his own shadow."
     "We are simple peasant folk. If we knew how to steal we would not remain peasants."
     "I am very happy that you are here. Just to have somebody to talk to gives me pleasure. I brought a bottle of vodka, so we can celebrate as a family. When you left, I berated myself-giving my key and address to a total stranger. I thought I was going to lose all that I have-especially the food. Food is more precious than gold nowadays. I brought this bottle so that I could get really drunk if I didn't find you here. Now that I did find you here and I did not make a fool of myself, there is really a reason to celebrate."
     "Let me take your hat and coat, Mikhayil Alexeyevich, wash up and we will eat."
     "Just like a woman-bossy. I suppose I must follow instructions if I want to eat."
     We sat at the table. Vera brought in a tureen filled with steaming hot soup.
     "That will warm you up, Mikhayil Alexeyevieh, Not so fast ... we have to say grace. Our youngster has to learn some manners,"
     Vera crossed herself, I did the same with my eyes closed. She said a prayer, her lips were moving but no sound came out.
     "Now," is all Vera said as she poured the soup in our plates. It was a beautiful red "borshch" with pieces of beets, morsels of meat, and fat swimming around the plate. I picked up my spoon and was ready to begin,
     "Have respect for your elders, Volodia. You should" never start eating before the head of the house."
     "Sorry, Mama."
     "You are strict with the youngster, you want to bring him up to be a nice man. That is good, Vera. And you Volodia, do as your mother says. She means well."
     Vera's ploy worked remarkably well. Mikhayil was visibly pleased. We waited for him to begin eating, while he blew to cool his soup and slurped it down with gusto. After that Vera and I also began eating.
     "This is good borshch you made, Vera. As good a borshch as I have ever eaten in any restaurant before the war."
     "You had good makings. I am a good cook too, I cooked for my barinia (mistress), God bless, her soul, for over ten years. She and her family liked my cooking."
     This was Vera at her best, telling stories with such sincerity that she must have believed them herself. Everything was for show. "Let me take your hat and coat ..." "Go wash your hands, Mikhayil Alexeyevich ..." "That will warm you up, Mikhayil Alexeyevich ..." "We have to say grace . . ." "Have respect for your elders . . ." All was done to please Mikhayil; she succeeded.
     We were now at the pirozhki. Mikhayil was obviously pleased. His face was red and perspiring. He took large bites out of the pirogue and washed it down with gulps of vodka, then wiped his beard and moustache with the tablecloth. He offered Vera some vodka which she shyly refused.
     "Take some, Verochka! It will do you good, it will cheer you up. You deserve it." So now it became "Verochka," the diminutive, the familiar, only used for close friends.
     "If you insist." She took a little swallow and made a grimace, pretending to catch her breath. I have seen Vera drink plenty in Odessa without a whimper. She was still playing the innocent, ignorant peasant girl and Mikhayil loved it.
     After the pirozhki Vera served chopped uncooked apples with cinnamon and innumerable glasses of tea with slugs of vodka. By now Mikhayil was breathing heavily, his eyes were drooping and his speech was slurred. "I'm tired ... I want to go to bed . . . you come with me ... the boy can sleep here on the shofa . . . maybe I am drunk, a little . . . but it feels good. . . what a shelebrashion . . . wait till I tell them at the shtation ..."
     Vera helped him up and guided him to the bedroom. She winked at me before she closed the door. The house was getting colder by the minute as the fires in the kitchen went out. I only took off my shoes and brace and covered myself with Vera's and my coats. I felt some resentment because Vera did not fix a bed for me. My full stomach made me drowsy and I went off to sleep. During the night Vera came to join me on the sofa. I could see in the darkness of the room that she was naked-carrying her clothes. Then she brought in some covers and climbed inside. I nestled with my back in her stomach. She was hot and sweaty. She put an arm around me and we went to sleep.
     Vera was already up and puttering around in the kitchen when I woke up next morning. I was still in my clothes from yesterday.
     I put on my brace and shoes and was ready for breakfast. There was a fire in the kitchen stove and the tea kettle was steaming.
     "Good morning, dear, you are ready to wash up?" Vera did not turn, around, she saw me in the little mirror on the wall, while combing her long hair.
     "That is all you know, 'Wash up.' I am hungry." I was cross.
     "All right dear, have some bread and hard cheese with tea and then wash up. We will make a better bed for you and me tonight. I will need some sheets, blankets, and pillows, I am sure I'll find some in the house. Let us get the old man away to work, then we will worry about ourselves. Let's keep quiet, he may walk in on us any moment. He will have a hangover from drinking. We will have to be very careful what we say. It will be better if we say nothing."
     Mikhayil came in as I was brushing my teeth with my left finger without powder. He had on a long undershirt and underpants. His hair stood straight up; his beard was flattened to one side . . . eyes half closed. He looked like a sleepwalker.
     "Water," he said with sort of a croak.
     Vera was there with a glass of water, as though she knew his need. Mikhayil drank the full glass of water without coming up for air and then sat down on the chair in front of the small kitchen table.
     "Headache! You have something for a headache?"
     "Yes, dear." (Dear?!) "I have some valerian drops among my things. I'll get it for you."
     Vera came back with a small bottle and counted ten drops in a glass of water, while Mikhayil, looking at the ceiling, was moaning, covering his temples with his hands.
     "Here, dear, this should do it. Drink all of it,"
     She handed him the glass with the brownish liquid. He drank it all.
     "Let's go back to bed. You'll feel better after a while," She took him by the arm and helped him up. Mikhayil followed obediently to the bedroom. I followed them, Vera stretched him out on the bed. He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. We walked out and closed the door. "He will sleep it off and be all right. Now I have to go in the kitchen to cook and bake. You, Volodenka, take some books from the shelves and look at the pictures."
     I did. There were many books to choose from. They had different colors and various thicknesses. I chose a thin booklet. The heading said "Russian History, Elementary." On one of the first pages was a picture of some fur-clad people. A fur skin was spread on the ground, with precious stones, beads, and goblets. There were three other men looking on. They wore helmets adorned with horns. It made me curious and I began reading. I found out that the fur-clad people were Russians who were continually being raided by wild, ferocious tribes, then the Russians would retaliate. There was no peace. The women were always mourning their dead husbands and sons. The Russians were also fighting among themselves. So the elders got together, collected some gold, silver, and some precious stones and went to see the Norse princes. They spread out their gifts before them and spoke.
     "Our land is great and mighty, but order we have not. Come and govern us mighty Norsemen, we will make you the rulers of all of Russia."
     The three Norse princes, Rurik, Sineus, and Trivor accepted the invitation and came to rule Russia. Rurik became the Grand Prince. He unified the Russian tribes in the Ninth Century A.D. The first Russian rulers were Russianized Norsemen! This was a revelation to me. I went to the kitchen to share my findings with Vera. I found her chopping onions-tears were running down her cheeks.
     "Why are you crying?"
     "I am not crying, silly. It is those onions, they are very bitter. Onions always make me cry. My mama used to say that when an evil person plants onions or cucumbers, they turn out bitter. What is it dear?"
     "I just read that the first Russian rulers weren't Russians, they were Norsemen!" I showed her the book.
     "So they are. I would not have known that if you had not shown it to me. I didn't realize that you read so well. You are going to be an educated man. Would you like something to eat?"
     "What do you have?"
     "I baked some 'kulichi' (rolls) topped with honey,"
     "Sure. I would also like something to drink with it."
     I was so absorbed with my reading that I just noticed the aroma of something baking. One little kuhch disappeared in no time, I was drinking my tea when Mikhayil walked in with his pants and shoes on, suspenders trailing.
     "Good morning, all of you," he announced cheerfully.
     "You saved my life, Verochka. I thought I was going to die. Whatever you gave me to drink took all my aches and pains away. What was it?"
     "You need not know. It is a witch's brew that we give to mischievous boys."
     "You are a good woman, Verochka," he slapped her on the behind, "I ought to wash up and go to work. I am late."
     "I thought you were the boss; nobody could fire you. You can be late."
     "I am the boss. The party made me the boss, they can also take my job away from me."
     "Hurry up! I'll make your breakfast. What would you like to have?"
     "I'll eat at the station. It is cheaper that way."
     "Have a kulich that I just baked, then you can go."
     "I cannot say 'no' to a fresh-baked kulich." He splashed some water on his face and beard in the kitchen sink, followed by soap and more water. While he was doing this he was making all kinds of noises: "Ahhh, oooh, prrrrrr . . ." Vera handed him a towel. He looked surprised, he was obviously not used to this kind of treatment. He liked it. Vera was combing his hair while he was eating the kulich. He did not like this and kept shaking his head.
     "Stay still, you look like a boar with your hair standing straight up. A boss has to look good to his workers and customers."
     "You are going to spoil me, woman. Not that I don't like it. Nobody did this for me before. I never knew a woman like you. As I said before, you are a good woman, Verochka, I hope you will stay with me. I can give you and Volodia a good life. I will take you places and I will see to it that you are well entertained."
     "You are a good man too, Mikhayil Alexeyevich, I could not wish for anyone better. What, me? ... A peasant girl, with a boy and no husband? I say again, you are a good catch for any girl."
     "I am very glad you think so."
     Vera had his felt boots, coat, and hat ready. She helped Mikhayil get dressed and went with him to the door.
     "Goodbye."
     "Goodbye. What time are you coming home?"
     "About the same time as yesterday."
     "Goodbye." Vera closed the door. "Good riddance. I got me a new lover . . . Volodenka, I want to go out and maybe do some business, but mainly get acquainted with the city. You think you can get along without me till evening?"
     "Yes, I will find some books to read."
     "That's good, child. I will leave some food for you. Mikhayil may take us somewhere for entertainment tomorrow or next day. If not, I will take you out for a sleigh ride."
     Vera got dressed and left with a large bundle under her arm. I went back to the books.
     I remembered how I first learned to read. The custom was that children started school when they reached the age of five. I was very anxious to reach that age. My brother, Itzik, was two years older and could read and work with numbers. I, too, wanted to be able to read, but nobody helped. I could count to a hundred with only a few mistakes. I knew that after I was four I would become five, start going to school and learn the letters and numbers.
     My father always put off showing me the letters of the alphabet. "Wait till you are five years old," he'd say, "then you will go to school and learn how to read and write."
     From then on, I asked Mother every day: "Am I five years old yet?"
     "No, Vulenka, you have a few months to go yet."
     It seemed odd to me that the age did not change daily. Then came a day when Mother announced:
     "Today you are five years old."
     Again I was puzzled. . . only yesterday I was four. In one day I aged one year! We did not celebrate birthdays in our village. This day came and went like any other day.
     But for me it was something special. Now I could go to school like my brother did. But wait, this was January, I still could not go to school; I would have to wait till next fall. . . . Then, one day, Papa said:
     "Next week school will start."
     I counted the days till finally THE DAY came. Mama washed and scrubbed me more than at any other time. She dressed me in new clothes, fed me, and made sure that I looked my best. Papa took me by the hand, led me and carried me part of the way to school. The school building was a disappointment. It was an old, dilapidated building with several rooms. Paint was peeling from the walls and ceiling. There were a few old, school desks with carvings where little boys tried out their skills with a pocket-knife. Children were running in all directions and making a lot of noise. Some beginners were crying and their parents were comforting them. I did not cry, I was not scared, I was elated. The teacher arrived. His name was Leibe Yoffe, Papa's close friend, who visited us often at home. He picked me up and put me on top of a school desk. He took out a card from his pocket, held it in front of me and said:
     "Repeat after me, this is an Aleph."
     "Repeat after me, this is an Aleph." I repeated verbatim.
     Something very unusual happened while I was doing this "repeating." A shower of many colored pieces of candy came down from above. I looked up to see where all this came from. There was only the smiling face of my father,
     "Angels threw candy for you from the sky," he explained. "The angels like children that want to learn the Torah. Remember this my son, if you study diligently, the angels will be good to you and will reward you."
     While Papa was making the speech, other boys were collecting the candy that fell on the floor. I did not dare divert my attention from my father, but the other boys getting my candy - the "angel's candy"! - that hurt my feelings. I kicked one boy who came too close to me.
     This was my first lesson, my first acquaintance with school. I wasn't impressed. On the contrary, I was disappointed, I thought that there would be much more mystery, much more fun, and greater achievement in learning things. I already knew what an Aleph looked like anyway. The only surprise was the candy. I was not taken in by the "angel" story either. Papa's bulging pockets did not bulge any more. This was the beginning of my education.
     I was still sitting with my book in my hands and reading how Rurik set up his government in Novgorod in the year 855 A.D. He unified all the Russian tribes and pushed the borders ever wider. After Rurik came Prince Oleg, then Prince Igor, and so on. The capital was moved to Kiev.
     In the Tenth Century, Russia came under the influence of the Graeco-Byzantine culture. The king, Vladimir the First, adopted Christianity, from the Greek Orthodox Church, in the year 986 A.D., after having investigated all the religions of the world. All the Russian people followed suit. From then on the king was called Vladimir the Holy, or St. Vladimir.
     I was still reading my history book when Vera returned all smiles and with a glowing face.
     "I see you are getting educated. How did it go, Vo-lodenka?" She did not wait for an answer and went on talking while removing her coat. "I had the good fortune of unloading all of the soap and salt. In return I have a few gold pieces and diamonds. There is a little square where all the trading takes place. The militia is there, but they look the other way. They are probably bribed by the speculators. I hope I was not cheated. One has to watch out for cheats. The world is full of them. . . .
     "The old man might walk in on us any minute so I will make dinner. I am not going to cook very much tonight. . . . Volodenka, Mikhayil wants me to sleep with him all the time. You don't mind sleeping by yourself for a while?"
     "No, but give me more covers than I had last night."
     'For a while . . .' So she is not going to stay here very long. I thought that we were going to settle here for good and I would have to devise new plans how to get home. I should have known, it isn't like Vera to settle down.
     "Sure dear, I'll have enough cover for you. Now to the kitchen. Come and eat something; you must be hungry, I am too."
     Vera pumped up the 'primus,' a portable kerosene one burner stove, and heated some water, then a few kulichi in a pan. She kept on talking all the time.
     "At the market, people were saying that in Petrograd there is a real shortage of food-worse than here. Also, there are many rich people . , . friends of the tzar, so that should be a good place for us. That is also where all the big things are happening. Petrograd is the capital. Lenin and Trotsky are there in the tzar's palace. It is by the sea, like Odessa; only it is very cold . . . everything is frozen solid throughout the long winter. There is a circus, theaters, and music, but no food. They confiscate food from the farms and ration it to their own communists—and may the rest of the country perish."
     I knew what Vera was driving at. . . to move to Petrograd! Not just yet-we hadn't extracted all the goodies from here, but in good time. . . she was just trying out the idea on me and, at the same time, gaining confidence in herself. I was on my second kulich when Mikhayil came in. There was an immediate change in Vera, from the know-it-all, confident woman to the docile peasant girl.
     "You are home early, Mikhayil Alexeyevich, you feel well?"
     "Sure. But I have decided to come home earlier, now that I have someone to look after me. Besides, I have tickets for an operetta for the three of us. Quick! Give me something to eat so we can leave right away. Dress up tonight and Volodia, too."
     Vera and I went to get dressed while Mikhayil ate his hot borshch alone. We were dressed in a short time. Vera wore a long black satin dress with white lace trimmings and covered her blond hair with a gray felt hat with a long white ostrich feather.
     "Verochka, you look great, but please remove that feather. You will be mistaken for a 'bourzuika' (capitalist). I might meet someone I know. Nowadays the women have to dress modestly. We are proletarians."
     "All right, off with the feather.
     We walked out in the cold twilight of the evening. The white starched shirt was irritating my neck as I rode on Vera's shoulders.
     "Let me carry him, Verochka. He is my boy too."
     "All right. He is not heavy. How far do we have to walk?"
     "Another block, we'll be coming to a large intersection where we will find a sleigh." I was now riding on Mikhayil's shoulders. He was extra careful, holding on to my legs. "Don't slip now, Volodenka, we could both fall," Mikhayil joked. I liked this good-natured old man. It was easy to become friends with him.
     "I was reading your books, Grandpa Mikhayil. I hope you don't mind."
     "Oh you were, were you? Ten lashes for every book you read." We both laughed. He liked to be called grandpa. "It is good to read, Volodenka, that is how one can find out about things without having to listen to other people. One can read any time one wants to. One can also read what people have written many centuries ago. Reading books is the best way to acquire knowledge."
     We came to a crossroad, a wide boulevard. It was poorly lit. Many people were walking on the snowy sidewalks. There was a sled on the corner waiting for customers. The horse's mane was covered with frost, his head hung low. The driver too had his head on his chest, taking a nap. Mikhayil lifted the leather cover and helped Vera and me into the sleigh-waking the driver.
     He quickly turned around and asked where we were going. Mikhayil gave him directions and we were off with the bells tinkling. It took a long time to get where we were going. The street suddenly led into a square. We pulled up in front of a well-lighted building with posters advertising the event. Mikhayil paid the driver and we went inside.
     The entrance hall had the look of neglected elegance-smudged mirrors, dusty gold-painted palm trees, and lots of little light bulbs in the ceiling-many of them missing. Mikhayil led the way to a balcony where we took our seats. Far below us was the stage, enclosed by a red curtain. The hall was filling up rapidly. Mikhayil sat between Vera and me. He had one arm around me and the other around Vera. We did not speak. Musicians in the pit in front of the stage were tuning their instruments. It was all very fascinating to me, never having been to a theater before in a big city.
     A man dressed in black entered the orchestra pit and everybody started applauding. The orchestra played the "International" and everybody stood up and sang one stanza. After that the lights went out and the public gradually settled down in expectation of the play, The orchestra began playing a lively tune and then the curtain rose. Men and women in colorful costumes were talking, singing, dancing, and bowing to each other and sometimes fighting. I did not understand any of it. However, I did enjoy the music, the costumes, and the dancing. The audience often laughed and occasionally applauded. This was probably an operetta about Japan. I remember a stanza and the melody that went with it:
     "Chung Kina, Chung Kina,
     Chung, Chung, Kina, Kina,
     Nagasaki,
     Yokohama,
     Hakodate,
     Goy, Goy . . . ."
     Only much later did I realize that I was calling out names of Japanese cities. Mikhayil and Vera were reciting and singing snatches of the performance all the way home. We were all very happy. After a short snack and tea we all went to bed. Vera prepared a bed for me on the sofa with extra blankets. I was by myself.
     
XVII
A Cell Meeting
     Several days passed without much happening. Vera had a routine. She would do the housework in the morning, then leave for the city after Mikhayil had gone to work. She would come back in time to cook dinner and have it ready for the MAN when he returned. I was spending my time with Mikhayil's books. I read anything that had exciting pictures, on history, nature, or geography. One evening after dinner Mikhayil announced that the following evening, three of his friends would be coming to a political meeting.
     "I belong to the Communist Party and we have a party cell. There are four of us and we meet once a week. We read and discuss things to become politically educated. It would be nice, Verochka, if you would prepare some 'zakuski' (appetizers), for tomorrow. I would like to introduce you and Volodia to my friends. I was bragging all week about both of you."
     "You don't want to disappoint them, is that it?"
     "I know you will not disappoint them. We will have just a social discussion and you and Volodia can participate. ''
     "Oh no, not me. I am just an ignorant peasant woman. I will embarrass you and myself."
     "You don't want to remain an ignorant woman all your life. You should be proud of being a peasant woman. Don't you know that this revolution was fought for the workers and peasants of this country? We are now the aristocracy, the nobility, the Boyars. Only we call each other Tovarishch, Comrade, or Citizen. You have to forget the old subservient ways, you are equal to the best of them."
     "You talk beautiful words, Mikhayil, it makes me feel very good inside. Maybe you can teach me and I'll try not to put you to shame."
     "That is good, Verochka. You will see, my friends are nice people. You will make friends with them, too. They will probably drop in sometime after sapper."
     The next day Vera cooked, baked, and cleaned house. When everything was done, the kitchen looked like a pastry shop. On the kitchen table were rows of small bublichki, pirozhki, liepyoshki, kulichi, all with various kinds of fillings. I was following Vera around and watching what she was doing. Of course, I tasted everything, eating the imperfect cakes and licking the pans. By evening I was full without having eaten one solid meal all day. Finally, everything was ready. Vera wore her black satin dress covered with an apron. Her long blond hair was rolled up in a tight knot on top of her head, showing her ears with golden ringlet earrings. She moistened some red tissue paper and applied it to her cheeks and lips. We both sat waiting on the sofa in the living room. For the first time Vera was silent. She was obviously excited and expectant.
     The door opened and a stranger walked in, followed by Mikhayil. They took off their overcoats and shook off the snow. A thin man of medium height walked into the living room, where Vera and I were standing,
     "Verochka, this is my good friend Osip Danilovich Verkhunin; this is Vera Yablokhova."
     "Pleased to meet you, Tovarishch Yablokhova," Osip said simply. His severe facial features softened into a barely perceptible smile as he extended his hand. Vera wiped her hand on her apron and shook his proffered hand.
     "Pleased to meet you . . . likewise," Vera said timidly. Please have a seat at the table and I will bring some refreshments . . . Mikhayil, bring them something to drink."
     "You have a nice place here, Misha, almost as nice as in Verkhuta," Osip said jokingly (referring to the coal mines in the extreme Northern Russia where political prisoners were sent when condemned to hard labor).
     "I only miss the rats, the dirt floor, and the wind blowing through. Your humor is cutting. My only consolation is that the people who sent us there are probably roasting in hell, if there is such a place. . . . This is Volodia, Osip, Vera's son. Come, Volodia, don't be bashful, meet our friend Osip."
     I shook Osip's extended hand. My name is Volodia, I am glad you came," I said.
     "How nice of you to say that, Volodia, I am also glad I came." He patted my short hair. I see there is something wrong with your leg?"
     "It is paralyzed. I had infantile paralysis when I was very young."
     "That's a shame. You don't look to me very old now." "Volodia reads my books, then he tells us all about them." Mikhayil said proudly.
     "What did you read about today?" Osip asked while lifting me onto his lap.
     "I read about Peter the Great, how he went abroad in disguise and learned to build ships. When he came back he brought with him craftsmen and teachers and he built the city of Petrograd.
     "Why did he build Petrograd?"
     "That was to have an outlet to Europe by sea. Catherine the Great continued Peter's work after he died."
     There was a knock on the door. Vera ran from the kitchen to open it. Two men stood there on the stair landing shaking off the snow.
     "Good evening, Mikhayil. This must be Vera the Magnificent. Forgive me, Vera, that's the way Misha described you to us."
     "Don't mind him, Verochka, he is just a tease, but a good man and a good friend. His name is Yererni Iva-novich Chernin. Don't let his size scare you ... he is as gentle as a lamb. And the other man behind him is Isaac Amramovich Gurevich. He may be short in height but he is big in brains. Come right in, comrades, and make yourselves at home. Vera has prepared zakuski, and I have a bottle of good 'samogonka' (home distilled) to lubricate our discussions.''
     Yererni lowered his head as he entered the living room, a habit that tall people have. He removed his coat and hat, smoothed his jet black hair, wiped the snow from his thick moustache, and gave Mikhayil a bear hug, then turned and shook hands with Vera.
     Isaac took a long time wiping his pince-nez. He shook hands with Mikhayil, Osip, and Vera, His leather jacket hung loosely over his bony body, his hair was bushy and gray - he was clean-shaven. He spoke with a high-pitched voice,
     "Comrades, we came here to learn about the revolution and gain knowledge from each other's experiences. We have to sharpen our minds and deepen our understanding of our new order. We have to look back at our history, where we have been and chart the road where we are going. We have to define our objectives. So let's go do it without delay. Zakuski and drinks are fine but they are secondary."
     "Yes, yes, of course," everybody agreed.
     "I forgot to introduce you to Volodia. He is a new addition to our family. I hope you don't mind if he, too, participates in listening to the discussions."
     "Of course not. That will be good for him and we'll keep our language clean."
     We sat around the dining-room table. Mikhayil held me on his lap. Vera brought in the zakuski on two plates and placed them on either end of the table along with two bottles of vodka. Then she brought small jiggers and placed them in front of everybody except me. Isaac seemed to be the leader who began the discussion.
     "Well, comrades, let's begin with questions and we will try to find some answers. Who will start?"
     Yeremi stood up to his full height, cleared his throat, his face flushed, opened his mouth but nothing came out.
     "Well Yeremi, don't be bashful! What is bothering you?" Isaac was understanding. "By the way, Yeremi, you need not stand up."
     "Why is there hunger?" Yeremi shot out.
     "That is a good question, comrades, 'Why is there hunger?'. Why is there hunger after we succeeded in toppling the monarchy, after we concluded a peace agreement at Brest-Litovsk, after we established a government of the workers and peasants? Why is there still hunger? Anybody want to talk about it?" Nobody volunteered.
     "Then I will try to explain the best I can. There is plenty of food in the country, but the system, or rather the machinery of getting it from the place of production to the consumer, was disrupted and in part destroyed by the war, by the revolution, and by unrest."
     "What about religion," Osip was still chewing on a pirogue. "What about the clergy, what role are they going to play in our new order? What about the churches?"
     "Down with the clergy, down with the churches, I say," Mikhayil replied heatedly, and downed his vodka.
     "The clergy," Isaak took over, "is as much to blame for our backwardness and the enslavement of our people as the monarchy and the nobility are. Remember what Lenin said, 'Religion is the opium of the people.' " The discussion continued on many topics. One or another asked a question and a general discussion followed. The history of the revolution, the philosophy of communism, the New Socialist Society were discussed. Isaac Gurevich was obviously the leader. After several hours Isaak Gurevich got up, dressed quickly, shook hands with all of us and left. The rest of them partook of the zakuski and vodka. Vera made several trips to the kitchen for more. A friendly discussion continued.
     "That was a good meeting, as meetings go."
     "Yes it was. Leave it to Isaac, he knows everything."
     "He is a Jew."
     "So what if he is a Jew?"
     "The Jews are brainy. They like to take everything over. That is how they operate."
     "Lenin is no Jew."
     "But he surrounded himself with Jews."
     "How about Trotsky?"
     "What about Trotsky? Is Trotsky a Jew? He doesn't speak and doesn't look like a Jew."
     "He is a Jew. He changed his name; It was Lev Davidovich Bronstein. Trotsky is his revolutionary name."
     "No, his pen name. He was a journalist."
     "All right, his pen name and revolutionary name,"
     "What did Isaac mean when he said we were going to be the avant . . . something?"
     "The avant-garde. It means we are going to be the forerunners, the first ones to teach the others about communism. We are going to be the leaders of the masses.''
     "Does that mean that we will get extra rations?"
     "You bet. We'll be the ones who determine who gets the rations."
     "It is good to be the first on the train, and be able to choose any seat . . ."'
     The conversation went on for some time till all the zakuski were gone and the vodka was running low. The guests got up to leave and, after prolonged goodbyes and embraces, finally left.
     "Verochka, you did a great thing for me by preparing all those goodies. When you do that, all of them will want to come here again. It will lead to my getting larger rations to feed the discussion cell. There will be more for us, too."
     "This is fine, but all the shelves in the kitchen closet are bare. We may scrape together something for breakfast, but that is all."
     "Don't worry, Verochka, come with me to work in the morning and I will more than replenish our larder."
     "That is good, Mikhayil. You go to bed now and rest up. I will clean up and then I will join you."
     "But then I will be asleep. . . ."
     "You will wake up . . ."
     Mikhayil went grudgingly to bed, while Vera made my bed. She stayed in the kitchen for a long time, washing and cleaning. I was awake till the tight in the kitchen went out. Vera stopped to kiss me before going to Mikhayil's bedroom.
     I slept late the next morning. Mikhayil and Vera were already gone by the time I woke up. There was bread and butter with a glass of cold tea waiting for me on the kitchen table. I was still hungry when that was gone. My attention turned to the bookshelf again. I took out a little booklet titled "Zolotaya Moskva" (Golden Moskva). It began with a poem, I still remember the first few lines.
     Tell me uncle, Was it not for naught,
     That the flaming Moskva,
     Was handed over to the Frenchman? . . .
     For a long time I was engrossed in reading about the city of Moskva till Vera came back carrying a loaded sack. She was perspiring even though it was cold outside. She sat down in a chair, let out a big sigh of relief and said to me, "Volodenka, my dove, give me a glass of water."
     "Right away." I have never seen Vera so exhausted. She drank the whole glass of water and wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the edge of her head kerchief.
     "Volodenka, I brought back the whole store but doing it cost me a year of my life. I stood in four lines arguing over every detail with every little functionary to show my documents and Mikhayil's ration papers and finally carrying it all home. I was too stingy to hire a sled. You must be hungry. Let's eat first. What have you been doing all day by yourself?"
     "I read about Moskva."
     "You will have to tell me about it later."
     We both ate ravenously—tearing at the fresh bread and the cold half-cooked meat. Both of us were silent, absorbed with eating.
     "This is enough for now," Vera said, getting up. "We can eat more at supper. I have to cook the meal right now. The old man will be here in an hour or so. In the meantime you can read your book."
     I went back to the living room and my book. Mikhayil came in after a while. He started talking as soon as he closed the door and took off his hat and coat.
     "There was a big raid on speculators in the station. Many people got caught with large amounts of food, money, jewelry, gold, and silver. You should have seen the mad dash to the restrooms to unload. All the exits were blocked. It was a tragedy to see how some people lost all they had. To make matters worse they were arrested."
     "Who is going to get all that loot?" Vera asked from the kitchen, obviously very much interested.
     "The government will get some of it. The militiamen and the commissar in charge-most of it. They don't do this very often. They let the public forget about the raids by not searching for a while so that the people's confidence will be built up and they will trade again, only to arrest them later. What are you cooking for tonight? Something good, I bet."
     "I hope you will like it. Oatmeal soup with potatoes and a fat soup bone. I spent most of the day standing in line for provisions. I just got here a while ago."
     "It will be fine, Verochka. With you around a piece of bread with hard cheese and water would be enough. And you, Volodenka, what have you been doing?"
     "I have been reading your books, Grandpa Mikhayil,"
     "That pleases me very much. You will educate yourself like many Russians have done. We will have to find you a school soon. I will talk to Isaac when he comes here next week. He knows about these things. How old are you?"
     "I am eight years old, Grandpa."
     "Yes, you should have been in school two years already. You read pretty well Where did you learn to read?"
     "I was . . . Mama helped me." I was sure Vera must have stopped breathing for a moment.
     "Your mama is a very fine woman, she raised you well. I like you, Volodenka, very much and I will help as much as I can. How are you in arithmetic?"
     "I know the multiplication tables,"
     "Do you know fractions?"
     "What are fractions?"
     "Do you know what a half is?"
     "A half is half of a whole thing."
     "Good. How much is one half added to one quarter?"
     "One half is two quarters, and added to another quarter makes three quarters."
     "Well I think you will have no trouble with school. You know more arithmetic than my cashiers at the station. Your brain works well. Yes, remind me to have a talk with Isaac next week."
     Vera came in and set the table. She brought a large pot of steaming oatmeal soup. Mikhayil and I sat down at the table. Vera dished out a large portion for Mikhayil and smaller portions for herself and me. For a while we ate without talking, then Mikhayil broke the silence,
     "You have done a good job, Verochka, teaching Volo-dia to read and some arithmetic,"
     "I do the best I can. He is a very bright boy and learns fast." Vera gave me an approving glance.
     "I think we ought to send him to school, I will have a talk with Isaac next week and hear what he says."
     "That's a good idea, dear. I am glad that you are taking such an interest in the boy."
     "Sure, I like Volodia. He is going to be a credit to both of us. I think I will go to bed right after supper. It was late when the people left last night. . . ." They exchanged meaningful glances.
     We all retired early. I could not sleep. The situation has changed—we were going to stay with Mikhayil. Vera was so sincere about my going to school here that I was convinced that she found her port where she would throw out her anchor. Now I would have to think up a new plan of how to escape. An idea flashed in my head—Isaac! I could talk to him. He would believe me. He was Jewish; I could talk to him in Yiddish. I would become better acquainted with him and find the right moment when I could talk to him. Vera was always in the way somehow. I could not imagine that I could tell my story in her presence. I would not have enough courage. I would have to build up courage, I was repeating to myself. I would have to build up courage ... I would have to build up courage. . . .
     
XVIII
Robbery, Flight, Freedom at Last
     Vera acted strangely for a couple of days. She would leave right after Mikhayil had left for work and come back just in time to cook dinner before Mikhayil's return. She did not confide in me as to where she was going or what she was doing on her mysterous trips. It was obvious to me that she was plotting something. My guess was that we were going to move on. The reason she was quiet and kept to herself was that she was afraid that if I knew of her plans, I might inadvertently reveal them to Mikhayil, Vera was not likely to stay too long in one place. Mikhayil's talk about putting me in school probably brought on her decision to leave. She washed all our clothes, repackaged our belongings and did a lot of sewing before Mikhayil came home. I was waiting for something to happen at any time—the tension was mounting.
     One day after breakfast, before the next political meeting, Vera was helping Mikhayil with his fur coat and said offhandedly:
     "Would you like me to prepare zakuski like last week?"
     "That will be nice, Verochka; my friends will love you for it. They talked about it all week. They wished they could be married to a woman like you." They kissed and Mikhayil left.
     Things changed right after the door closed. Vera started frantically searching for something in all of Mikhayil's drawers and closets, throwing things about without regard of putting them back. What she liked to keep she tossed into her sack.
     "Volodenka, we are leaving."
     "When? Where to?"
     "Right away. I want to go to Petrograd, We may find our friend Anatoli Kirilenko still there. He was going there for a long conference. He was really a nice man. I am tired of the old fool here. Besides I have a lot of things to sell."
     "What are you looking for in these drawers?"
     "This old man has a fortune in silver coins stashed away somewhere. I must find them. It will be a shame to leave without them."
     "But he was so nice to us."
     "He was so nice to us because he wanted something from us. Well, he got what he wanted, now he has to pay for it. Help me, Volodenka, we want to leave here as soon as possible."
     "What should I do?"
     "Look in all the places where I haven't looked. Think of places one could hide things."
     It became a game to me—a puzzle. I started with the clothes closet. I looked in all the pockets of Mikhayil's clothes. "I cannot find anything in his pockets."
     "Not in his pockets, silly. Think of an unusual hiding place which one would not ordinarily suspect."
     "I cannot think of any."
     "Look around, maybe you can see something that I have overlooked.''
     "How about the brass curtain rods?"
     "What about the curtain rods?"
     "They are thick and hollow."
     "That they are." Vera climbed a chair and removed the curtain rod from the bedroom window. After she removed the end pieces several coins fell out. Vera was disappointed.
     "I should have known that he has nothing. He bragged to me how rich he was. Liar!"
     "You have not looked in the other rods. This was only an indication that he used the rods."
     "You are smart. What would I do without you?"
     The kitchen rod yielded a couple of handfuls of small coins. Vera's eyes opened wide. Those were gold coins-old tzarist gold coins!
     "We haven't looked yet in the living room."
     "We are going to."
     The rod in the living room was fully packed with coins and wadded paper money which impeded the removal of all the coins. Vera brought a broomstick and pushed through the curtain rod till everything fell out. Vera's eyes shone with excitement—her hands shook. She produced a cloth sack and filled it with the coins.
     "This must be everything. He wasn't lying after all. We have to hurry, Volodenka. Let's get out of here quickly before Mikhayil walks in on us."
     "Are you going to take all of his money? He was so nice to us." I was dismayed at what Vera had done.
     "I gave him his money's worth ... he has no complaints."
     "Aren't you going to put things back as they were? It doesn't look right to leave his things strewn all over the floor. He will faint when he walks in and sees all this disorder."
     "Let him faint or go to hell, I don't care. Here, Volodenka, put on your coat! The sooner we get out of here the better."
     I said nothing more. I followed Vera's instructions, but I had a lump in my throat and my eyes welled up with tears. I was reproaching myself for having mentioned the curtain rods. This meant that I helped rob the man of all he had saved. What a thing to do to our benefactor! Vera is evil! She was good to you as long as she could use you, after that she would throw you to the dogs. At first it seemed to be some kind of game like hide and seek. And I helped, I was a party to it. The house looked like it was burglarized; in fact it was. The house was in a shambles--all of Mikhayil's belongings were scattered everywhere.
     Vera repackaged all of our belongings into two large sacks and we walked out the door. She was careful to lock the door and put the key in her pocket. We went down the stairs. Outside, she put me on her shoulders, and with one sack in each hand started the long trek to the station. She walked fast even though she was more burdened than never before. Her strength and stamina never ceased to amaze me.
     It was a gray, cold morning. I was glad to be outdoors, to breathe clean air once again after having spent so many days in the house.
     "Where are we going?" I wanted to break the silence.
     "To Petrograd," she answered curtly.
     Vera trudged on for some time in silence, then she started talking, my silence must have bothered her,
     "I know you are mad at me because I am running out on the old man. Sure, he was good to us, but we were good to him, too. You are a little boy, you are innocent of people's wily ways. That old man used me as though he owned me. I was to him mother, wife, sleeping companion, housewife, and servant."
     "But you let him think that you liked it."
     "That I did. There was nothing else for me to do once I got involved. So I played along ... he might as well have enjoyed it. No more free candy; not from Vera anyway. Volodenka, you will grow up and learn that people are not always what they seem to be. What did you think the old man had in his mind offering me a key to his house? He saw a poor ignorant peasant girl, lost in the big city, who didn't know where to go or where to turn. He thought he would take that bird in, feed her and her kid, and in turn enjoy her favors. Did you hear how he was boasting in front of his friends—how smart and lucky he was? Didn't you see how he let himself be babied? Sure I played along ... I played along till I could not stand it any longer—that smelly, dirty, drunken son of a bitch. I thought if he touched me one more time I would kill him."
     Vera kept on talking incessantly. I quit listening and buried myself in my own thoughts. She did not convince me . . . she was wrong. She must have known that she had committed a crime, otherwise she wouldn't have talked about it so much. She wanted to justify her actions to me to ease her conscience. It is I who woke her up to the wrong she did. If I had not said anything, she would have probably congratulated herself how smart she was. Over and over I pictured the scene of Mikhayil walking in the house, calling out - "Verochka my dear. . . ." His first impression would probably be that there was a burglary, but he would realize very quickly what actually did happen seeing all of our things gone. It would break his heart for having trusted Vera. He would alarm the militia and look for consolation in his vodka. They would be looking for a woman with a little boy who has a paralyzed leg.
     . . . Poor Mikhayil—his happy life now a shambles, his savings gone. What is he going to tell his friends, after boasting so much? How could he do such a stupid thing, inviting a snake into the house and giving her the run of the place? He should have known better than to trust a woman off the street. Hadn't he learned in all these years? I went on imagining how Mikhayil would react. He would do everything he could to apprehend us; then, failing this, there is always a bottle of vodka and communist meetings . . .
     "... and provide for you too, whether you know it or not," I started listening to Vera again when she mentioned me. "The food you eat, the clothes you wear, the bed you sleep in - I have to provide. And you want to be so big-hearted. Everything in this world, my dear, is put in one great big pot. The first one who helps himself gets his share; if you are timid, you go hungry. Nobody gives a damn about you . . . Nobody lifts a finger to pull you out when you are drowning, unless there is something in it for him. Do you think for one minute that the old man was so big-hearted as to let us live with him because he was going to help a poor woman with a crippled child? Think again, child, he exacted his pay over and over again. If I had to sleep with that dirty old bastard one more night I would have cut his throat . . .
     "Well, we are almost here. We will look around for an inconspicuous corner and then I will inquire about a train, any train, out of here. We will eat as soon as I return."
     Here I was in the train station again, in the familiar settings. Vera was back very soon.
     "We are leaving right now, dear, climb onto my shoulders. There will be a train in a few minutes."
     Vera had that sparkle of adventure in her eyes again. She picked up a sack in each hand and in seconds we were out on the platform. It was not crowded.
     "It is fortunate that we got a train to Petrograd right away."
     "Hush, boy, we don't want to be overheard . . ."I could hardly hear Vera's whisper. There was no train to Petrograd, yet I didn't want to wait for one. I just wanted to get out of here as fast as possible."
     A train came in slowly from a siding. People were coming in from all directions. This car had berths on either side of a partition. Vera pulled out a berth from the wall, put up the brackets and we occupied it. As usual she took the seat by the window. The car gradually filled up. The noise of conversation increased. Vera became withdrawn, covering her face and looking out the window. An elderly woman, sitting beside her wanted to strike up a conversation:
     "How far are you going?"
     "To Pskov." She answered curtly.
     "You don't want to talk, 'kumushka' (neighbor, friend)?"
     "You are right, I don't feel like talking. My husband is lying on his death-bed in a Pskov hospital. I hope my boy and I can find him still alive."
     "Sorry, deary, I know very well how it is. My husband just passed away not four months ago. I am going to Velikiye Luki to stay with my daughter."
     Velikiye Luki! This was like somebody hitting me over the head. So that was where we are going? Who knew if Pskov were before or after Velikiye Luki? What if we went through Velikiye Luki and didn't stop there? The name itself excited me. I remembered Sergei, Stepan, Zina. They were all my friends. This would be my chance to free myself from Vera and go home. I must hide my excitement and not let on that the name Velikiye Luki meant anything to me. I must not mention my going home and keep on being the obedient Volodia to my "dear Mother." . . .
     I wasn't listening any more to the outside conversations, I was busy with my own thoughts, about Velikiye Luki. One way or the other, I must somehow get away from Vera. The robbing of Mikhayil was more than I could take. And I had a hand in it. Vera could be so kind and good for a while, then turn around and act like a monster. Besides I didn't belong with Vera, I was a Jew; I had a family that loves me. I didn't want to spend all my life in trains, beer houses, tea houses, and other kinds of "houses." At the first opportunity I must stop a militiaman to tell him my story. They would have to believe me.
     The train started moving, slowly, gradually, unexpectedly and unannounced. It accelerated after a few jerks but did not gain full speed till it was out of the city, Vera let out a big sigh of relief. She joined me on the berth.
     "We should eat now, Volodenka," Vera whispered in my ear. She unpacked a food package. I was so excited with the name Velikiye Luki that I had forgotten I was hungry. We ate in silence and tried not to attract attention. As it was, I could see a few envious glances. Hunger was rampant. We had a quick meal; if it had not been for a few half-rotten apples that Nadia had given us, we would not have been able to swallow our food. Vera went to the rest room for water but there wasn't any.
     It was already dark when Vera woke me up, holding a cup of tea in front of me. "Here, Volodenka, have something to drink. "You must drink something."
     I was thirsty, and burned my tongue sipping the hot liquid. I blew on it and took some small sips, which wasn't very satisfying. The train was standing still somewhere in the dark. I could see through the window lazy snow flakes drifting to the ground. There was no light inside the train. The air smelled badly of bodies and feet that had not been out of their clothes and shoes for weeks. I remembered the Russian saying—"A man is not a pig; he can take anything." Vera came up on the berth. She wrapped herself around me, giving me warmth and comfort, I was soon asleep again , . .
     Senia and Nina were teasing me. I was running after them like I did not have a crippled leg, but it was so slow. We were all running but not getting anywhere. Then suddenly Senia turned around, his throat was cut and bleeding. He pleaded "Help me, help me, Vulia, they are going to kill me." Then his face turned like Grishka's, a dead face, with staring eyes. Then there were no eyes, just black holes. I turned and was going to run away, but Senia held on to my arm and I could not break loose, I was in a panic and shouted "No, no, no, don't, don't . , ."
     "There, there, Volodenka, you were having a nightmare. What is it, dear?"
     "Senia, Nina, they are dead, dead. . ."
     "Calm yourself, nobody is going to hurt you, as long as Vera is around."
     There was daylight in the window. The train was in motion with the monotonous swaying and rhythmic noise. People around us were getting up, stretching, yawning, rubbing their eyes. Vera was already up and looking up at me from below.
     "You feeling better now?"
     "Yes. I am thirsty."
     "There is nothing to drink. We will be stopping pretty soon in Velikiye Luki to change trains for Petrograd."
     She said Velikiye Luki! We are stopping in Velikiye Luki! I could not believe my ears, now I had definitely to control myself, and not let on that it meant anything to me. She would immediately sense that I was up to something. She did not know that I had good friends there-Sergei and Stepan. She had only seen them for a short while. I had to keep talking to cover my excitement.
     "Why didn't we take the direct train that Anatoli Kirilenko was telling us about?"
     "Because," she whispered in my ear, "I wanted to get out of Moskva as soon as possible to avoid a chance meeting with the old man. This was the first train out of there and besides they are probably going to look for me on that direct train, but not on this one. I am glad that you worry about me."
     "You are smart, Mama."
     "We are going to eat at the station; you think you can wait a little longer? It will not be much longer. I hope we can get a train to Petrograd pretty soon. Maybe we can still find Anatoli Kirilenko there. He said he was going to be there for several weeks of schooling. I hope we catch him there. He was such a nice man, and he can be useful to us too, what with being in the Communist Party and all."
     "I liked him too,"
     "Now let us put on an extra pair of woolen stockings, it looks very cold outside. When it is a sunny day in winter it is usually pretty cold."
     The train started slowing down and the people began preparing to detrain. I watched the rails multiplying as though coming out from underneath the car and snaking along with the train. We were now passing houses with increased frequency and already we were in the city, crossing streets. A few more chugs and whistle-blows and we pulled into the station.
     Velikiye Luki My heart was beating faster. Here was where I would have to act! There was not going to be a better place to part company from Vera. There might not be another chance. Courage! I told myself, over and over again.
     Vera took me down from the berth. She waited till the corridor was free of people. We went down the steps onto the platform, the same one where I last saw Mama. My heart was racing faster and louder. We made our way inside the station. It was crowded—no empty benches, Vera found a place near the stove in the middle of the hall, "You will be safe and warm here, Volodenka. I will just take out our food bundle and the tea kettle. Here, munch on a sukhar, while I go to get some water for tea. I will also inquire about a train to Petrograd. Judging by the crowded condition here, not many trains are leaving here. I will try to make it as fast as I can."
     Vera walked off with the kettle and her documents. No sooner had she left, when I stood up on our sacks to look for a militiaman. All I could see were crowds of people —noisy, dusty, dirty humanity.
     "Are you looking for somebody, little boy?"
     Miracle of miracles! There stood Stepan in front of me, like a miraculous apparition. The one person I was hoping so much to see, my savior, my liberator. My wish has come true! My eyes filled with tears; I could not speak, I was overwhelmed.
     "Stepan! Stepan, oh Stepan!" I finally shouted and broke out crying.
     "What are you doing here? Volodia, is it?"
     "Oh Stepan, she stole me and pretended that I belonged to her. She is not taking me home. Stepan help me! Help me!"
     "Wait a minute. There was a woman who was going to take you back to your home. A few days after you left, your mamasha was back here looking for you. She was so glad to find out that we found you and sent you off with a reliable woman. You say that this woman has been holding you captive and will not return you to your home?"
     "That is right. She traveled all over Russia with me. She is a 'speculator.' "
     "Where is she now?"
     "She has gone to inquire about a train to Petrograd. She was also going to bring some kipyatok for tea.
     "Wait till Tovarishch Sergei hears about this. Listen carefully, Volodia. I want to catch this woman. You sit here and don't let on that anything is happening. I will get some help from other militiamen. We will be near you but out of sight. She must not suspect anything, otherwise she is going to disappear and we will never catch up with that bird. Now, quit crying, dry your eyes, and act as though nothing has happened. Don't worry, Volodia, everything is going to be all right from now on."
     I followed Stepan's papakha until it disappeared in the crowd. I looked all around for Vera but could not spot her. I could not see any militiamen either. The suspense was increasing with every passing minute. It seemed like a long time since Stepan left. I was beginning to get apprehensive. Maybe I got myself into trouble, who knows how grownups think? I began to shake from either tension or hunger. Finally I saw Vera coming. She was smiling.
     "Volodenka, we are lucky, we will have a train to Petrograd, probably this evening. You must be starved, let us eat right now. What is the matter with you-you feel all right? You look so pale; you are shaking, have you any fever? She put her hand on my forehead. "No, no fever, you are perspiring. Is anything wrong with you, dear?"
     I could not speak. Tears started running from my eyes. Where was Stepan? He said he was going to be very close by. I started mumbling, "I ... I ... am very hungry."
     At that moment, Stepan and two more militiamen surrounded us as if by magic. Stepan approached Vera, seized her by the arm and pronounced in an official tone, "You are under arrest, Citizen Vera."
     "What for? Has this little boy been telling lies again? He is a liar; he likes to tell stories."
     "We'll soon find out whether or not he has told lies. Come with us."
     "Get your hands off me! I tell you this boy is a liar. Who are you going to believe, him or or me, his mother?
     I tell you you are making a big mistake, yon could be punished for arresting a mother of a crippled child."
     "Come!" Stepan said with authority. He held on tightly to Vera's arm, while she was trying to wriggle free. She finally gave up the struggle and allowed herself to be led away.
     The two other militiamen picked up the two sacks and me and followed Stepan and Vera. People opened a passage as we proceeded. We walked through the familiar offices and were told to sit down. I stole a glance at Vera. Her face was ashen—there was murder in her eyes when she met mine. I could not stand her stare and looked away. I was frightened. Somehow, it seemed to me that I was to blame for my own predicament. What would Sergei say?
     "Wait here," Stepan said and knocked on the door of Sergei's office, he opened it and said, "Tovarishch Sergei, they are here."
     "Bring in Volodia, but not the woman, yet." I heard Sergei's voice.
     I walked in the office. Sergei met me half-way with out stretched arms.
     "Volodia, what happened?"
     I threw my arms around his neck and cried, "Oh Sergei, Sergei, I love you ... I love you ..." uncontrollable tears pouring down my face. All those pent-up emotions for the past several months gave way in a wave of tears. I held on to Sergei's neck and kept on repeating, "I love you ... I love you . . ."
     "There, there, child, you are safe now, nobody is going to harm you." He held me tightly in his arms and patted me on the back. "Calm yourself and tell me all that happened, don't leave anything out." Gradually I relaxed. Sergei put me in a big chair next to him. He wiped my face and nose with his handkerchief. Now I felt hungry.
     "I am very hungry. I haven't eaten since last night."
     "We can remedy that. How about a piece of my sandwich? And we will have Stiopa bring us tea."
     The food and the hot tea calmed me down considerably. Sergei was looking in my eyes and following my every move.
     "It is all my fault, Volodia. I should have investigated that woman more thoroughly and not given her the papers.
     Your mamasha was here two days later. She was frantically looking for you. She told me that she got in on the train and found a seat, but when she turned to leave to pick you up she could not get out no matter how hard she tried, because the cars were solidly packed with people. The train began moving with her still struggling to get out. So many parents abandon their children, I thought that she did the same, I must ask your forgiveness for thinking so. She is a real nice mamasha. I assured her that we sent you back home to ... what was the name?"
     "Rezhitsa."
     "Yes, Rezhitsa . . . one of these days you would show up safe and sound at your home. I have not heard from her since. Considering these troubled times, it is no wonder. I will send you back home with a special emissary. I will not believe in benevolent women anymore."
     Sergei's soothing voice gave me assurance. I stopped crying, and blew my nose again in his handkerchief. I interrupted him by asking, "What is an emissary?"
     "An emissary is a special person who is sent to do a special task." he said smiling. "You look so much better when you are not crying. Now, tell me all that has happened to you since you left. Don't leave anything out. I want to know all the details, I mean everything, from the first day on."
     I told him everything that I could remember - even the sexual abuses. . . .
     "That's quite a story you told me, Volodia. One could write a book about it. I hope your path will be smoother from now on. We will have to verify everything that you have told me. I believe you, but the court needs proof." Sergei got up, opened the door and shouted to somebody, "Bring in the two sacks from the bench."
     "These sacks are my personal property! You have no right to . . ."I heard Vera's high-pitched voice.
     "Shut up! We will tell you what your rights are." Somebody in the office shouted back.
     Stiopa, now in uniform, dragged in the two sacks. He nodded to me and walked out. Sergei emptied the sacks on a table. He separated my clothes and put it aside in a bundle. He counted the money in the little sacks and asked me: "Is this the money that Vera stole from your friend Mikhayil?"
     "Yes, and that is not all." I emptied my inner pockets of the money hidden there.
     "Do you know where Mikhayil lives?"
     "In Moskva. He works as a supervisor of the food counter in the Moskva Train Station."
     It will be easy to find him. We will return the money to Mikhayil. We will tell him that he has you to thank for getting it back."
     "I am very glad of that. Mikhayil was very nice to us."
     Sergei left all the items spread out on the table, walked to the door and shouted: "The woman!"
     Vera shot in like a bullet before Sergei had time to get back to his seat.
     "He is a liar, I tell you. I don't know what he has told you about me, but they are all lies. He makes up stories and embarrasses me all the time. And I was so nice to him. I was going to take him home, but he begged me to stay away a little longer, in Odessa, Voronezh, and other places we went. He wanted to travel all the time ... I did it all for him. Whenever I mentioned going home to his parents, he would beg me and cry for us to go to just one more place."
     "And you let him lead you on?" Sergei asked. "Incredible!"
     "Yes! Because I loved him so very much. . . . Right now, he wanted to go to Petrograd. He said he has never been there before; so we were going there. He is the one that put me up to stealing from my best friend, Mikhayil Zorin . . . his money and food. And Mikhayil was as nice to us especially to Volodia. He treated him like a son, taught him how to read books and let him take part in his communist cell meetings. ..."
     Vera turned and began shouting at me. "Wasn't I good to you? Didn't I feed you well? I broke the law many times to get food just so you can eat, I loved you like a son - like my own son. Who cried over you when you were so deathly sick? I spent all my money to make you well again. I did every little thing to make you happy. Now you turn around and stick a knife in my back, just like the Jew that you are. And you," she turned on Sergei, "You believe all he says. You don't know the boy like I do. He is a sneaky, perverted liar. He even wanted to lay me . . . can you imagine that? I put a stop to that and he hasn't mentioned it since. I had pity on this crippled little boy and he took advantage of me. And look how he is paying me back! Punish him for all the grief he is causing me. Give me back my belongings and I will be on my way. You may find some other fool woman to take him where he says he wants to go. I am through with him—finished!"
     Vera collapsed in a chair and sobbed loudly in her kerchief. She was mumbling incoherently. I too cried all through her tirade. It gave me the feeling that I was as much to blame as she. It made me feel dirty, guilty, and unworthy.
     Sergei sat there in his chair with a faint, sly smile on his face. I could not understand how he could sit through the whole scene played out before us without hardly interrupting. When Vera finished shouting, he got up, lit one of his papirosi, blew smoke toward the ceiling, then in an unemotional voice began berating Vera.
     "You put on quite a performance. One can see that you have had experience. This is how you made your way in this world—by lying and cheating. You got away with it until now. I can see through you—how cleverly you constructed your story. How do you know what Volodia has told me? You are the one who substantiated everything that Volodia told me and more. You want me to believe that you dragged this little boy all over Russia because he asked you to? What kind of fool do you think I am? This is the end of the road for you. You are not going to fool anybody anymore. I will recommend to the judge that you be shot. . . ."
     Vera let out a high-pitched scream and lunged at Sergei, with her arms raised and fingers stretched out like a bird's talons. Sergei warded off her attack with a chair, like the lion-tamer I saw in the circus, in Odessa. She fell to the floor and did not get up. Sergei stepped over her and opened the door.
     "Take her away!" Sergei ordered.
     Two militiamen ran in. They lifted Vera by her arms and carried her limp body out of the room, while she was moaning something incoherently. Sergei closed the door.
     "Now, young man, stop crying. Everything is going to be all right. Try to forget Vera and what she did to you,
     There is a whole life ahead of you. You must become educated and assume a useful place in our new society. You are the future of this country. You have suffered because of the chaotic conditions caused by the war and the revolution, I will ask Stiopa to take you over to Zina Petrovna, You remember Zina, don't you?"
     "Yes," I answered hoarsely, "She was a very nice lady, like my grandmother—only younger."
     "There may be some Red Army soldiers going your way; if so, I will send you with them. I will find out right now."
     Sergei walked out of the office. I was alone. I needed to sort things out—to get used to the new situation—to the realization that finally I would be going home. My throat was tight from crying, I felt tired. I must have fallen asleep in the chair. . . .
     I heard Sergei talking to somebody in a low voice. "What this little boy went through in the last several months, other people don't go through in a lifetime. There he is asleep like sweet innocence itself without a worry in the world."
     I opened my eyes. Sergei was talking to a tall broad-shouldered man, clean-shaven, dressed in a military greatcoat and a papakha that had a red star sewn in front.
     "I am sorry I woke you up, Volodia. This is Tovarishch Adam Vishnievsky. He is the officer in charge of a contingent of soldiers who are going to Dvinsk. You. will go with them. From there he will send you with one of his soldiers to Rezhitsa. In Rezhitsa you will have to find your relatives. What is their name?"
     "Sandler."
     "Yes the Sandlers."
     "Don't worry, Volodia, we will take care of you." Adam spoke with a pleasant baritone and extended his hand; I took it. "We will be leaving early tomorrow morning, if they have the train ready for us as they promised. The way things work around here, it probably will be noon, but be ready anyway. We will have plenty to eat. You will have to join in the singing without singing, nobody eats."
     "I can do that. I know the "International," Volga, Volga," and other songs, too."
     "Good, Volodia. You will teach us your songs and we will teach you our military songs. Adam said with a smile. Well, we will see you tomorrow, little citizen, or can I call you tovarishch?"
     "Yes, Tovarishch Adam."
     Sergei and Adam walked to the door. "You have taken a load off my mind, Tovarishch Adam. The youngster must get home as soon as possible. Can you imagine what his parents have been going through? And he, too. Many thanks for your help." They shook hands and Adam left.
     "I am very hungry," I blurted out.
     "Forgive me Volodia, I will send you to Zina right away and she will take care of your little tummy," He went to the door and shouted "Stiopa! Take Volodia over to Zina Petrovna and tell her that this young man is hungry. I want him to take a bath later. He will need a change of clothes. There is his bundle of clothes and food. I think you know Volodia?"
     "Yes, Tovarishch Sergei. He was here when I first came here. I am glad they found him."
     Just as before, I was walking with Stiopa to Zina's house nearby.
     "Vera is a fool. Why did she have to come back to Velikiye Luki?" Stiopa wanted to draw me into a conversation.
     "I don't understand it either, but it was lucky for me. She did not know that I knew Stepan and Sergei well. She was scared, and was running away from Moskva as quickly as she could. This was the first train out."
     "They said in the office that they are going to shoot her."
     "I hope they don't shoot her—she was good to me."
     "How was she good to you, by not taking you home? If it was up to me I'd shoot her."
     "I hope not. I don't like to talk about it." 
     Zina was waiting for us at the door.
     "Come in quickly, don't cool the house. Volodenka, darling, Sergei says you are hungry. I have just the thing for a hungry little boy. I baked some bread this morning and I have a chicken drumstick. Are you also hungry, Stiopa?"
     "Yes, I am always hungry."
     "You are a growing boy, you need more food than grownups. Sit down and keep Volodia company. I may find another drumstick for you. Lucky for you that chickens have two drumsticks."
     We sat down at the kitchen table and started eating, I was so hungry that I only half chewed my food. The tea helped to get it down.
     "They are going to shoot her," Stiopa said.
     "Hush boy, let's not have any idle talk."
     Stiopa's face blushed. He hurriedly finished eating, mumbled "Thanks," and walked out. I knew Zina hushed Stiopa on my account. I appreciated it. I did not want to talk about it anymore. That for which I prayed had finally happened, but it did not make me as happy as I thought it would. I was confused; nothing seemed real. I felt as if I had lost my security—Vera—and had not yet acquired a new one. I was sort of floating like a dry leaf in the air. It was just too much, too much happening all at once. I was tired. Zina read it on my face.
     "Sergei wants to take you out for a bath this evening. There are still a couple of hours until he comes home. Why don't you lie down on the sofa to take a nap? You look very tired."
     "Thank you, Aunt Zina, I think I will."
     Zina brought a big pillow for me, covered me with my coat, and I was asleep before I bit the pillow.
     Next thing I knew I heard a whispered conversation: "The poor dear, he was so tired, he fell asleep right away. Too many things happened to this little boy—all in one day."
     "You are right, let him sleep. I'll wait."
     I opened my eyes and saw Sergei and Zina standing over me. "I am not asleep."
     "Good. Volodia, d'you feel like going with me to have a bath?"
     "I'd love to."
     "Then get dressed right away!"
     It was a clear, moonless evening. Both of us stopped to gaze at the star-studded sky. We took a sled and did not talk till we reached the bath house. I enjoyed the long ride very much. The cold air had a cleansing effect upon me. I felt refreshed. Oppressive hot steam met us upon opening the door of the bath house. Gradually I got used to the high humidity and the heat was soothing. Sergei washed me thoroughly, then let me splash around in a bucket of water while he washed himself, and soon we were ready to get dressed. We engaged a sled on the return trip also. Not a word was spoken till we came home.
     "Zina Petrovna, you have a big problem on your hands. You have two hungry men to feed. Does your husband ever come home to eat? It is hard to believe that we live in the same house yet I only meet up with him once a month or less."
     "He comes home to eat, but never at regular hours. Come to the table, food is ready, tea is brewed, and I was told that your stomachs are empty."
     "All right, Volodia, let's take our stomachs to the table."
     We ate in silence till after the second glass of tea. Then Sergei began:
     "I had a sack of food prepared for you for the road, so that you will not be a burden to the soldiers. This is a 'payok' (ration) that you are entitled to. You will have enough food for yourself for a week, and could even share with someone who does not have enough. Adam has enough food for the train. Till Dvinsk you will eat hot food with the soldiers from their kitchen. Soldiers must eat well for energy. They work very hard and must be in good shape to fight when called upon. I suggest that you go to bed now to be ready to go with Adam. I still have some work to do at the office, but I will join you later. Don't wait up for me."
     Sergei left after dinner. Zina took me to Sergei's room, helped me to undress and put me to bed. "I will add some more wood to the stove so that you will be warm all night. Jump in bed and I will tuck you in." She kissed me on the forehead, "You sleep well. I will wake you early in the morning. This will be a great joy for you and your loved ones. Good night, dear." She turned out the light leaving me alone in the dark.
     My mind was reviewing the happenings of the day. I was free at last from the clutches of Vera. It was miraculous. God must have had a hand in it. I still could not explain why Vera took the train to Velikiye Luki. She must have panicked and taken the first train out, which happened to be going to Pskov, Velikiye Luki was where she could get a train to Petrograd. She also mentioned that the first place the militia would look for her would be on a train to Petrograd. She may have mentioned to Mikhayil about wanting to go to Petrograd, I had not said anything to her for quite a while about my going home. She probably thought that I had given up the idea. She also judged me as not too enterprising and having little or no initiative—a passive sort of boy. As it turned out, everything worked out just right. It was hard to wait till tomorrow morning when a new chapter was to begin, with new people, good people, I am going home—at last!
     My nap in the afternoon rested me, and now sleep would not come, Sergei came in late. He did not turn on the light. He quietly took off his clothes, washed, came back and slipped under the covers. When I moved, Sergei spoke to me.
     "I am sorry, Volodia, that I woke you up"
     "I was not asleep. I was really waiting for you so I can talk to you. You are so nice to me,"
     "Oh, you little flatterer. I too am glad that you are still awake. I just finished writing the 'doklad' (report) about you and Vera. I made some recommendations for her punishment."
     "Stiopa said that they were going to shoot her. Is that true?"
     "You should not listen to what Stiopa says. You also should not be concerned with Vera anymore. Try to forget her and everything connected with her. It is not good to dwell on bad things of the past. You should look to the future. Get an education. Russia needs a lot of educated people."
     "Are they going to shoot her?"
     "I don't know, Volodenka, she certainly deserves it."
     "She was good to me."
     "She was good to you like one is good to his cow, so she will give more milk. I tell you, Volodia, forget her! Don't torment yourself any longer about Vera. She is a grown person; she knew what she was doing; she took her chances and she lost. She will have to pay the price . . . Now let us get some sleep, we both need it. We have a big day ahead of us."
     
XIX
On the Train Again, Antoshka, Raiisa
     "Time to get up boys! The rooster is crowing." Zina was waking us.
     Sergei helped me wash and dress, Zina had a bowl of hot cereal for each of us. I sprinkled some sugar on it and ate it with relish. My excitement was growing by the minute. "I am going home," I kept on repeating to myself. It seemed like such a very long time since I saw Mama disappear into the crowd. Zina helped me with my heavy overcoat.
     "It is time to say goodbye," Zina said. She bent down and gave me a hug and a couple of noisy kisses. "Go, my dear, and have a pleasant trip. I hope you find your family in good health and fortune."
     "Goodbye, Aunt Zina. You were so good to me. I am going to tell Mama about you."
     "You are? How nice of you to say that."
     More hugs and kisses and Sergei led me by the hand. It was cold and humid outside. We made our way to the station. I slipped a couple of times, but Sergei held me up. Somebody opened the door for us while we walked into the overheated smoke-filled station. Adam was already waiting in Sergei's office.
     "Good morning, Tovarishch Sergei. Forgive my intrusion. I hope you don't mind, but it is more comfortable to wait here than in the noisy hall."
     "Good morning to you too, Tovarishch Adam. Are we on time?"
     "You are. You would have been on time if you had come an hour or two later. They promised that in an hour and a half they will give us a train. My troops are having breakfast now."
     "Well, Volodia, it is time for us to part." Sergei said. You will go with Adam now and he will introduce you to his soldiers who will take care of you. I hope you reach your family in good health. Give my regards to your mamasha. I am very sorry that sending you home became so complicated. Tell her most of what has happened but withold some of the details—you know what I mean . . . I tell, you, again try to fotget the bad things, of the past, look to the future." Sergei gave me a big hug and kissed me on both cheeks, "I will miss you, Volodia, you were good company. Adam, from here on you take over. You be responsible for Volodia's getting home. I am sure your people will be nice to him. And remember, Volodia likes to sing."
     "Don't worry, there will be plenty of singing. Goobye Sergei, you can be sure, we will do our best for the boy."
     I was holding on to Adam's hand. He carried my bundle of clothing and a sack of provisions for me. We zigzagged through the benches and people till we came to the opposite end of the station. There were about a hundred soldiers, some on benches but most of them on the floor. The mass of men wore drab green uniforms. At first they all looked alike, then gradually I singled out individual people and what they were doing. Some played cards, others chess, some were reading newspapers, others were asleep, and still others were engaged in talk and arguments.
     "Antoshka.'" Adam shouted.
     "Yes, Tovarisch Adam?" A short soldier, wearing a greatcoat that almost dragged on the floor and a papakha at a sporty angle, approached us.
     "Antoshka, I have an important job for you. This is Volodia Gutman. He had been lost so we must take him back to his family. I am entrusting him to you. You will have to see to it that he is well-fed and made comfortable. Don't let him out of your sight. He has a bad leg, so you will be required to carry him sometimes. He can walk but you are to hold him by his hand, especially on snow or ice. He will go with us to Dvinsk, From there, you will take him to a town called Rezhitsa. There you will have to find his relatives. Volodia will tell you their names.
     However, he does not know their address, so use your ingenuity. It is not a big place and everybody knows each other. You will have to carry his pack of food as well as your own. This is a voluntary assignment. Do you want to do this?"
     "Yes, Tovarishch Adam," he answered without hesitation.
     "I knew I could count on you, Antoshka. Thank you."
     "I will do my best, Tovarishch Adam."
     "One more thing, Volodia likes to sing." He winked at me.
     "I have a harmonica. Maybe Volodia could teach me how to play it? . . ."
     "Make friends with Volodia. You two are not to separate till you deliver him to his relatives. Thanks again."
     Antoshka's face changed from serious to a broad smile after Adam left. He extended his hand in greeting.
     "My name is Anton Krause; you can call me Antoshka."
     "My real name is Vulia, but everybody calls me Volodia. Either name will do."
     "Let me see how much you weigh." Antoshka lifted me way above his head. "You weigh next to nothing," he said and put me astride his neck, picked up my bundles and walked to the comer where his pack was. The eyes of all the soldiers were on me.
     "You got a new recruit?" somebody called out from the crowd.
     "No, he is going to be our new commanding officer," Antoshka said jokingly. "Don't let those jokers get the best of you," he told me. "They don't mean any harm. They make fun of everything and everybody . . . even themselves. They are good, friendly people." Then turning to the crowd Antoshka announced—"This, comrades, is Volodia. He is going to travel with us to Dvinsk, and from there, I am to deliver him to his relatives. He was lost. Be nice to him and treat him like one of us. By the way, Volodia likes to sing. Shall we tune up?"
     Antoshka tried a note in a high-pitched tenor and the others accompanied him in harmony. Somehow this seemed very funny to me and I burst out laughing. I hadn't laughed like that since I saw the clowns in the Odessa circus.
     "Ah, so you don't like our singing?" one of the soldiers said to me. "Well this was just a sample. We will do better when we get on the train,"
     "No, it was nice!" I protested, "Only it was funny. I could not help laughing."
     I sat down on my bundle of clothes. Right away I felt at home among these good-natured soldiers.
     "Are you hungry?"
     "I could eat something, Tovarishch Antoshka." "I'll see if I can gel something out of our cook. Hey, watch this boy for me for a minute. I am going to see Kostia for something to eat for our guest."
     "Hey boy," the soldier whom Antoshka addressed spoke to me. "Don't you think you ought to have a uniform, too? I am a tailor. I have an extra shirt. If you let me take your measurements, I will make you a shirt with epaulettes and pockets. So take off your outer garments for a minute, I guarantee, it won't hurt a bit. . . ."
     "Can you guarantee that somebody won't swipe my coat?"
     We both laughed. He took off my coat and took my measurements.
     "My name is Aram, you can call me Aram for short." Again we chuckled. "How old are you?"
     "I am eight years old."
     "Oh, you are an old man. How come you waited so long to enlist? ... I will have your shirt ready for you this evening. Maybe I can find a red star for you, too."
     "That would really be nice."
     "And maybe golden stripes too."
     "Thank you very much." This was unexpected and exciting. I could just picture myself in a uniform shirt with a red star and golden stripes. I would be the envy of all the boys and girls in school.
     "Here's some bread and cheese, Volodia," Antoshka was back, "I hope you have good teeth to gnaw on it; it is as hard as a rock."
     "I can do it. Aram took my measurements and will make me a uniform shirt. He also said that he is going to try to find a red star and golden stripes to sew on it,"
     "Oho, you will look like a general. Everybody is going to salute you. We should be getting a train pretty soon. In the train we will make tea. For the time being, try to swallow if you can."
     Antoshka took his rifle over to a soldier standing nearby and asked him to take care of it while he was carrying me. He also gave him the ammunition bandoliers and two potato-masher hand grenades from his belt. Antoshka looked half-dressed without his rifle and ammunition. I was happily munching on the bread and cheese when Adam appeared. He motioned everybody to gather around him.
     "Our train will be here in a few minutes. Go outside and wait on the platform. Don't push or shove. The last two cars in front of the caboose are designated for us and there is plenty of room. We will have a field kitchen and we will have hot meals and tea. Now, get going."
     The soldiers quickly mounted their packs and gear on their backs and with rifles in hand headed toward the platform. Antoshka put his pack on his back then squatted down so I could climb on his shoulders. He picked up my two bundles in his hands and joined the others. The excitement grew as the train approached. The locomotive gradually came to a halt, puffing, screeching, and scraping. Antoshka mounted the steps of a car and occupied a berth for me and a seat for himself below. He took off his pack and asked me, "Are you going to be comfortable here?"
     "Yes. I always stay on the berth."
     "When you need anything, just let me know."
     "I will."
     "I'll see where the kitchen is." Antoshka left.
     Four more soldiers came in and occupied bench seats. Through the window I watched the soldiers disappear from the platform. Only Adam stood there to see that all his people were on the train, then he, too, disappeared. Further up, civilians were crowding in the other cars.
     "They have the kitchen in the caboose." Antoshka delivered the news when he came back. "I have to pass two cars to get to the caboose. By the way, I got a mess kit for you." He put down a plate arrangement that had a fork, spoon, and oversize cup (no knife) bound together with a leather strap. "They will have hot soup after the train starts rolling." He sat down on Ms seat below and started talking to neighboring soldiers. I wasn't listening to the conversations around me. I was staring out the window and thinking of home.
     The car doors slammed shut. The locomotive blew its whistle several times and the train began to move, first slowly then faster. "Goodbye Velikiye Luki, I hope I make it this time . . . . "
     The landscape through the window became a blur. . . . There was a long street with log houses and stores on either side, curious faces looking on. The church bells rang and people ran to the street shouting, "He is back! He is back! . , ."
     "Volodia, wake up, it is time to eat. You must eat it while it's hot. It will warm you up. There is no heat in the car. If you get too cold we can go to the caboose where it is warm. Pretty soon a soldier will be passing with a big kettle of tea."
     "I am hungry," is all I could say, munching on my bread and stew. It contained pork fat floating on the soup, it was hot, salty and satisfying. One bowl of it filled me up.
     "Here is tea to wet our throat so we can sing." An-toshka brought me a full cup. It wasn't sweet. I knew I had some sugar in my ration bag but I was too lazy to look for it.
     The daylight in the window was fading. A light bulb in the car flickered, then went on steadily with a pale glow. Most of the soldiers finished their meal and were rolling cigarettes. A man in the next tier took out an accordion from a sack, put his head and arm through the leather strap, began fingering the keys, and produced beautiful chords. Then he began a melody to the rhythm of the train. First one, then another, and pretty soon many soldiers formed a chorus. It was a melancholy old ballad of a soldier saying goodbye to his loved ones. He promises to fight valiantly and not shame the family. He will return home with a lot of booty and spoils of war and marry his sweetheart.
     I learned the melody after a few stanzas and joined the singing without the words. My voice sounded different from any of the others and everybody noticed it. After the song was over many soldiers crowded around me and praised my singing.
     "You have a beautiful voice, kid."
     "Only for a short time will you have a voice like that —a soprano. When you get older your voice will change to sound like the rest of ours."
     "Keep on singing, boy, you are good. What can you sing?"
     "Volga, Volga."
     "You hear that boys? We will sing 'Volga, Volga,' and he will lead."
     "Let him solo, and we will harmonize."
     So it was we sang "Volga, Volga" that I learned at Zoya's in Odessa. After singing all the stanzas many soldiers came by to shake my hand and give me candy. I felt happy to be the center of attention, and forgot about all my misfortunes. Life was beautiful again; I did not have a worry in the world.
     We sang many more songs till we were exhausted. The accordion player folded the instrument and put it back in the sack. Aram came by with the made-over shirt. He brought me down to the floor, undressed me and put on the new shirt. It fit. It felt cold but I didn't mind that. It had a red-enameled five-pointed star pinned to the left pocket. It also had gold chevron stripes on the sleeve and epaulettes. A crowd of soldiers gathered around me to admire my new shirt.
     "We should have a formal induction into the Red Army for Volodia."
     "I have half a bottle of vodka."
     "Volodia cannot drink vodka."
     "He cannot drink vodka, but we could pour some on his shirt and on his head, as if we were to anoint him."
     "Just a few drops—no sense in wasting good vodka."
     So I was anointed. Everybody had a swig of vodka and there was tea for me. They finished the ceremony by throwing me up to the ceiling and catching me several times and shouting, "Hurrah, Hurrah, Hurrah."
     I was in seventh heaven. It was a shame that Antoshka made me put on my heavy overcoat and cover up my new shirt. Back again on my berth, Antoshka covered me with his blanket and I fell asleep, fingering my red star under my overcoat. . . ,
     It was mid-morning, I was sitting on Antoshka's lap, we were both looking out of the window. The train was beating out a monotonous rhythm on the raifs. We were passing snow-covered fields interspersed with patches of pine and birch forests. Here and there was a lonely farmhouse with smoke coming from the chimney.
     "You must be glad to be going home, after being lost for so long. I will be close to home too, now. I am Latvian. My family's home is about twenty viorst from Dvinsk. I have been gone for over two years, having joined the army at the age of seventeen. My folks don't know if I am dead or alive. It seemed like the right thing to do then. I was impatient to get out of the village and into the great big world. Well, I have seen it. I will be happier now to stay home and settle down. That rifle is getting heavier to carry every day. I hope the war will be over soon. There are rumors that we signed a peace treaty. No- body tells us anything. It is about time we have a little peace,
     "Two years ago it was different, I was raring to go fight. Well, I was in a couple of scraps with the Whites. There were more of us than them, we did not take any prisoners. . . . We did a lot of killing. ... In the heat of battle you forget yourself, but afterwards you have hell to pay. I cannot sleep nights. Those dead men haunt me. . . That White officer had a clear shot at me, only his pistol was either empty or stuck. I put a bullet in his face and he crumpled to the ground. 'It could have been me,' I said to myself, but it was he who was dead, and I did it ... I don't know why I talk like this to you. You are still young and innocent. You age quickly when you start carrying a rifle. Anyway, I am glad I have somebody to talk to. ... By the way, where are you going?"
     "Rezhitsa. And my relatives' name is Sandier."
     "It looks like we are getting close to Dvinsk. We'd better start gathering our things."
     All the other soldiers had the same idea and started tying up their packs, as though on command. We began to notice more houses in the window. The train slowed down and gradually came to a stop at the station. The soldiers left the train and we did too. It was miserably cold, with a strong wind penetrating my clothes. The soldiers assembled inside the station and mustered out in rows. Antoshka and I were in the front row. I was conscious that everybody was dressed in military green and only my coat was black. I would liked to have worn my uniform shirt with the red star.
     Adam and another officer, apparently of a higher rank, approached the soldiers. Adam spoke to them, then the other officer spoke. I did not pay much attention to what was going on. My thoughts were on how close to home I was. It is happening, it is finally happening. . . ,
     After the speeches, Adam and the other officer came over to us. "This is Tovarishch Anton Krause. I have given him a special assignment to take home a lost boy. They have to go to a town called Rezhitsa."
     "Ah, Rezhitsa," the officer repeated. "It is not far from here. The only trouble is, they may have to wait for a train till tomorrow morning."
     "Too bad," Adam shook his head, "I suggest, Antoshka, you and Volodia spend the night here and do the best you can. When you come back, check in with the officer on duty at the station, he will tell you what to do next."
     "Yes, Tovarishch Adam, I will."
     We stepped out of the lineup, stood aside, and watched the rest of them turn around and march out. "Now, let's find a nice place to spend our time. The first thing is where do we eat and get some tea."
     We walked through the station; there was no lunch counter. Outside, we were directed across the square to a tshainaya.
     I walked all the way to the tshainaya across the the square, holding on to Antoshka's sleeve. A bell jingled when we opened the door. A middle-aged lady smiled at us from behind a counter. A young girl was serving a few customers.
     "How are you, Tovarishchi, what can we do for you?" the lady behind the counter greeted us.
     "First we would like to warm up with a couple of glasses of tea, then we will see what else we want."
     "Have a seat at that empty table in the comer. The girl will serve you."
     "This will be fine."
     I enjoyed sitting at a table in a restaurant. It wasn't like Zoya's in Odessa but it was still a restaurant, and I was sitting here like a grownup, even though the table came up to my chin. The waitress came to our table to serve us. She was short, with a pretty face, light blue eyes, and long blond hair braided around her head.
     "What will it be, Tovarishchi?"
     "First of all we want a pot of tea. What is there to eat?"
     "Not much," she smiled. "We have potato soup with a meat bone in it that conies with bread. There isn't much else, unless you want some white cheese with bread-no butter,"
     "Two portions of the soup is fine. By the way, would you know where the two of us could spend the night? We have to wait for a train till tomorrow morning,"
     She looked at us intently for a moment, then said, "I don't know of anybody right off hand, but I will ask around." Then in a low voice, not to be overheard, "I may be able to arrange something. I quit at dusk, I will look for you at the station." Then louder, "I'll see to it that it is hot, Tovarishchi, don't worry." She left.
     There was a satisfied smile on Antoshka's face. "Something tells me, Volodia, that we will sleep in a bed tonight."
     "It would be nice to take off my clothes for a change and sleep in a warm bed."
     The waitress was back with a teapot and glasses. "We have no sugar," she said, then whispered, "Don't let on. I am not supposed to do it, but I have pity on you and the little boy. At dusk." Then in a normal voice, "I'll be back with the soup as soon as it is hot."
     "She seems anxious," Antoshka murmured to me when she left. "Do you have a big family?"
     "I have a father, a mother, and one brother. We live together with Grandpa and Grandma who are Mother's parents. We have two cows, one belongs to Grandma, the other to us. Grandpa has a horse, We also have chickens and a rooster and geese in winter."
     "It looks like you are prosperous people."
     "We have never been hungry."
     "I understand that your family is not in Rezhitsa, only your relatives live there. What is their name?"
     "Sandier."
     "But where does your family live?"
     "In a little town named Varklian."
     "How are you going to get to Varklian?"
     "I don't know. The Sandlers will know."
     "Why can't we go directly to Varklian?"
     "I think that the train does not go there."
     The waitress brought two bowls of hot, steaming soup with thick slices of black rye bread. The soup contained potatoes, rutabagas, and carrots but hardly any meat. A few dabs of fat proved it had been cooked with meat of some kind. The taste was good, so we emptied our bowls without complaining. We drank more tea. It was obvious that Antoshka was trying to prolong our stay in the restaurant.
     "Well, Volodia, if you are warm enough we will go back to the station. Maybe we can nap a bit. There is nothing else to do."
     All the warmth that we stored up in the restaurant was lost in the wind on our way back to the station. We stood in front of the wood stove to warm up again. Suddenly Antoshka pulled me away from the stove, rubbing my stomach with his papakha. "Don't do this to me!" he shouted in anger. "I have to deliver you in good condition -not half-singed. Your clothes were smoking and just about to catch on fire. Never stay too close to a stove."
     I was scared and also hurt by Antoshka's scolding. I began to cry. Antoshka put his arm around me to placate me. "Forgive me, Volodenka, I did not mean to hurt your feelings. I guess I was angry at myself for not watching you. Are you angry at me?"
     "No, I am not. I am scared."
     "That's good, now you will remember not to get too close to a hot stove. We learn by our mistakes. We are lucky-no harm was done."
     We found an empty bench and both of us stretched out on it using our bundles as pillows; we were soon asleep.
     The waitress was waking us. This time she had on a woolen knit hat and a black coat.
     "How can you sleep with all that noise around you? Come with me."
     Antoshka rubbed his eyes, then said smilingly, "I wish I could be awakened every day by someone like you. You never told us your name."
     "It is Raiisa Grozinskaya, Hurry up, I don't like to stand around here. Somebody might recognize me."
     "Where are we going?"
     "It is close by-just a few minutes walk. I live by myself in my mother's house since she died. Father died a long time ago."
     Raiisa walked in front of us. Antoshka, loaded with our bundles and me, followed. We reached a little old log house.
     "This is my house," Raiisa said opening the door with a big key that she took out from her coat pocket. The door opened with a squeak.
     "The hinges could stand an oiling," Antoshka remarked,
     "Just like a man. Well, you may have the honor of oiling my door, only I have no oil."
     "I have some pork fat. I can spare a little."
     We entered a clean living room with a table and chairs in the middle of the room. A sofa with easy chairs on either side were at the far wall. There were many pictures on the walls, heavy dark green portieres on the single window. One open door led to a kitchen and another to the single bedroom. A brick stove broke the sameness of the dark wallpaper.
     "You know how to make a fire?"
     "Sure, I even have my own matches. We will make it warm in no time. By the way, my name is Anton Krause. Everybody calls me Antoshka. And this is Volodia Gut-man. He somehow got lost and I am taking him back to his family."
     "There, I made a fire." Antoshka came in from the kitchen. "What do you have to cook?"
     "Not much of anything. I thought you might have something. They say that soldiers get all kinds of rations. ''
     "They do. I have some things, and we will cook up something. How about a stew? Do you have some cabbage, potatoes, carrots-anything at all?"
     "A few potatoes and an onion."
     "That will do. I have some salted pork, dried peas, and barley. We will have a delicious stew in an hour."
     Raiisa and Antoshka busied themselves with unpacking the rations and cooking the meal. They joked and laughed, obviously happy to be together.
     Rezhitsa and the Sandlers were on my mind. What will I find there when I get there? Mama told me that Uncle Meishl was cut off by the Whites, probably in Riga. Aunt Sonia was in prison. So the children are the only ones at home. Shaye, the oldest one, was the head of the family. Then Crenia, the only girl, with a face full of freckles. Daftia came next. His name was really David; I don't know why they called him Daftia. He was my age. The youngest one, Milka, short for Rakhmiel, was the darling of the family.
     I remembered Shaye in a tzarist gymnasium (university) uniform. It was quite an achievement in tzarist Russia for a Jew to be accepted in the gymnasium. One had to be exceptionally good scholastically and lucky on top of that. I remember Mama telling a story that before Shaye left for the entrance examinations, he said:
     "The chances of my passing the examinations are as slim as the droppings of a bird flying overhead, falling directly into a thimble I am holding in my hand." After the examinations, he ran into the house waving his papers shouting, "The bird shit in my thimble! ..."
     "Volodia, are you hungry?" came Raiisa's melodic voice from the kitchen, "We are ready to eat."
     "No, I am not hungry," I was joking, "Your potato soup in the restaurant filled me up."
     "If the soup just quenched your thirst it did a good job."
     "You can take off your coat now, Volodia, the house has warmed up." Antoshka helped me with the coat. He too removed his coat and papakha. He looked much thinner in his military green shirt worn over his pants with a leather belt around his waist. He was a handsome young man with hazel eyes and with brown hair parted in the middle. Raiisa, dressed in a full black dress, with white lace at the collar, put steaming bowls of stew in front of each of us. Antoshka passed two black sukhari to each of us. We sat down to eat.
     "If you dunk the sukhar in the stew, it will cool it, soften the sukhar, and at the same time save your teeth."
     "Is this how you do it in the army?"
     "Every time."
     "Any other instractions?"
     "Blow on it if it is still too hot. ..."
     The verbal sparring between Raiisa and Antoshka ended and we began to eat. The stew tasted good, especially with those big pieces of fat pork floating in the plate. I ate as much as the grownups. "Do you have a good job there at the restaurant?"
     "She does not pay anything, but I can eat there all I want and the tips are mine. It keeps me alive. It is hard to make out unless you have something stored up. I am not so sure that the revolution did anything good for the little people."
     "Our officer says that these hardships are only temporary. Soon peace will be restored, and we will all be better off than being enslaved by the tzar."
     "I hope you are right. What about now? I get hungry every day. I need things now. I cannot go into hibernation till the times get better. What do we do right now?"
     "Right now we suffer and do the best we can."
     "That is exactly what I am doing. I am suffering and doing the best I can." After a pause, "It is so good that you came. It relieves the loneliness. I am afraid of most people. Being with Volodia made you seem less dangerous,"
     "We are also glad that you invited us. I hope you will let me come and visit you again. I am stationed here. My home is in a village called Vilovka, about twenty viorst from Dvinsk."
     "I will be happy for you to visit . . . any time." She stretched out her hand across the table, Antoshka held it gently. They were looking into each other's eyes. Something passed between them; it lasted only for a moment, then she quietly said, "Any time ..."
     It was a delight to watch the two young people exchanging silent pleasantries,
     "Well, it is time to clear the table."
     "Let me help you, Raiisa."
     "If you want to. I only get a quart of kerosene a month for the lamps so I go to bed early and can't do much reading."
     "Maybe we should all go to bed early. Volodia and I can sleep on the sofa. I will fix our bed right now. You can take the lamp to the kitchen."
     "That will be fine. Why don't you come to the kitchen after you put Volodia to bed. We can sit and talk in the dark for a while."
     "I'll be glad to. Volodia, let's go to the outhouse and do what you have to do for the night."
     It was miserably cold outside, especially with a bare bottom. I guess nature protects us. Back in the house, I went immediately to the stove to warm up. Raiisa had my bed made. I undressed and climbed under the blankets. Raiisa knelt down and gave me a kiss on the forehead. I was very touched by her gentleness. I raised myself and kissed her on the cheek.
     "Sleep well, my dear. Tomorrow you are going to be on your way home. That will make you happy, I am sure."
     "You are very nice,"
     "You are very nice, too." She kissed me again and walked out to the kitchen. Antoshka followed and closed the door behind him. I saw the band of light go out through the bottom of the door. I heard them talking and sometimes laughing. I was reviewing my situation, how it had changed! Here I was in a warm comfortable bed, with a full stomach, surrounded by pleasant people, and this time really going home. ... I promptly fell asleep with these pleasant thoughts.
     
XX
Rezhitsa, the Sandlers
     I woke up several times during the night. Antoshka did not come to bed. He must have stayed with Raiisa. The house was cold. The gray morning light was coming in through the window, which was covered with frost in flowery patterns. Antoshka still hasn't come to bed and wasn't up either. What if we miss the train? I dressed quickly and knocked on the bedroom door. There was no sound coming out. I knocked a little harder. This time Antoshka came out in his long drawers.
     "What is it boy?"
     "It is late, we could miss the train?"
     "No Volodia, we are not going to miss the train." He tousled my short hair good-naturedly. "It is late, though. Raiisa," he called inside the bedroom, "I am getting up to help Volodia."
     "All right, dear, I am getting up, too."
     In no time, all of us were up and things started humming. A fire was crackling in the stove, dishes were tinkling, everybody had his turn in the outhouse, a quick splash in the ice-cold water in the kitchen, and we were ready for breakfast - the warmed-over stew from last night. It was time for parting.
     "I hope you get home safely and don't get lost again. I was glad to have you come." Raiisa gave me a kiss and a hug.
     "I will come back at the first opportunity, to pick up what I left here." Antoshka said, hugging Raiisa.
     "What did you leave here?"
     "My heart."
     Raiisa was about to cry, "Go on, silly, don't kid me."
     "I would not be kidding about a thing like that, As I said, I will be back."
     "Oh darling, you do mean it." They embraced for a long time with many kisses. "I'll be counting the minutes waiting for you."
     "I will, too, Raiisa."
     We went out in the cold. We did not talk till we reached the station. Antoshka left me in a corner on top of the two sacks, and went to inquire about a train. He was soon back.
     "In an hour or two we will have a train. So let's not go to sleep."
     "She is a very nice girl," I said, looking at his gloomy face.
     "Yes, she is," he said pensively. "She needs a good man to take care of her."
     "Are you going to marry her?"
     "Could be."
     "I think she likes you."
     "I like her too."
     "Are you going to have children?"
     "Hush."
     "Sorry. I did not mean any harm."
     "I know. Just don't talk."
     "Sorry."
     We sat on the sacks without saying a word to each other, each absorbed with his own thoughts. The time dragged on. It seemed like many hours until passed when we heard a locomotive whistle. Antoshka moved quickly, "This means us," he said, grabbing the sacks and me and walking out to the platform. Few people were going our way. The train came in noisily and stopped with the usual puffing. We got a seat next to the window.
     "How are we going to find your relatives when we get to Rezhitsa?"
     "I think we should be people on the street where the Sandlers live. Somebody is bound to know them."
     "This may be quite a job. We will find them, don't worry."
     My excitement grew with every turn of the wheels. I was glued to the sights in the window. Snow-covered fields predominated, with breaks of timberland. Snow barrier fences lined the side of the roadway. Flocks of birds, sitting on the telephone wires, took to the air when scared by the train.
     "How much longer is it to Rezhitsa?"
     "We will be there soon, Volodia, don't be so impatient."
     "Maybe another ten minutes or so," a man sitting on the opposite bench said. I recognize some of the landmarks." The train stowed down. My heart started beating faster. It is really happening! Antoshka took me to the exit. After a lot of hissing, huffing, and puffing we came to a stop. Antoshka threw the sacks out onto the platform and we descended the steps. We made our way through a small, dirty station to the outside where a couple of sleds were waiting. Antoshka asked all of them if they knew where the Sandlers lived. None of them did.
     "Let's walk, Volodia. We have to find some people on the street. They might know your relatives."
     The streets were covered with packed snow. There were several people talking at a street corner.
     "Let me speak to them in Yiddish."
     "Good, they will understand you better than me."
     "Do you know a family by the name of Sandler?" I asked the four men as we approached. My Yiddish had a decidedly Russian accent. They looked suspiciously at me then at Antoshka.
     "Why do you want to know?" One of them asked.
     "Speak to him," Antoshka pointed at me, "I only speak Russian."
     "I am Meishl Sandler's nephew, and this soldier is taking me to them."
     This must have allayed their suspicions as well as satisfied their curiosity.
     "I know Meishl Sandler, but he is not home . . . your aunt isn't home either."
     "But where do they live?"
     "I know where they live. I'll take you there."
     One of the men led us through many streets. Finally he pointed, "Over there, the last house on the block."
     "Thank you, thank you very much."
     We went on to the end of the block. At the corner house we mounted a few steps of front porch and knocked on the door. A dog barked inside. My heart pounded fast. A middle-aged, stout woman opened the door with a questioning look on her face.
     "Is this where the Sandlers live?" Antoshka asked.
     "Why do you ask?" came a worried question. "This boy is their nephew."
     Shaye appeared behind the woman. He was dressed in a white embroidered gymnastiorka (a Russian type of shirt worn over the trousers with a sash). He recognized me.
     "Vulia, you finally came home! And you, Tovarishch, are the one bringing him here. Come in, come in."
     "I am Anton Krause. My commanding officer told me to bring him here from Velikiye Luki. Now that I have delivered him I can go back and join my troop in Dvinsk."
     "Please, don't leave before you have rested and had something to eat. We don't have much but we will be glad to share it with you."
     "Thank you, that is very nice of you. I would appreciate a little rest. I have rations from the military and will be glad to give you some. Save yours for another time for yourself. I can replenish mine easily."
     We went into the house. There was Crenia, Daftia, Milka, and a little black dog - all staring at me. The woman who opened the door was Tasha, their maidservant, who stayed with them through thick and thin, whether she was paid or not. She had acted as their mother while Meishl was somewhere cut off by the Whites and Sonia was in prison.
     Antoshka took out his rations and gave them to Natasha. Tasha gave each of us children a sukhar sprinkled with coarse crystals of salt and told us, "You kids go outside and play. I'll call you when dinner is ready."
     The children led me to their back yard. Several bare trees stood out from the snow-covered expanse of the back yard. A snowman stood near one tree.
     "Let's go on the swing. Would you like that, Vulia?" Crenia asked.
     "Yes, I would like that."
     A rope thrown over a thick branch of a tree was the swing. A burlap sack filled with straw made a cushion. I had the first turn, being a guest. Somebody pushed from behind, and I went higher and higher. It was exhilarating being surrounded by children, my family, people who cared, people I loved. . . . We ran to the house when we were called for dinner, Tasha insisted that we wash our hands. We sat at the dining room table, over which was hanging a large kerosene lamp. A samovar adorned the center of the table. Shaye made several trips to the kitchen to bring each of us a plate with kliotski (dumplings) soup, and a piece of bread.
     Antoshka sat next to Shaye. They were talking about the war, the revolution, hunger, and hard times. We concentrated on the tasty kliotski. After dinner, Antoshka got up.
     "I better go to the station and catch the next train back to Dvinsk."
     "I thought you would stay overnight and rest. Why should you be in a hurry?"
     "Thank you, comrade Saul, but I have to get back to Dvinsk as soon as possible, Volodia knows the reason. It is my girlfriend, I promised her I would return,"
     "If you cannot catch a train right away, you are welcome to spend the night with us. We have plenty of room."
     "That is very kind of you, Comrade. If I cannot catch a train tonight, then I will accept our offer."
     We began saying our "farewells" by shaking hands. When it came my turn, Antoshka lifted me up, hugged me and said: "It was a pleasure to travel with you, Volodia, I am glad that you will finally get home to your parents. Remember you are an honorary Red Army soldier, so I am sure we can rely on your help when we need it."
     Antoshka was gone. Now that the house was warmed from the stove I removed my coat. Everybody noticed my green military shirt. The children came around and fingered the red star and gold stripes. It made me feel very important. Shaye interrupted. "Come with me to the living room, Vulia, where we can talk in private."
     Shaye made me feel grown up, asking me to talk to him privately. Shaye sat on the sofa and I sat on a nearby chair.
     "Tell me, Vulia, what happened, how did you get lost?"
     I told him most of the story. I cried a few times. Shaye put his arm around me and held me tightly.
     "If it is hard for you to talk, then we can put it off for another time."
     "No, no," I protested, "I want to talk, it makes me feel better to talk about it." It felt comforting to talk to someone close to me - a person who cared about me.
     "You went through a great deal," Shaye said with feeling when I finished my story, "Now you are among your own. You can relax and rest up for a few days. In the meantime I will have to find a way to get you home. I was in Varklian just last week and brought back two sacks of provisions given to me by your folks. Without that, we would starve. Your folks are well. They expected you to come back a long time ago. They were terribly worried about you. ... I will go to the Moran's house to talk to our cousin Meyer. He goes to Varklian often to stock up on provisions. Most of the Varklian people who come here stop at the Moran's house. Maybe he knows somebody who is going back to Varklian with a horse and sled."
     "How is Aunt Sonia?"
     "She is in a prison hospital here in Rezhitsa. The authorities transferred her from Velikiye Luki some time ago. That was a blessing indeed. It was quite a change from the prison conditions in Velikiye Luki. We worked out so that she can come to visit home for a few hours several times a week. She may come tomorrow and you will see her and take back regards from her to your parents."
     "Where is your father?"
     "We don't really know. We think he is in Riga, cut off from us by the Whites. We have a rough time of it to make ends meet."
     "In my sack there is a bundle of food that was given to me. I haven't used any of it. Antoshka fed me out of his provisions. You can have all of it. I will not need it in Varklian."
     "That is very nice of you, Vulia. Let's go and look at it. I am sure we can use it."
     We found a substantial quantity of food supplies. There was barley, split peas, dried beans, white cheese, black sukhari, sugar, salt, and salted pork.
     Shaye smelled the pork and shook his head: "We don't eat this. It will be a shame to throw it out,"
     "Maybe Tasha could eat it."
     "Not in this house. Maybe she can trade this for something else. Tasha, will you come here for a moment, please?"
     "Yes, Gospodin (Mr.) Saul, what is it?"
     "Look, Vulia brought us some provisions. This was given to him as a ration for the trip. Vulia would like to give all of it to us. There is some pork. . . . You know we cannot eat it. Can you trade this for anything that we can eat?"
     "Yes, Gospodin Saul, some people will really be happy to trade. Thank you, Vulia, from all of us. I know your mama. Tell her not to worry, I will stay with the Sandlers come what may. You will have a chance to taste some of your provisions in the chicken soup I am going to make tomorrow. Sonia Abramovna may come tomorrow so we will have something special."
     Shaye left to see the Morans. Mina Moran was a niece of my maternal grandfather, Abbo, a born Stekoll. She was a widow with six children. Meyer, the oldest boy, about eighteen, was the sole support of the family. He walked to the villages and traded things that could be gotten in the city for food supplies. He often visited Varklian where eight of his mother's brothers and sisters lived. All these families contributed to Meyer's food sack.
     When Shaye came back from seeing Meyer, all of us assembled around him to hear the result of his visit,
     "Meyer told me that a man from Varklian, by the name of Azrilke Lapidos, will be returning to Varklian soon. He has a freight sled with two horses. He is carrying back merchandise to Varklian and he prefers it if people don't see him leave. So, he is waiting for a good snowstorm to start and will be going across the frozen Lubanes Lake to avoid being observed. Vulia, you will have to be ready to go at a moment's notice, and leave the city before daybreak."
     "Did you meet Azrilke?" I asked.
     "Yes I did; he is trustworthy. He knows your parents and he will be glad to take you."
     This was another step on the road toward home. That night I slept with Daftia. He was very friendly. We did not talk much and fell asleep quickly.
     The big excitement next day was when Aunt Sonia came for a visit from the prison hospital. It was hard to recognize her. She was pale with dark circles around her deep-set brown eyes; she was no longer plump. She still had her engaging smile and the charming dimples. The children were all around her when she entered. Then she spotted me.
     "Vulenka, what are you doing here?"
     "I was lost and I am returning home now."
     "Lost? What do you mean, lost?"
     I began to cry. Shaye stepped in and told her my story. "We knew that he was lost, but we did not want to tell you. You had enough troubles of your own. Aunt Reveka told us that the commissar in Velikiya Luki was sending Vulia back with a woman. He showed up yesterday with a soldier instead."
     "Poor Vulia." She took me in her arms. "Don't cry, Vulia, the bad things are over. Now you'll go home and try to forget all about it. You must have gone through a lot in those several months. You don't look too good. Food must have been scarce. At home they will fatten you up. Your mama, too, must have gone through a lot; she must have cried her eyes out."
     Aunt Sonia stayed with us for several hours. In this short time she showed her love to everyone. She checked on food rations with Tasha, made plans how to manage, till a prison guard came for her. Everybody got a kiss; Shaye followed her out the door and she was gone.
     Two more days passed. It was fun to stay with the Sandlers; they were nice and entertained me when the children came back from school. Nevertheless, I was growing impatient to go home. In the afternoon of the third day it started snowing, lightly at first, then heavily when a wind started blowing and the temperature dropped. It turned into a blizzard. "Azrilke will come for me in the morning," I told myself.
     "You ought to get ready, Vulia." Shaye said.
     "Yes, I know."
     "I will ask Tasha to wake us and to cook some hot cereal for you. You will be riding for a whole day, and it will be cold, so eat well."
     "I will put a few sukhari in my pocket. They are easy to gnaw on when I get hungry."
     "That is a good idea. Maybe you ought to take along a piece of dry cheese, too. I don't know what you will do about water."
     "Snow?"
     "Good! You are resourceful. Snow will do, only it is cold and you will be cold enough as it is. Maybe we'd better give you a bottle of hot tea and you can put it inside your clothing, close to your body."
     Shaye went to convey our ideas to Tasha, I could see her nodding her head in agreement. My mind was preoccupied with my forthcoming trip, so that I did not pay attention to anything that was going on for the rest of the day.
     When Daftia and I were in bed, he said to mev "I wish I could go with you, too."
     "I'd be very glad if you would."
     "Shaye will not let me."
     "Why not?"
     "I have to go to school."
     "Maybe you can come in the summer."
     "I would love to."
     This short conversation relaxed me and took away my tensions and anxieties and we both went to sleep.
     Next thing I knew, Tasha was waking me, "Vulenka, it is time to get up, dear. I will help you get dressed."
     Tasha and I were busy getting ready for the trip. Shaye heard us and he got up too. By the time I was eating the hot cereal, the whole family was up and watching me eat. Finally my clothes bundle was packed and I was dressed for the trip. My pockets were stuffed with sukhari and dry cheese, a bottle filled with hot tea was placed in my inside breast pocket. We were waiting for Azrilke to come. The sleepy-faced children, still in their underwear, were sitting around me. Nobody said a word. Shaye broke the silence.
     "Give my regards to your family. They are all going to be glad to see you home again. Now you will have to start school. Can you walk to school in winter?"
     "Yes, I think so,"
     "You will have missed a whole year."
     "I hope they will let me stay in my class with my old classmates. I think I can make up for lost time."
     "That would be nice if you can do it. It would be hard to get used to new classmates."
     There was a knock on the door. Tasha brought in a tall, handsome, broad-shouldered man, dressed in a short black coat with a brown fur collar and a round hat to match. He wore full-length felt boots, stuck in a pair of galoshes.
     "Good morning to you, good people," Azrilke greeted us cheerfully. "I thought I'd run over to see if you are ready, while Yanka, my helper, hitches up the horses. He will be along in a few minutes. You must be the young man who is going with me. Are you packed and ready to go?"
     "Yes I am."
     "I am glad that you are ready and we won't have to wait. I know your parents. I like your father's singing the prayers on the High Holidays. He is a real cantor and a fine man too. I am glad that I can do something for him."
     "Could we offer you a glass of hot tea before you go out in the cold, and maybe a bite to eat too?"
     "No Shayele, thank you, I have already eaten. I hear your mother was arrested and is in prison."
     "Yes she is. We just got her transferred here from Velikiye Luki. She is here in a prison hospital. We see her often."
     "It doesn't take much doing to be arrested, nowadays. All one has to do is look at somebody cross-eyed. Where is your father?"
     "We think that he is in Riga, cut off by the Whites."
     "How do you get along? You must be only fifteen or sixteen yourself?"
     "We get a small ration from the cooperative store, and Reveka and Getzel help with what they can. It isn't easy by any means-but we make out."
     "Here is a little sack of flints. You will be able to trade this in for some food in the villages. Matches are hard to find. These things are more precious than gold." "I don't know If I should take it." "Sure you should take it. We are friends. Give my regards to your mother. I like to do something for Sonia. She was the prettiest girl in town, only I was too young to tell her that."
     Tasha went to answer a knock on the door. She came back and addressed Azrilke:
     "Gospodin Lapidos, your man is at the door. He says he won't come in, because he doesn't want to leave the sled and the horses unattended."
     "Thank you, good woman. So, young man, let's go. What is your name, by the way?"
     "Vulia,"
     "Vulia, say goodbye to the folks and let's go."
     We kissed and hugged each one. "Come to visit this summer," I shouted to Daftia.
     "I will."
     "You have a bad leg, my boy?" Azrilke asked as he saw me walk,
     "Yes, I have a paralyzed leg."
     "I'll see to it that you won't have to walk." He lifted me up with one hand, took my bundle with the other and went to the door.
     A blast of snowflakes greeted us in the shaft of light from the door which was opened only momentarily to let us out. My face was stung by the heavy snow driven by the wind. Someone's shadow appeared in front of us; he shouted above the noise of the wind.
     "I made a place for him on the right side so he will not be in the way of the reins."
     "Vulia, this is Yanka, my friend and helper."
     Azrilke put me down in what appeared to be a dug-out hole in the freight, on the side of a large sled. He covered me and strapped me into my seat so I would not fall out. Gradually my eyes got used to the dark so that I could see the rear ends of two horses. Azrilke took the reins and stood behind me on the runners of the sled. Yanka was somewhere in front; I could not see him. The sled began to move. No sound could be heard above the whistle of the wind. I buried my face in my shawl. I was comfortable and warm in my "fortress." The wind did not penetrate the leather covering. Between sheets of snow I caught a glimpse of Yanka leading the left horse by the muzzle. Here and there I could see a ray of light shining through the slats of window shutters. It amazed me how Yanka guided us through the maze of streets to the open countryside. Here the road could be guessed at by the trees on either side of us. Now Yanka sat down on top of the sled in front of me while Azrilke worked the reins and the horses began a lively trot. This went on for a long time. I enjoyed the swaying motion of the sled and the whistle of the wind. . . .
     
XXI
The Lake, Killings, Home at Last
     "Wake up, Vulia. We should stretch our legs and maybe water the ground a little."
     Azrilke's voice woke me out of my sleep. Daylight greeted me when I opened my eyes. The snow was still swirling all around us. We were parked at the edge of a woody place.
     "Yanka is heating some water for tea on the primus so that we can have a bite to eat and warm up. We are close to the lake. It is better we don't stop there. From here on we will be riding over the frozen lake. It is going to be flat and smooth."
     It was hard to walk wearing all those clothes in the thick layer of fresh snow on the ground. The horses chewed on contents of the sacks hung from straps over their heads. Yanka handed each of us a cup with steaming tea, Azrilke took out from a sack what looked like a ham, and cut off three chunks with his pocketknife. This was followed by three thick pieces of soft bread.
     "I hope, Vulia, that you are not going to tell them at home what we are eating. Your father would not approve of it."
     "I have eaten pork before in the hospital in Petrograd. We were glad when we could get it."
     We ate in silence. Now I had time to observe Yanka's weather-beaten face with penetrating, deep-set blue eyes peering through narrow slits. He wore a long yellow sheepskin coat tied with a sash at the waist; a hatchet was stock in it. A papakha covered his blond hair. He wore birch-bark woven shoes and cloth leggings up to his knees—tied with linen strings. His body was lithe and surefooted.
     "I heard that a woman tried to steal you away," Yanka said,"
     "Yes. I was rescued from her,"
     "Are you the Gutman that has the store up on the hill near the church?"
     "Yes. It is my mother's."
     "She runs a nice store. My wife used to buy all the silk thread for her embroidery there. Now we have too many other worries to think of."
     The meal was soon finished. After repacking, we all went back to our places. Yanka gave the horses water that he made from melted snow, and we were on our way. We came to an embankment. Azrilke and Yanka guided the loaded sled over it and down onto the frozen lake. We could not see very far because of the swirling snow. Yanka led the horses on foot for a while, then sat down on the edge of the sled and took over the reins while Azrilke stood on the runners behind me. The ride became smooth and very monotonous. No trees, no horizon, just a white expanse of snow swirling in front of my eyes. I wondered how Yanka knew where we were going. We rode for what seemed to be many hours. At times, the gentle swaying of the sled made me doze off. My mind was full of pictures of home and dear ones. Only hours away-maybe this afternoon. . . . Most of the time I was out of touch with reality.
     Suddenly Yanka jumped off the sled, stopped the horses and looked intently at something to the right of us.
     "What is it?" Azrilke ran to join him.
     "I thought I saw something moving in that direction. There it is again—two black specks. It disappears and reappears in the snow swirls."
     "I saw it, too. They are approaching us. We should change direction just a little bit to the left so we will miss them. There, I saw them again. Two people on foot. Let's get going and veer a little to the left. I will keep watching them."
     We resumed our ride with a slight shift of direction. By now I, too, could see the two figures every so often.
     "Yanka, they spotted us. They changed direction also. We cannot avoid them. Let us stop and see what develops. There are only two of them."
     Two whistles in quick succession, then a second or so later we heard two shots, Instinctively I bent down as low as I could.
     "They are shooting at us, we'd better stop."
     Yanka stopped the horses. Azrilke reached under the tarpaulin in the back of the sled, pulled out a revolver and pushed it in the bosom of his coat.
     "Vulia, this is serious business; it looks like we might have a little trouble. Whatever happens, you stay where you are and don't move. Don't say anything if they talk to you. You are dumb, you understand, you cannot speak. No matter what happens, don't shout or scream. Got that?"
     "Yes."
     "Good."
     There was no more talk. We watched the approaching figures. Now we could see that they had military greatcoats on. The taller of the two carried a rifle slung over his shoulder; the other soldier, behind him, had his rifle at the ready—the barrel pointing at as. Both looked dirty and unkempt. Each had a sack tied behind his back.
     "Why are you stopping us, Tovarishchi?" Azrilke asked goodnaturedly, "We are hauling supplies for the school in Varklian."
     "To the devil with your 'Tovarishchi,' " the taller of the two shouted above the noise of the storm. "We are requisitioning your horses,"
     "You cannot do this, we have a job to do for the Soviet."
     "Don't tell me what I can or cannot do, I could care less about the Soviet. Unhitch the horses!"
     "How about just one horse?"
     "I said unhitch the horses!"
     "I have documents to prove that I am on legitimate business and you are interfering with . . ."
     "Shut your mouth and unhitch the horses!" the first soldier shouted, while the one behind him leveled his rifle menacingly at Azrilke. A flash of light caught my eye. I saw Yanka, shielded by the horses, pulling out his hatchet from his belt, ready to use it.
     "I have papers to prove that what I am saying is true."
     Azrilke started moving his right hand to the bosom of his coat.
     "Keep your hands high over your head! I will look at your documents and everything else you've got there."
     Azrilke raised his hands above his head as directed. The leading soldier moved toward us. As he did so, Azrilke stepped to the right so that the leading soldier was between him and the other one with the raised gun.
     "I have something for you!" Azrilke shouted.
     Things happened very fast after that. A gun flashed in Azrilke's hand and a shot rang out. At the same time, a hatchet flashed through the air and caught the second soldier in the shoulder. The horses reared but Yanka held them back. The leading soldier collapsed with a bullet in his head. Two more shots rang out, directed at the other soldier, and he, too, fell to the ground.
     My heart was pounding from fright and excitement. For a moment nothing moved, then Yanka jumped out from behind the horses and retrieved his hatchet. Azrilke relaxed and put his gun back in his coat and examined the soldier he had just shot.
     "I got this one in the head. Have a look at the other one."
     "He is dead too. You got him in the neck and the head. You were pretty good, my friend. I will be glad to go hunting with you anytime."
     "You were not so bad yourself. By disabling the guy that held the gun, you gave me a chance to drop him. I was the best shot in the army. These birds were deserters. I know this type. They would have killed us after robbing us."
     "How do you know that?"
     "I dealt with them in the army. These are people who are afraid to go into combat—cannot take army discipline—so they desert. When caught they'd be shot without a trial. So they become desperate and dangerous, because they have nothing to lose. When you meet one, be sure that you shoot first. Let's have a look at what they have in their sacks and pockets."
     "Ahhh," Yanka sucked in air when he looked at one open sack. He pulled out furs, silk clothing, and many gold rings and other jewelry. "It is as you said, my friend, they are renegades."
     "Look! this one has wedding rings among his loot. I wonder how much blood they spilled getting all this."
     "I am glad that you did what you had to do, Azrilke, you probably saved a lot of innocent lives including our own."
     "My conscience does not hurt me one bit. Look what this guy has in his pockets. Four passports. I wonder which one is his. This one looks like him when he was younger. Watches on gold chains, silver coins. . . . No wonder they wanted our horses, this loot became too heavy for them to carry."
     "What are we going to do with all of that, divide it evenly between us?"
     "Don't be a fool, Yanka, these things smell of innocent blood. You touch it and misfortune is going to follow you the rest of your life. Besides, if ever somebody recognizes one of these things you will be accused of murder that you did not commit, and you'd have hell to pay to explain what really happened. No Yanka, I did a lot of dirty things in my life but this is not one of them,"
     "Maybe you are right, but it sure is a shame to waste a lot of valuable things. What are we going to do with them? Can we leave them here just like that?"
     "No, we cannot leave them here just like that. Somebody will find them. They will also find out that we just passed through here and you know the rest. Take your hatchet and chop out a hole in the ice."
     "What? Are we going fishing?"
     "No, it is we who are going to feed the fish for a change."
     Yanka chopped out a round hole in the ice of the lake. They tied the loot to each body, for weight, lowered each one in the freezing water, and swept the bloody snow in the hole.
     "Some lucky fisherman will fish them out next spring."
     "Yeah, and wonder what fools shot them and dumped them in the water with all their loot."
     "Forget it, Yanka. I tell you, this stuff means trouble. You'd give yourself away in no time. Are you going to tell your wife that you found a sack of goodies in the snow? Would she believe you? The first thing she would ask is 'Who did you kill?' Then when you do tell her the truth, will she keep it to herself? She would reveal it to her family, and the next thing you know you'll land in front of a firing squad."
     "You make it sound so gruesome, I won't be able to sleep nights thinking about it."
     "There, we got it done. Let's put the ice chips back in the hole. It will freeze over, and by tonight the snow will have covered our tracks. There's nothing else we can do here so we'd better get going; we have a long way to go yet."
     The events that transpired here in the last hour seemed unreal. I had never seen people shot, falling dead, and bleeding all over. It was a traumatic experience for me—never to be forgotten. What shocked me was the unconcerned dialogue of my two friends as they pushed the two dead bodies under the ice. Yet, Azrilke's logic of "It was either them or us" made sense. The circumstances, or rather, the soldiers forced Azrilke to act in self defense. The gruesome picture, however, would not go away. It remained in front of my eyes no matter what else I was looking at. The taller one, the first to be shot, did not bleed very much. He lay there in a grotesque pose as he fell, with his feet under him and a surprised, bewildered expression on his face. The other one lay in a puddle of blood—hand and feet stretched out, his face looking up at the sky, with a gaping mouth, as though in a last cry of pain. This picture was to haunt me for many years in my sleep as well as my waking hours.
     "Well, how is Vulia doing?" Azrilke turned his attention to me. "Don't take it too hard, boy. There was nothing else I could do and come out alive. I know it is a terrible experience for a little boy, but try to forget it. Above all, don't mention it to a soul—not even to your family. Promise?"
     "I promise."
     "Good boy. We will not talk about it anymore. Pretend it did not happen."
     I have kept my promise till now. In later years, Azrilke left for South Africa with his whole family. If he is still alive, he must be close to one hundred, I don't think the disclosure, now, of the incident on the frozen lake will hurt him or his family.
     The horses were apparently glad to get moving again. Yanka and Azrilke took turns running beside the sled-then jumping on it. All of us were covered with a thin layer of snow. My eyes were filled with tears from the cold wind and the melting snow. I wiped my face with my gloved hands. My thoughts turned to home, away from the nightmare I had just experienced. Soon, soon I would be home and those terrible events of the past few months would disappear and be gone. . . .
     "Oh Mama, dear, I missed you so much, There was nobody to embrace me, to kiss me, to love me. And Mama, hold me tight!"
     "Yes, my child, I missed you too." And we both cried, and it felt so good. The something that was pressing on my chest was getting lighter and lighter. ... I was falling, falling, I was in the snow. That woke me up.
     Somehow the ties with which I was strapped down became loose and I had fallen out of the sled. Azrilke and Yanka noticed it right away and ran to pick me up,
     "Did you get hurt?" both inquired.
     "No. I fell in a snow drift."
     "You must have fallen asleep."
     "I did."
     "Let's tie him down more securely this time. We don't want to lose him after we found him."
     "Sure, boss."
     "We should be off the lake pretty soon. Let's make camp in the forest till nightfall. I want to drive into Varklian in the middle of the night. This way we may avoid being noticed."
     "I know of a good spot to stop. It is an old, abandoned cabin. We always use it when we go fishing and stay overnight. It has a stove, but all the windows are broken. It will give us protection from the wind. We can make some tea and have a bite to eat."
     "Sounds good."
     I was strapped in again and we were off in the gray mist of whirling snow. It was surprising how Yanka knew the direction, or was it the horses that knew the way? I heard that horses have a wonderful sense of direction for homing. On and on the horses ran at a half-trot. I had to fight the drowsiness caused by the swaying motion of the sled, seemingly going into nowhere. Azrilke's head was nodding, only Yanka was alert. He was still running beside the sled, sometimes even with the horse's heads, then falling back and jumping on the sled.
     Suddenly the horses made an abrupt turn. Yanka jumped off the sled and shouted, "We came to the other end of the lake, friend."
     Azrilke got up too. "Let's find a place where the bank is not so steep."
     They stopped the horses. Azrilke gave me the reins. "Here, Vulia, hold the reins while we find a place where we can get off the lake. If the horses start moving, just tighten up on the reins and they will stop. Now don't fall asleep."
     "I won't."
     Azrilke and Yanka went off into the mist and soon disappeared from sight. The light was getting dimmer with approaching evening. It was scary to be alone with the sled and horses in a sea of snow. It was almost dark when Azrilke reappeared. "I left Yanka at the place where we could get off the lake. I didn't know if we could find it a second time in the dark. Were you scared being alone?"
     "Yes I was. You were gone so long."
     "Sorry it took so long, but it could not be helped. I'll have to lead the horses slowly. There are a lot of rocks protruding from the ice and we can ruin the sled if we are not careful." It took a long time for Azrilke to find the exact spot.
     "Azrilke, here I am." Yanka called. Yanka took the other horse by the muzzle. They led the horses up a slope that leveled off after a while.
     "I'll have to lead the horses all the way from now on. There are no roads," Yanka said.
     Every once in a while we passed a tree, a welcome sight after being on the lake so long. We came to a cabin surrounded by several tall trees. Again I was amazed how Yanka led us unerringly to the cabin in almost complete darkness during a blizzard.
     "Who goes there?" a voice called out from the cabin,
     "Friends, just passing," Azrilke's voice boomed, and to me in a whisper, "Lie flat."
     A shot rang out from the cabin, we could hear the whistle of the bullet. Yanka immediately lead the horses away from the cabin. Azrilke fired a shot and called out, "We'll quit shooting if you will."
     "Just leave right away." the voice from the cabin shouted.
     "More marauders," Azrilke said after we were out of earshot from the cabin. "Those sons of bitches spoiled our rest. Let's find a place where we are protected from the wind so we can rest the horses as well as ourselves, I had no desire to tangle with more murderers. You never know what you may run into. How are you doing, Vulia?"
     "My feet are cold."
     After we stop, get down and walk a while. You have to restore your circulation. Do you still feel them? They aren't numb or anything, are they?"
     "I don't think so."
     Yanka found us a small wooded hill. We parked at the bottom, protected from the wind by the hill and the trees. I was untied from my straps and climbed down into the deep soft snow. It was hard to walk. I held on to the sled and stomped my feet in the snow. There was a tingling sensation in my feet as the blood began to flow again. I located a sukhar in my coat pocket and gnawed on it. Yanka poured some water from his can into a bucket and let each horse drink his fill. Then he hung a sack of grain on each horse's head and they began to eat, Azrilke inspected the freight on the sled. When things settled down and normal chores done, Yanka asked: "What was the idea of their shooting?"
     "They were as afraid of us as we were of them."
     "But why were you shooting?"
     "To let them know that we have a gun to shoot with, too."
     "The place must be crawling with deserters,"
     "We are getting close to Varklian and are on the border with the Whites. . . . Deserters are shot on sight by the Reds. If it weren't for that, the whole army would disintegrate. I don't make a step without my discharge papers."
     "Why did they discharge you?"
     "I was in the trenches for two-and-a-half years against the Austrians. A lucky bullet near my heart saved me from further slaughter. I am classified as a veteran invalid who cannot do any heavy labor. I was given the medal of St. George.''
     "How did you pull that one?"
     "It is the truth. I did get wounded. After that I pulled a few strings, and I got out. 'No heavy labor,' was the verdict."
     "I knew you had a hidden trick somewhere."
     "Sitting in the trenches and taking shell and rifle fire was no trick. Getting wounded also was no trick. It is true, I speeded up the discharge a little. . . . We ought to eat something, Yanka, before we move on."
     "I'll make tea on the primus while you take out some food.''
     Yanka packed a tea kettle full of snow and lit the primus. We were shielded from view by the trees and took no precautions. The horses would give us warning if somebody were approaching. Soon we were on the move again. It was very dark—the snow still falling. Finally we came into a clearing. There were trees on either side; we must have hit a road. Yanka and Azrilke both joined me on the sled and the horses speeded up their trot. I was fighting sleep. I did not want to miss the excitement of coming home. It could be any minute. Sure enough, a silhouette of a house, then another and another, we were in Varklian! Tears welled up in my eyes; something was choking my throat. I remembered my resolution to act "grownup" and not cry. The horses suddenly came to a stop.
     "You are home, Vulia. How do I wake your folks without making too much noise?"
     "Knock gently on the first shutter. That is my parents' bedroom."
     Yanka was untying me while Azrilke went to the window and knocked on the shutter. He had to repeat it several times before we heard papa's sleepy voice,
     "Who is it?"
     "Getzel, we brought your lost boy home. I am Azrilke Lapidos."
     "What are you saying, you brought Vulia?"
     "Yes we did. Hurry up and open the door."
     "Right away."
     I was out of the sled, making my way up the driveway to the door of our house through the fresh piles of snow. Azrilke helped me climb the three steps and I stood holding the door handle. I could hear voices inside the house. Then I heard the three latches of the inner kitchen door being unfastened, then the bolt to the outer door was pulled out and the door opened.
     Papa stood there in his black lambskin hat, fur jacket and felt boots; behind him was Mama holding a lamp, behind Mama were Grandpa, Grandma, and Itzik, all dressed in furs and boots.
     "Back off, let the boy in," Mama took command. She handed the lamp to Papa and lifted me off the ground. My boy, you have come back, you have come back. ..." She rushed me into the house. "Gonorata, dear, make a fire in the oven and warm some milk for Vulia, he is frozen through and through. Oh my boy, how many tears we shed, how many prayers we said to have you back." We both cried and hugged each other. I felt a heavy burden lifting off my chest—tears flowed as never before—tears of relief and happiness. The whole household stood around us, speechless and crying. Finally Mama released me and took off my outer garments. "You are so skinny, Vulenka, only your bright eyes are still shining as before. ''
     "Let me touch him," Grandma stood there with outstretched arms groping for me, I realized then that Grandma was totally blind. I went to her and touched her arms. She put her hands over my head and felt my short hair, then my face, body, lingering over my brace. Now she pulled me close to her, embraced me, and held me tightly. She shook as she cried silently. Then after a while, "God has answered my prayers and brought you home. It is as though you have come back from the dead."
     "Mama, don't monopolize him, let his father and the rest of the family give him a hug." Papa took his turn hugging and kissing, but he did not cry or say anything,
     Then Itzik, then Grandpa. Grandpa's beard was wet with tears.
     "This is Gonorata, Vulenka, she is helping us manage the house." Gonorata was tall and powerfully built, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a very pretty face. She spoke to me in Russian, which made me feel good, for I had forgotten Yiddish and Latvian to a great extent.
     "Vulechka, I am very happy and pleased that you came back home. Tell me if you need any help, I'll be glad to assist you." She spoke in a pleasant, melodic voice with a sincere and generous smile on her face.
     "Thank you, it is good of you to offer me your help. Right now I am cold, hungry, and sleepy. We rode all day and all night and I am very tired."
     Itzik was beside me with his arm around me while I was dunking a sukhar in warm milk and eating it with relish. It felt good to have Itzik near, feeling the warmth of his body, emanating love and concern—not saying anything.
     "Getzel, you didn't invite Azrilke in for a glass of tea, and thank him for bringing Vulia home."
     "I did, my dear. He said that he is in a hurry to go home and unload his merchandise. You know how it is today with the searches and confiscations."
     Now I was sitting in front of the burning stove in the dining room with a blanket over my shoulders but was still shivering. The hot milk did not help much. Mama brought me a plate of cottage cheese, sour cream, herring, and bread. I ate ravenously.
     "Come sleep with me, I'll help you get warmed up," Itzik said. He just couldn't take his eyes off me.
     "I will do that. Thank you."
     Mama helped me to undress and carried me to bed. Itzik climbed in behind me, his arm around me holding me tight. Mama wrapped the heavy, cotton-stuffed blanket around us, kissed both of us and left. The brotherly warmth flowed from his body to mine. Gradually I quit shivering and relaxed. . . .
     I heard voices in the distance, voices I knew, that spoke of comfort, of home, of love. . . . But things changed, I was all alone in the snow, and they were coming at me with raised guns. "Azrilke! Azrilke! Where are you, they are coming at me again, . . . Help me! Help me! Help! Don't shoot! Don't. . . ."
     "Vulenka, I am with you, nobody is shooting, you are safe," came Itzik's reassuring voice, comforting me. Papa and Mama were in the door holding a kerosene lamp.
     "What is it boy, you had a nightmare?"
     "He was shouting in his sleep, something about 'Don't shoot me,' so I woke him up."
     "Itzik, we don't know what he went through. He will be all right now."
     It took a while to orient myself to where I was. I was still living through the terror that enveloped me in my sleep. I did not remember exactly what went on, but I knew there was terror, fright, and utter helplessness,
     "It was nothing," I mumbled, "just scared."
     "Go back to sleep, my dear. You are home among your family. You are safe; nobody can harm you now—we all love you." Mama was patting me on my head.
     Reassured, I put my hand under the pillow and closed my eyes. It was comforting to feel Itzik's arm around me. I was home. . . . No longer "a dry leaf in the wind . . ."
     
XXII
School, Gonorata, Andriusha, Resinkov, Zaichik
     It was already over a week that I had enjoyed being home. Food, one of my main worries, ceased to be a problem. There was plenty of milk and all the milk products, cellar roots, our own chickens, and on occasion beef from the butcher shop. Everybody tried to stuff me with food. Grandma would go over me with her hands quite often. My appetite was good, I ate everything and a lot of it. I felt stronger with every passing day.
     I told and retold my story of getting "lost" (for this is what Papa called it), to everybody who would ask, and everybody did. Of course, I did not tell everything, even to my parents. I left out the sex abuses, the slaughter of Semyon Uliansky's family, Vera's probable end, the meeting with the deserters on the lake, and their end. After a week, everybody in Varklian knew my story.
     Papa called me in the living room one evening and closed the door. Obviously he had something important to discuss with me in private. I was curious, and apprehensive.
     "Now that you are home and had a chance to rest a bit from your ordeal, we have to think of school. You have missed almost a full year. This means you will have to fall back to a lower grade. You will have to adjust to new schoolmates."
     "I thought I could make up for the lost time," I said in tears. "You could help me. I can write and read Russian probably better than anyone else."
     "It wouldn't work, Vulia. I already talked to Leibe Yoffe, he is the principal now. He said that he would not like to burden you with extra work after all you've been through. I think you should start tomorrow. Itzik is going to help you walk to school."
     That was that. The "holiday" was over ... I was scared about going back to school among boys and girls I did not know. They would laugh at me, call me names. I would have to fight every boy all over again, to establish my place in the new society. I would also have to overcome the inner shame of being in a lower grade than my previous friends. I said as much to Itzik, when he came back from school.
     "Don't worry," he said, "I'll protect you,"
     It was comforting that I had someone to protect me, and deplorable that I needed protection. There was nothing I could do except accept the inevitable. Gonorata made a lunch for me next morning, I had a new notebook, pencil, pen, and blotter. It all went into a satchel strapped to my back. Itzik led me through the snow to school. School was a gray log building that was once a private home.
     "Good morning, Vulia," Leibe Yoffe greeted me cheerfully when I reported to him. "Your father said that you would come in today. I will lead you to your room and introduce you to your new classmates,"
     I did not say anything. I was looking for Father, I thought he would be there—he wasn't. I stood there forlornly, not knowing what to do. The bell rang and Leibe led me to a room where children were scrambling to their seats. A teacher, Sonia Gabai, came in at the same time. The class came to order quickly,
     "Children," Leibe began, "I have brought you a new classmate, Vulia Gutman. He has a paralyzed leg, so don't push him. He speaks very good Russian but is weak in Yiddish. Be nice to him and he will prove to be a nice friend."
     Leibe walked out. Sonia Gabai led me to my seat. Boys and girls did not mix on school benches. There were four children to a bench, but only two boys on mine; I made the third. The name of the boy who sat next to me was Idl Zhogot, All eyes were on me, and it made me feel terrible.
     Sonia began her class in arithmetic. I understood little of what was going on, I just could not concentrate, My attention was absorbed with the students. Next to Idl sat Sholem Frid. I exchanged glances with him as I was called to the board. I was given the problem of adding a column of three-digit numbers. I did it without hesitation or error.
     "Pretty good, Vulia," Sonia smiled at me. "I thought you were not paying attention to what is going on about you. I guess I was mistaken."
     "Thank you," I said, blushing.
     It was a victory of sorts. I went back to my seat. This gave me confidence, I kept my head higher, I did not want to shrink from view, as before. The addition that I did on the board was old stuff to me. It was true I was not paying attention to what was going on in class. I was surveying all the students. That first hour in school was the hardest. It was difficult to sit through a whole hour concentrating on one subject. Gradually I got used to the school routine and school discipline, and I did rather well. So much so that some of the students looked up to me and asked for my help. In this way I earned their respect without having to fight for it.
     The more I came in contact with Gonorata, the more I liked her. She was only twenty years old, but to me and my brother she was a grownup. She was good and kind to us, always with a smile. She was a great help to Grandma, leading her wherever she wanted to go in the house and handing her things. She was Polish and always called me "Pan Vulia" (Mr.) and my brother "Pan Isia," giving us more respect than was due to little boys. She never complained that there was too much work to do, and never sat idle. On Sundays she would go to the Catholic Church. Mama saw to it that she did not do any kind of work on Sunday and insisted that she go and visit her family, who lived not far away.
     There was another change at home. Two soldiers were billeted in our house. Andriusha, I never learned his last name, and Rezinkov, I never learned his first name. Both were scouts for the local garrison of Red Army soldiers. Andriusha was short, squat, broad-shouldered. He must have come from the Ukraine, because he always talked about the wheat that they grew and that they always ate white bread, which was a luxury where we lived. He had two sores, one on each leg, that would not go away. He called one Lenin, the other one Trotsky, Mama gave Andriusha and Rezinkov a cast-iron pot for cooking, so that their not-kosher food would not get mixed up with ours. They had their own rations from their commissary and Gonorata cooked stews for them.
     Andriusha seldom smiled, was always gloomy and serious. His face was weatherbeaten. He had dark brown eyes and brown hair. He told my father once—"I don't like Jews" (he used the offensive word "Zhid"). "But I like you."
     "Have you known many Jews?" Papa asked.
     "No, there are no Jews in our village."
     "How then can you say that you don't like Jews?"
     "Our 'batiushka' (father or priest) tells us that they are all cheats and liars. They sold Christ for thirty pieces of silver. You are different, you are honest, your wife gives me things. Sometimes I have a notion that you want to bribe me into conversion ..."
     "On the contrary, I would advise you not to convert to Judaism. Jews have a very hard life to live. You are much better off being what you are."
     "I will tell it to my batiushka, what you just said. I hope he believes me, I have a hard time believing it myself. Maybe you are a different kind of Jew."
     "No, Andriusha, I am not a different kind of Jew, It is just that Jews have been maligned and slandered for thousands of years, and few people take the trouble to find out the truth and correct the malicious and false stories."
     I didn't think Andriusha was convinced; however, he stood up for us whenever he could. Like the time a sack of our flour was to be requisitioned by Raikhrud, the town tailor turned militiaman.
     Raikhrud had a houseful of children and was very poor. When the revolution came he took up the cause of communism. All he had to do was to register and declare that he was a working man. He was issued a red armband, a gun, and a paper stating that he belonged to the local "okhrana" (security militia). Raikhrud took it upon himself to make house-to-house searches to weed out hoarders of food supplies. Raikhrud, with another man, knocked on our door once. "Citizen Gutman," he declared, "we are here to make a house search to see if you are hoarding food."
     "Come and search," Mama said.
     "Citizen Gutman, you have here two sacks of rye flour. In the name of the revolution I declare that one sack is sufficient for one family. Therefore, I will requisition one sack."
     "But we are two families. My father and mother live with us. We also have a maid and two soldiers stationed in the house."
     "Comrade Gutman, I need the flour and I am taking it."
     "No, you are not," Mama raised her voice. "I hear that all the requisitioned food is stored in your house, and you are the only one to benefit from it."
     "Shut your mouth! Yosl, take that sack," Raikhrud commanded his sidekick.
     Andriusha was in the house mending his saddle. When he heard the commotion in the storage room, he went there to investigate. He got there in time to hear Raikhrud telling Mama to shut her mouth. This enraged him. "Watch how you talk to these people. What is it you want here?"
     "I belong to the okhrana and I am making an authorized search for hoarding of food supplies, if it is any of your business. These people have two sacks of flour. I declare that one sack is enough for their family, so I am requisitioning one sack for the revolution ..."
     "Go to the devil. You are not taking any of their flour. Besides, show me your authorization."
     "I don't need an authorization. I am the authorization, and don't mix yourself in what is not your business."
     "Get out of here, you leech. If you touch that flour I will kill you. Now blow!" Andriusha had fire in his eyes,
     "Let's go, Yosl. I'll be back." And they walked out.
     "I'll see that somebody checks out your house for hoarding," Mama shouted to them in parting.
     Rezinkov was tall, good-looking, with a thick black mustache turned up at both ends. His papakha was distinctly different from the other soldiers'. The top had bright red material with a cross of gold ribbon. He always carried a handgun and a potato-masher hand grenade stuck in his belt. He spent much time shining his boots and keeping himself well-groomed and clean. Rezinkov was jolly and gay, always with smile and a joke. He could not resist giving Gonorata a little slap on the behind whenever he passed her, at which she would issue a little squeal. He was nice to us children too. He would throw us in the air like a ball and catch us on the way down. Rezinkov smoked a pipe, which was not to Grandmother's liking. She would scold him— "Why don't you smoke outside. It is winter and the windows are sealed. It is bad enough to stand the smell of so many bodies, and you have to add the stink of your pipe."
     Rezinkov would put his arm around her in a loving manner and with mirth in his voice, "Don't be mad at me, my dear Sonia Genia"—Russians cannot pronounce the letter "H"—"I am going outside. One of these days I am going to teach you to smoke a pipe, then we can both enjoy the fresh air outside. You are my favorite girlfriend. ..."
     "Don't butter me up. Save this for the young girls."
     Andriusha and Rezinkov spent a lot of time feeding, grooming, and taking care of their horses. They were scouts and relied on their horses to get them out of tight spots. They'd be gone sometimes for several days scouting the enemy positions. Then they would make a "doclad" (report) to the staff office and rest for a few days. The enemy was only a few viorst away from Var-klian. Andriusha told us that there was a battery of artillery stationed around the "palace." He also explained that a battery consisted of eight artillery pieces. We used to hide under the beds during a bombardment, sometimes we would even go to sleep while under the beds.
     At the beginning of March the bombardments from the White side intensified and increased in frequency. Andriusha and Rezinkov were sent out to find out what the enemy was up to. They were gone for several days; this was normal. This time however, only Andriusha returned. His face was ashen when he came into the house.
     "Where is Rezinkov?" Generate inquired.
     "He is not coming back!" Andriusha shouted.
     "What do you mean, he is not coming back?"
     "He is not coming back! . . . that's all. That son of a bitch got himself killed, his horse too, that's what. That fool, I told him were are getting too close. He would not listen, he kept on pointing at something. He got off his horse and crawled in the open field. They must have seen him. All hell broke loose. They opened up with everything they had. I took off for some trees. When it quieted down, I crawled back to see if I could bring him out. He was cut to pieces. I would have needed a sack to collect all the arms and legs and guts ... I decided to leave him there. You cannot find another partner like that. We did not have to talk, we knew each other's thoughts. He saved my life a couple of times. I'll never find another one like him."
     "We all liked him. It is a great loss to all of us. Can I help you get his things together?"
     "I couldn't even save his saddle. It was all in the open. That fool, why did he have to get killed? Who are they going to give me now? Some raw kid who cannot even ride a horse?"
     "Maybe it is time for you to go home and quit playing soldier."
     "I'll probably quit like Rezinkov. I don't want to be shot like a deserter and shame my whole village. No, I'll get out when they let me out."
     Andriusha grieved for a couple of days. They seat in a replacement, a young man in his twenties. His name was Zaichik. He was about six feet tall, blond, blue-eyed, and very handsome. Gonorata immediately took a liking to him. She would go out of her way to make encounters, wash and iron his shirts, and seek converstion with him. He acted shyly in her presence. Andriusha grumbled-"Now I'll have to worry about both of us, and keep wiping the youngster's nose."
     Zaichik had a flat-bottomed mandolin, which he played with skill and heart. He also sang well in a velvety tenor. He sang to me and my brother, but I think it was meant to go over our heads to Gonorata. Soon Gonorata started taking Zaichik with her to church on Sunday. (A Russian Orthodox to a Catholic church!) Then they started going for walks in the woods . . .
     At about this time my mother's brother, Uncle Getzl, walked in with a bundle on his back. He had been a prisoner of war for almost three years; the Germans released him. His family and ours were overjoyed. Uncle Getzt was of medium height, with reddish-brown hair and blue eyes. He brought presents for everybody. My present was a pen that wrote without ink ... I admired it very much. It was a steel pen that held captive a piece of indelible pencil lead. One had to dunk it in water to dissolve the lead and make ink. One could hardly write a line without making a few splotches; the fingers somehow always got in the ink, which was almost impossible to wash off; the writings would never dry and a blotter really made a mess of things ... I still liked the idea of dipping in water and getting ink ... if only it had worked.
     Speaking of ink, there was none to be had. Papa read somewhere a recipe for making ink. One had to burn horse chestnuts to a crisp, grind the remains to a fine powder, mix it with water and vinegar "and that makes fine ink." Pop tried it but it never worked. The carbon black did not want to stay in colloidal suspension. The writing in our school notebooks was very messy. It was a wonder that we ever learned to write at all.
     There was a shortage of chalk for the blackboard too. However, for this our Tzar Nikolai came to the rescue. In the city hall stood a big gilded bust of Tzar Nikolai. When the winds of revolution struck Varklias, the people toppled the gilded Nikolai bust from its pedestal and it broke in many pieces. It turned out that the bust was made of chalk. We kids picked up many chunks of it and began to display our writing skills on any empty house wall in Varklian . . . Leibe Yoffe, our school principal, saw the results and started confiscating all the chunks of the Tzar Nikolai chalk for the school. A couple of weeks after Uncle Getzl came home, Uncle Motl, the dragoon, came home, mustered out from the Red Army. Papa lent Motl some money to buy a horse, a sled, and a bundle of leather so he and Grandfather Gutman could go out to the villages to make boots for the peasants.
     It wasn't long until my third uncle, Faivosh, another of Papa's brothers, came back from the war in Rumania. Several days after he came back he became ill. He had a high fever and broke out in a rash of red spots. They took him to the Varklian hospital. It was diagnosed as spotted typhus fever. He died three days later.
     I remember I was playing under the table in the living room. I saw Papa come in and close the door. He did not see me and thought he was alone. He put his arms on the dresser, held his head in his hands, and broke out crying. His whole body shook, he made wheezing, whistling noises as he was catching his breath. I crawled over and pulled on his trousers.
     "What is it Papa, why are you crying?"
     "Your Uncle Faivosh just died, Vulenka. He died and we could do nothing to save him." He picked me up, held me and cried some more. I too began to cry.
     "Why did he die?"
     "He had typhus fever."
     "How did he get typhus fever?"
     "Probably from a louse." This was the first time I saw Papa cry. It made a very strong impression on me, It was considered unmanly for men to cry. Only Gonorata and I stayed at home during Faivosh's funeral. Mama did not let me go because of the cold. I relearned Yiddish in a short time, acquired friends in school and started feeling "at home" at home. I even got used to the frequent bombardments and shootings. Andriusha got used to Zaichik, his junior partner, and quit grumbling about him.
     
XXIII
The Latvians; Peace at Last
     Somebody was knocking on the door. Gonorata went to the door.
     "You crazy or something? It isn't five o'clock in the morning yet. I don't milk the cow till six. You know that," Gonorata whispered, letting Barbara in. I knew it was Barbara, the maid of our next-door neighbor, the Galianskys. Their cow was with calf, so Barbara would come every morning for milk. They were borrowing milk from us till their cow had her calf. This was the custom, there was no milk to be bought.
     "How can you sleep with what is going on in town."
     "What are you talking about, what is going on it town?"
     "You mean none of your people woke up, the soldiers either?"
     "Nobody's awake. Now slow down and start talking sense, Barbara."
     "The Whites were in town last night and were shooting up the place. None of our soldiers woke up to give them a fight. They shot out many windows. Leibe Rubin heard the shooting and went to the window to see what was going on, and a bullet hit him in the chest. They also say that the Whites stole the 'keys' to the artillery at the palace. Now ours cannot even shoot back."
     By now Andriusha and Zaichik were up and Barbara's story was not lost on them. They were dressing fast.
     "Fine scout you are, Andriusha, we could have been caught in our underwear. Wouldn't the Whites have fun with us standing at attention, in our long-Johns and freezing our asses off!"
     "Quit the funny talk and let's go to the staff office and find out who was asleep on watch. I will volunteer to shoot those sons of bitches."
     "I wonder if the Whites have cleared out yet."
     "I am sure they did. I don't hear any shooting,"
     From bits and pieces of information we put together what had happened last night. The Whites had made a foray. Somehow they overpowered the guards and killed them without a shot being fired. Then they went to the palace, a viorst away, and there too they killed the guards without waking anybody up. They stole some mechanisms from the artillery and rendered the whole battery useless. On the the way back, they shot up the town and hit many windows. Leibe Rubin got up to investigate and got shot in the chest. By the time the Reds sounded an alarm the Whites were gone.
     Leibe Rubin was the son of Khaya-Mina Rubin, the owner of our school building. They lived next to our school. Next day on the way to school we stopped to look at the window thorough which Leibe was shot. The glass had a neat little hole with cracks emanating from it in all directions.
     Leibe Rubin was taken to the hospital where the bullet was removed from his chest. There was no doctor in Varklian at the time. We had what we called a "feldsher," a medical trainee, named Tikhomirov. Tikhomirov did the surgery. Leibe began to improve, but then an infection set in and he died a few days later. The whole town turned out for Leibe's funeral. Leibe was the only civilian casualty from this White raid.
     The town was buzzing with all kinds of rumors. It boiled down to one thing—the Reds were going to retreat. The only open question was, when? Andriusha and Zaic-hik were gone most of the time. They would drop in for just a few hours of sleep and be gone again. "The situation is bad," they said.
     A week had passed. On Friday evening, after Mama and Grandma blessed the Shabbat candles, all six in our family went to the synagogue for prayer. On the way over a machine-gun started up, sounding like a sewing machine stitching. We turned to the west where the Whites were. All we could see was a lovely winter sunset that painted the few scattered clouds a beautiful crimson.
     "The sky looks blood red," Mama commented,
     "When the sky is blood red, it means that war is coming." Grandma said.
     "We've been having war for several years. Mama." That machine gun was still "stitching" on our way back from the synagogue, only now a few more joined it. Every once in a while there was the thump of a big gun. We continued on home. We made "kiddush" (blessing of the bread), and had our Shabbat dinner. Grace was said, a few Psalms were sung and we all went to bed.
     My brother and I slept in the same bed, in the same bedroom with Gonorata. Somebody rapped gently on our dining-room window. It was pitch dart in the house, the Shabbat candles had long since gone out. I woke Itzik, and we raised our heads. I saw the silhouette of a head on the frosted window. Gonorata got up and came back followed by a man that smelled of tobacco.
     The newcomer undressed and climbed in bed with Gonorata. They whispered to each other. It sounded like an argument; we could not understand any of it. Then we heard what sounded like wrestling, jostling, struggling in their narrow, squeaking wooden bed.
     "Zaichik, you are hurting me," came Gonorata's whisper.
     So it was Zaichik! Now it made sense. She was always sweet on him. After that, things quieted down, only interrupted by an occasional kiss. Her bed began squeaking again, this time in a rhythmic motion. Things quieted down again. Zaichik got up, dressed, and walked to the door followed by Gonorata.
     "Write to me," Gonorata whispered.
     "I will. Goodbye."
     "I'll come to see you."
     "Good."
     "Stay healthy and well."
     A kiss and embrace. . . . We heard the doors being latched and Gonorata came back to bed sniffling and crying. It took a while to go back to sleep after what had happened.
     Somebody was banging on the door, not too gently. The whole household was up in an instant. It was still dark. Gonorata ran to the door. We heard voices; Latvian was spoken! A light flickered, a kerosene lamp went on, Gonorata brought it in the dining room and hung it on the wall. Two men in strange uniforms were with her. Judging by the braid and neatness, they were officers.
     "Please make us some tea and something to eat. We are very hungry," one of the officers said politely in Latvian.
     "Right away, Comrades, I'll put up the samovar and make you some eggs."
     "No more 'Comrades,' please, we are not communists. As for the eggs, make mine 'bull's eyes' (straight up)."
     "Mine too."
     Itzik and I dressed quickly and came out to greet our guests. Grandpa and grandma came out too followed by mama. Papa stayed behind waiting to see what developed. It could be dangerous for a grown man to walk into an unknown situation.
     Everybody greeted everybody else. The younger of the two officers spoke in a beautiful Latvian. "We are Latvians. From now on you are going to be living in the Latvian Republic. We are finally making the Communists live up the Brest-Litovsk Peace Agreement. The Communists don't want to stay behind the borders agreed upon, so we have to fight. Now we are here and we are going to stay here."
     "Both of you look very tired. Would you like to lie down for a few minutes' rest till the samovar is ready?" Mama spoke pleasantly in the coarse Latgalian accent.
     "No, thank you for your kind suggestion, Kundze (Mrs.), but we have to eat and go. We have many things to do to organize our new-won territory and especially keep order in the ranks of our soldiers." Only later in the day did we understand what he meant by "Keep order in the ranks. ..."
     "How has it been, living under the Communists?" the other officer asked.
     "Well, for six years we have not known peace," Mama was talking in a relaxed tone of voice. "We had many governments come and go. There was the tzar, then came the Germans, followed by the Russian Republic which lasted only for a few months, then the Red communists, and now it is you, the Latvian Republic. Every time a new power took over it got worse for us simple citizens. It was much worse under the communists because of the shortages- of food, clothing, and other simple articles necessary for life. Besides everything, we lived in constant fear for our very lives. One could get shot for the smallest offense, many times without court proceedings,"
     "We hope to change all of that. From now on we are going to have peace and establish law and order. We will take over what is ours per the Peace Agreement and stop fighting. We have free trade, and property ownership is legal, and every individual has rights protected by the State. Ahhh, breakfast is here."
     Gonorata brought the samovar and put it in the middle of the table. Then she served sizzling bull's eye eggs on two platters. The officers removed their hats, poured themselves glasses of tea, and started eating in silence. All of us stood around watching. We heard a few shots fired outside. "Our soldiers must be exuberant at having taken the town," the younger officer smiled.
     "I hope they don't hit anybody,' Mama said.
     "No, they are shooting in the air, just for fun."
     Somebody was knocking violently on the front door, even though it was not latched. Gonorata started going to the door. One of the officers stopped her.
     "Let me. It must be some of our men." He went to the door. We heard him shouting at somebody and when he came back—"Forgive the manners of some of our soldiers. They are looking for communists who stayed behind. They want to gather them all and send them back to Russia."
     Breakfast over, the officers got up, thanked Mama for the hospitality and each of them put a three-ruble note of Latvian money under his plate and headed out the door.
     "We don't need any pay," Mama ran after them with the money in her hand. "We were glad to be of service to you."
     "We are officers and have to watch our manners. Besides we want to leave a good impression at the first meeting with our new citizens." They left. 
     "Well, they were civil enough," Mama started the conversation going. "They were well-mannered and did leave a good impression. I hope the soldiers are as nice as their officers."
     "Think of our poor Red soldiers being chased by these well-fed Whites. Poor Zaichik, I wonder where he is now." Gonorata could not hide her feelings.
     It was beginning to get light. Everybody was up and dressed, even though it was Saturday and very early in the morning.
     "I think, Reb Abbo, we should not go to the synagogue today," Papa addressed Grandpa. "There is too much unrest and shooting in the streets. We can pray at home just as well at a time like this."
     "Maybe we could go through the back yard. ..."
     "No, no. If we go, I am sure we will be the only ones there."
     "I guess you are right."
     "The cow hasn't been milked yet, Gonorata," Grandma brought us back to the reality of our routine life.
     "I am going, Grandma, right away."
     Again there was a pounding on the door. Somebody was shouting—"Open the store, or we will break it open."
     Papa went back quickly in the bedroom and slid under the covers in his clothes; while doing so he whispered:
     "Open the store Riva, and take the children with you. With them around, the soldiers may show a little moderation. Do be careful. Don't lose your temper, no matter what."
     Mama fumbled with the large key to the inner door of the store, while somebody was banging on the store doors. She finally got it open and raced to open the outside doors. Itzik and I followed her. As soon as the doors were opened, a mob of soldiers pushed their way in past Mother and began looting the shelves of any merchandise they could lay their hands on. I could see Mama holding back her anger; her eyes were flashing, her face was getting red, then finally she exploded—"Thieves! Robbers!" Mama screamed. "You are like wild animals! You are worse than the communists!"
     Several rifles were leveled at us, but the pilfering stopped. "We shoot people for this kind of talk," one of the soldiers shouted back. "Now you come with us and point out to us who is a communist."
     "What is going on here?" someone shouted from the street. The two officers who earlier had breakfasted in the house parted the crowd and squeezed themselves in. "What is going on? Don't point any guns! These are peaceful citizens."
     "She called us communists,'"
     "Judging by the empty shelves, I don't blame her. Your behavior is deplorable. Now everybody out, out! And don't molest our new citizens." And to Mama, when the soldiers had left, "I am very sorry, Kundze; please forgive them, they are young, exuberant, and boisterous. I will see that this does not happen again. Leave the doors open and stay in the house. I guarantee that nobody will enter your store anymore today."
     "Thank you, thank you, officer. I don't know what happened. I guess I lost my temper."
     "Try to forget this, Kundze. What they took I cannot return but it will not happen again. Good day."
     "Good day and thank you."
     The officers left and Mama broke down crying "They could have shot me! . . . Thank God those officers happened along. Children, you have a newfound Mama. . . . You stay is the store, Nobody is going to hurt you. I must go in the house and take something for my headache,"
     Mama went in the house and left Itzik and me guarding the store. Groups of soldiers were passing by. They were armed with rifles, bandoliers of ammunition, potato-masher hand grenades stuck in the belts. Several of them pulled machine guns on little sleds; they paid no attention to us. The soldiers congregated at the street crossroads a few yards from our store. Anyone venturing on the street was detained, given a lash with a whip on the buttocks, and made to stand at the wall of a closed store across the street from us. Nobody was guarding them, but they stood there just the same, afraid to move.
     Zelik Levin came out of the side street, carrying a large loaf of bread and a small bowl of salt on a tray. This was the accepted Russian greeting of honor for visiting dignitaries—salt and bread.
     "He is wearing a communist uniform!" Somebody shouted.
     Two shots rang out, Zelik fell backwards, dropping the tray with the bread and salt. He lifted himself on one arm, a third shot pushed him down to the ground—he moved no more. The soldiers surrounded the fallen man and shouted something excitedly. The dozen or so people at the wall across the street took advantage of the confusion caused by the shooting, and made a dash for our driveway and into our back yard. Nobody followed them. My brother and I went into the house, leaving the store doors open. There was nothing left to guard but the empty shelves. "Zelik Levin was shot just now!" Itzik shouted as soon as we came into the house.
     "Don't shout," Mama cautioned. "What was he doing?"
     "He carried a loaf of bread and salt."
     "The good manners, the saviors ..." Mama grumbled.
     The rest of the day drifted on, with Papa in seclusion in the bedroom and the rest of us peeking through the inside store door window to keep tabs on what was going on outside. In the middle of the afternoon, Yadviga, Uncle Getzel's maid, came into the house through the back door. "My mistress, Khaya, asked to borrow a pound of butter. The children won't eat bread without butter."
     "Gonorata will give you some," Mama said. What is going on outside, did you hear anything?"
     "The Latvian soldiers are all over the place; they came here to stay. They shot Zelik Levin. He came out to greet the Latvians with bread and salt."
     "Some reception he got," Mama grumbled.
     "They say that the officers gave the soldiers thirty minutes of 'freedom.' In those thirty minutes they could do whatever they wanted—rob, kill, rape—and not be punished for it. The first troops that entered here were the 'Green Army.' These were mostly criminals let out of prison if they would go in the front lines and fight. In payment for this, they gave them the thirty minutes . . . You know the Shavlovs, the old couple who lived behind the burnt-out inn, well, they found them with their heads cut off. Just hacked off completely."
     "How gruesome!" Mama shuddered. "The shooting of Zelik, the robbing of our store, and the killing of the Shavlovs, all of this must have happened during those thirty minutes of the so-called freedom period. Who knows who else got in their way. I hope this is the end of the killings."
     "God knows what is happening to our people."
     "Our people who, Gonorata?"
     "Our people like Zaichik, Andriusha."
     "Is that how it is?"
     "I liked him." Gonorata turned away, to put the butter jar back in the pantry,
     "Thank you for the butter. I will return the dish when it is empty." Yadviga left.
     Again the house was quiet. Grandpa was reading from the boot of Psalms in a quiet, high-pitched voice. Grandma was taking a nap. Mama went in the bedroom to bring Papa up to date on the news. Itzik and I were in the living room, under the table, looking at pictures, in a very popular magazine of the tzar's times, Niva (the meadow). We could hear Papa saying, "Oh, it is so heartless. Why did they need to kill innocent civilians? Nobody is resisting even while being robbed."
     The day dragged on, then suddenly we heard a "thump, thump, thump." Everybody's nerves were on edge. Gone-rata ran out to investigate. She came back in a few minutes with the news—"A brass band is playing outside. There are soldiers urging everybody to go and listen to the band."
     "Gonorata, please dress the children and take them outside to listen to the music."
     "Right away, Reveka Abramovna. It will do us all good to hear a little music."
     There was already a big crowd surrounding the band when we came out. It was close to our house. This was to assure the to the people that it was safe to come out, that there was nothing to fear. The fighting troops were gone, The soldiers in view now were rear-guard troops; they did not carry weapons. A young soldier was putting up posters with half-frozen starch paste. It was printed in Latvian and Russian. Gonorata, my brother, and I crowded in to read the poster. It greeted and welcomed us into the new Latvian State. It promised peace and tranquility, with equal rights and privileges for all citizens. The band played till dark. The band leader said that next day the band would play again at the same time.
     Late that evening we heard a knock on the door, Gonorata brought in two soldiers, musicians from the band. One had a huge drum, the other a big brass instrument.
     "We were ordered to billet here for a few days," the drummer told Mama.
     "This will be fine, we can accommodate you." Mama was all smiles. "Have you boys eaten?"
     "Yes we ate at the military kitchen."
     "You will have to sleep in the living room on the floor. I am sorry we have no extra beds, but we do have bedding and plenty of pillows. We will try to make you as comfortable as we can."
     "You are very kind, Kundze."
     "Gutman is our name."
     "Gutman Kundze, we will try not to give you much trouble. My name is Kaplan and this is Vasilievsky; he plays the tuba and I play the bass drum. We are here to cheer you up."
     "We certainly need some cheering up after the shootings and killings that we experienced today."
     "Oh, that," Vasilievsky took over the conversation, "Those were the 'Greens,' the advance shock troops. They are a bunch of criminals and murderers let out of prison in exchange for fighting in the front lines. As an extra inducement, they give them thirty minutes of lawlessness in every town they take. They are gone now; the worst is over. The Reds have finally agreed to abide by the Peace Agreement."
     "So why are they still fighting?"
     "The Reds cannot retreat fast enough to suit the Latvian officers. It also gives them a chance to flex their muscles and perhaps capture some Red guns and ammunition, and let the Greens have their fun.
     "It doesn't make sense."
     "You are right, madamushka, it doesn't. The generals and officers can earn their medals and promotions more quickly on the field of battle,"
     Papa came out of hiding in the bedroom. Apparently he decided that there was no danger, judging by the freewheeling conversation that was going on.
     "Good evening, my name is Getzel Gutman," Papa shook hands with the soldiers. "I don't feel too good today, maybe a cold coming on. I couldn't help hearing your conversation with my wife. Has the war really ended for us? It couldn't be too soon."
     "Yes, Gutman Kungs (Mr.), the war has ended some time ago. It is that the Reds did not want to retreat to the agreed-upon lines. We will probably occupy the territory a little east of Dvinsk, or Daugavpils, as it is called on the Latvian maps, and stop. To the north of us is a new country called Estonia and to the south a country called Lithuania."
     "Do these countries already exist?"
     "Yes, they are already in existence. They may have to straighten out their borders somewhat—like we are doing now—but the main framework of these states has been made."
     "This is the best news I have heard in a long time. I had better go back to bed and take care of my cold."
     "It is time for us to retire also. We had a long, hard day. Could you show us where to sleep, please?"
     "Gonorata, please show these young men where they are to sleep, and give them some bedding. I guess it is time for all us to hug the pillow. Good night."
     "Good night."
* * *
     "Reveka Abramovna, I have decided to leave you," Gonorata announced after the departure of the musicians.
     "What are you talking about, Gonorata; why now? Wait till things settle down a little and you can find yourself a new job."
     "No, Reveka Abramovna, I must go now. It is not that I dislike my job with you. I couldn't wish a more considerate family than yours. There are personal reasons.
     "Zaichik?"
     "Please, I would rather not talk about it."
     "When do you want to leave?"
     "Tonight."
     "It will be hard to get along without you. I know we will never find another person as cheerful and pleasant as you."
     "I have an older sister, Adelia, who could take my place. If you wish, I will ask her to come."
     "Of course, my dear, tell her to come. I am sure we are going to like her,"
     "All right, I'll tell her to come tonight."
     "Tell her we are looking forward to meeting her."
     The parting with Gonorata was very moving. Most of us cried. We loved her, she was like one of the family.
     She left in the afternoon.
     
XXIV
Epilogue
     In the next few weeks we learned all kinds of new things about our government. We learned that we were a democracy. This kind of government structure was new to us. We had a parliament, called the "Seim," which was elected by the votes of the people. The Seim in turn elected a president who in turn appointed a prime minister, who in turn appointed the ministers to his cabinet. All had to be elected members of the Seim. The name of the first president was Tshakste. Of particular pride to us Jews was that the foreign minister was a man by the name of Meyerovich, a Jew! His main achievement was his obtaining the de jure and de facto recognition for Latvia from the great powers of Europe and America. There were several Jewish people in the Seim also. This meant to us that we Jews had the same rights and privileges as all the citizens, which hadn't happened in two thousand years! It really went to our heads. We started demanding our rights at every turn, only to find out that in practice we were still somewhat less equal to other citizens, still second class, so to say.
     Many reforms followed. The metric system supplanted the old tzarist system for weights and measures. Latvia issued its own money and postage stamps. The money was called lats and centimes. The paper tzarist, Kerensky, and communist monies were worthless. The tzarist silver money though, could be exchanged—two lats for one tzarist ruble.
     With the change of our allegiance to the government of Latvia, most shortages of manufactured goods and foods were ended. Mama had to stock up on merchandise in her depleted store. She dug up the the hoarded tzarist silver money, borrowed some from Grandpa and Grandma, and went to Riga to shop for her store. She found some relatives there who extended her credit and she came back with a big load of merchandise. All the people who used to fan out from Varklian to all the villages to sell "city products" came to buy from Mama's store. Things were so good and Mama was so busy that Papa quit his job as a school teacher and went full time with Mama in the store.
     Our new authority of law was a newly organized police department. A man by the name of Bogdanov was the chief of police. This Bogdanov had a very good survival record, and the people wondered how he did it. He was a policeman during the tzar's regime, a revolutionary and a commissar when the communists came to power, and now, when the Latvians were shooting communists and asking questions later, he became chief of police.
     Of course, he knew everyone in town and what they did during the communist era. He promptly arrested Leibe Yoffe, Moisey Gilenson, and Raikhrud. Gilenson was my Aunt Khaya Stekoll's brother. The charge was that they were in the communists' employ, which was true, and that they were communists, which was not true.
     Leibe Yoffe and Gilenson were managing the distribution of the rationed products to government employees (Bogdanov was a recipient) and the needy. They did a good and honest job and there were no complaints of dishonesty, nepotism, or bribery. The Jews of Varklian were very much put out by their arrest because both men were loved and respected by the whole town. Pinkhas Shwartz, the new mayor of the town, came over to talk to Papa about the arrests.
     "I tell you, Getzel, if we let him get away with this there is going to be no end to his arrogance, and no predicting what he will do next. We must put a stop to his arbitrary and heavy-handed actions."
     "Let me have a talk with him before we do anything else. It will be best if we settle this peacefully. I know him pretty well personally."
     "All right, Getzel, let it be today. I'll drop in tonight to hear what you have accomplished."
     Papa went to see Bogdanov, to intercede for Leibe Yoffe and Moisey Gilenson. Nobody cared for Raikhrud; we remembered his actions when he was the hoarding investigator. Papa came back and did not talk to anyone till Pinkhas came over in the evening.
     "Well, how did you make out, big peacemaker?"
     "Not too well, I am afraid. I told him that all of us are as guilty as Leibe and Moisey, He should know, he was with us. ... 'Mr, Gutman' he said, 'I have nothing against Leibe Yoffe and Moisey Gilenson. You most understand that I had to do something to show my superiors that I am fit for my job. I do have important friends in high places, and I have nothing to fear for my job. Nevertheless, I thought that I had to show that a new broom sweeps clean. I will not press charges against them; and they are going to be released soon, even that fool Raikhrud."
     'Why not release them right now?'
     'Cannot do it. It is too late. They are already on the way to the Rezhitsa Commandature. I assure you they are going to be released in a week or two. Don't tell a soul what I just told you. You are my friend, I can speak openly to you. Tell your people that I said that the charges against them are mild. They will be interrogated several times and released. I would suggest that you prepare a petition from the community with signatures that you vouch for the good character of these people,'
     "Why don't you write up the petition, Pinkhas, and I will get the signatures. Now what do you say to that?"
     "Well it is good as far as it went, but I am disappointed somewhat. I thought we were going to clip his wings a little this time. This son of a bitch has to learn the lesson that he cannot do everything that he damn well pleases."
     "Pinkhas, you cannot touch him. He has friends in high places who are just like him, former communists. They protect each other. Where did you see a Jew tangling with a man in authority?"
     "Maybe you are right. Now, let's go to work on the petition."
     A petition was circulated and signatures obtained, Papa took it to Bogdanov and he in turn sent it on to the security forces in Rezhitsa. Just three days later the three arrested people were freed. There was jubilation all over town. People's lives in a little town are so intertwined that anybody's sorrow reflects on everybody, the same goes for joyous occasions. Nobody sends invitations for a wedding or a Bar-Mitzvah, but everybody comes. So here too Leibe Yoffe's and Moisey Gilenson's homes were places of merriment on the following Shahbat.
     Good news came from the Sandlers in Rezhitsa. Sonia was let out of prison and Uncle Meishl was back home from Riga. Mama made plans to go immediately and visit them.
     More good news! Letters came from Grandma's sons, from Nokhem Aaron in Africa and from Itze-Mayer, Ruvin, and Leizer in America. They all wrote about their families and apparently all did well and prospered during the war. Of course, they wanted to know how we fared during the war. Ruvin's letter contained checks for Grandma and Grandpa, the Sandlers, for Getzel Stekoll, and for us, the Gutmans. This gave us all a start.
     A large, thin square package came a few days later. We took it out from between two pieces of cardboard. It was a picture of a well-dressed gentleman, with large, round, horn-rimmed glasses, thinning hair, and the characteristic Stekoll broad nose and pleasant smile.
     "A large portrait of Ruvin!" Mama exclaimed.
     Grandpa was explaining to Grandma what Ruvin looked like. While her blind eyes were crying, Grandpa was leading Grandma's forefinger over the picture, saying,
     "This is his face, all around. These are his eyes, covered with large round glasses."
     "Oi, large glasses, why large glasses? Is he going Wind or something?"
     "No. In America they all wear large glasses. It is the style like that."
     "Oi, Ruvinke, God keep you from getting blind. It isn't good to be blind. It is enough for your mother to be blind. What is he wearing?"
     "It looks like he is wearing a suit and a white tie with a large stripe in the middle."
     Grandma held the picture and fingered it now by herself. "Oi, Ruvinke, my son, I haven't seen you for over twenty years. And now I'll never see your shining face and bright eyes again. Just a paper picture, just a paper picture ..."
     The name Hoover was on everybody's lips. An American by the name of Hoover organized the sending of food to be distributed to the malnourished childrea of the freed countries of Europe, Again, Leibe Yoffe and Moisey Gileasoa went back into action and organized soup kitchens for all the children of Varklian, regardless of religion, nationality, wealth, or poverty. The idea was that all the children were malnourished because of the lack of the proper kinds of food, like proteins and sugar, during the war years. The kitchen had a prescribed recipe for the once-a-day meal. It was very sweet canned milk, diluted with water. To this liquid was added chocolate and brown beans. This brownish-purple soup was dished out in containers that the children brought from home. Most of us had military mess-kits left over by the soldiers. With this soup came a portion of black bread. We kids ate it right then and there in the soup kitchen. We never brought anything home. On Fridays an extra was added, a little loaf of white bread. This was to us like cake, few of us had seen white bread in months or even years.
     Another letter came from our American uncle Ruvin. He wrote that he was sending many crates of children's shoes. He asked to distribute them to all the children of Varklian. A few days later, many crates arrived filled with shoes. They were high button-up shoes, made of patent leather and suede. We had never seen such luxury! We had trouble buttoning them up, but nobody was complaining. All the children of Varklian stood in line to receive a pair of shoes and ail of them did get them and the right size too. We had some even left over and gave some of them an extra pair. I was the only one that did not sport a NEW AMERICAN pair of shoes. The right shoe did not go over my brace. The Sandlers too got a crate of shoes.
     By now it was the end of April and the snows began to melt. To all of us the appearance of the black soil from under the snow was was a great joy, a message that spring was not far behind. The streets soon turned to a quagmire of mud during the day, only to freeze at night. Mama went to Rezhitsa to visit the Sandiers. She came back with good news. Uncle Meishl had resumed his business in flax and grain and was doing well. Aunt Sonia was recuperating from her ordeal. Their whole family was planning to visit us.
     Another letter from Ruvin in America told us that he was coming to visit Varklian. This news generated a lot of excitement in the house. The floors of the house were painted, the walls were recovered with new clean wallpaper, the beds were soaked in kerosene to kill the bedbugs, fleas, and their progeny. For almost a month we lived in the kitchen and slept in the hay loft at night, because the linseed oil-based paint took forever to dry and the smell of kerosene in the house did not want to go away. Finally we moved back in the house. Many places in the house were still off-limits, lest we bring in the street mud in the living room, in the bedrooms, lest we scratch the newly painted wooden floors. Finally everything was ready to receive our guest. Mama went to Riga to meet Ruvin and bring him home to Varklian.
     It was a big day when Uncle Ruvin came to Varklian. The people of the whole town lined the streets to catch a glimpse of the American, the native son of Varklian. Finally the drozhka bearing Mama and Uncle Ruvin drove up in a pall of dust. I stood on top of the front porch bench to have a better look at what was going on. A tall gentleman descended from the drozhka, neatly dressed in foreign-looking clothes, hard straw hat, a cane, and big, round glasses. Mama followed behind. They were immediately surrounded by the townspeople with arms outstretched to shake hands. There was Bogdanov, the chief of police, clearing a passage for Ruvin. Another wagon bearing two large trunks and suitcases, Ruvin's baggage, drove up.
     It took a while for Ruvin to reach and enter the house where the rest of the family waited impatiently. The crowd that followed Ruvin to the door stopped short out of respect to the family. I went into the house just in time to see the moving scene of Grandma's outstretched hands embracing Uncle Ruvin. They both hugged each other and cried.
     "Oi, Ruvinke, my son, for over twenty years I worried and prayed for you. I was asking myself, will I ever see you again. Now the day has come that God has answered my prayers. I cannot see anymore, but I can feel you, you are big and strong."
     "We too worried about all of you. We had no news from you since the war started. We tried to contact you through the American Embassy and the Red Cross. We had no success. Mama, it so good to see you. And you too, dad, let me give you a hug. You both look good. The house looks so small, I thought the house was larger than it appears now."
     "You have been away for so long and lived in bigger quarters, that is why the old home looks so small," Mama said.
     A bed was made for Uncle Ravin on a new sofa in the living room. It was hoped that he would not be bothered by the bedbugs for a time till they colonized it again. In daytime the bed was made into a sofa again, so that we could entertain visitors in the living room. And visitors we had all day long. Some of them came to greet an old friend, others to inquire about their relatives in America, and still others for help. For help to buy a horse, for a new roof, for a dowry for a daughter, for a cow, a goat, for clothes for the Shabbat. Uncle Ruvia was very generous, nobody left disappointed.
     One day Meishe-Yekel Wachtel with his wife Khaye-Pese came to greet Ruvin. The atmosphere was loaded, We all wondered what would happen when the false accusers confront the "boy who nearly murdered them."
     "Well, well, look what we have here, coming to greet a jail bird, a man who nearly beat you to death."
     "Now, now, let bygones rest," Meishe-Yekel said. "We have all forgotten those old things."
     "You can forget all you want, but I cannot. You bore false witness against me, you stole two stores from us, you besmirched our name, and you ask me to forget? Out! Don't you ever come in this house again while I am here, or I'll break my cane over your head."
     Mama started saying something, but Papa kept her from it. There was silence for an instant. The Wachtels turned around and without a word left. Mama could not hold back anymore.
     "Ruvin, you were a little too harsh on them. You cannot keep a grudge for so long. Varklian is a small town, you cannot but rub shoulders with each other every day."
     "Reveka, you can speak to them if you want to, I cannot. These people were going to send me up, no, all of us, up for years in prison at hard labor, for THEM not paying rent on OUR stores. I cannot look at them even today, those thieves, cheats, liars, I go into a rage whenever I think of it. I cannot understand how it all happened. The judge must have been bribed also."
     "I agree with you, brother," Uncle Getzel spoke up. "I am only glad that we could not have done what they did. Whatever we got in our lives, whatever our parents acquired, was by hard work and honesty."
     "Children, children, let God judge them," Grandma joined in. "We should forget them and not talk about them when we have so much to rejoice about our reunion with Ruvinke coming for a visit, with Getzel coming home in one piece from the war, with Sotzenka out of Red prison, with good news from all our other children, with the end of the war."
     "You are right, Mama. I promise you I will not mention the Wachtels again for the rest of my visit here."
     Uncle Ruvin told us wonderful stories about America—how they lived, worked, prospered there. Our two families, with all the children, surrounded him and listened intently to him talk. His Yiddish was interspersed with many English words like "business," "car," "walk," "guy," and many others. Gradually we got used to it and understood quite well.
     Ruvin and Itze-Meyer first settled in Indiana and opened a junk and rag business in partnership. Ruvin changed his name to Robert and Itze-Meyer to the initials J. M. Leizer, the youngest brother, or Louis as he was called in America, joined them in about 1904 to escape the draft for the Russo-Japanese war. When oil was discovered in Oklahoma, the three brothers moved there to participate in the boom. They opened businesses dealing in oilfield supplies; Robert and J. M. in Tulsa and Louis in Okmul-gee, Oklahoma. They prospered, had their own houses, and raised families. The whole Sandier family came. The meeting between
     Grandma and Aunt Sonia was very touching. Over and over again Grandma repeated, while hugging her and crying, "You came back to us from the dead, Sotzenka, you came back to us from the dead. ..."
     It took a while till everybody greeted everybody else. Uncle Getzel's family was absent. The relations between Aunt Khaya and the rest of the Stekoll family were never too good. Khaya claimed that Uncle Getzel, being a man and older than Mama, deserved to live in the house fronting the main street and not in the back of us. She claimed that a son should have preference over a daughter. The counterclaim was that this would mean dispossessing our grandparents. To this Khaya said, "They could live with me."
     "Not on your life," Grandma replied. So it went, claim and counterclaim. This argument was never resolved, and a guarded animosity existed between the two houses.
     Another grudge existed that had a more recent history. When Shaye once came for help to feed the family while Sonia was hi prison, Khaya pointedly refused to participate.
     "Let Reveka support them. Reveka lives in the house up front. Reveka and Sonia piss in the same hole, so let them help each other. ..."
     The Sandlers never forgot that. Now when the Sandlers came and there were six more people to locate for the night, Aunt Sonia said with a sparkle in her eye, "In prison they used to say, 'Sleep faster, I need the pillow."
     "Why not send the children over to GetzeFs house?" Ruvin said.
     "Never!" Sonia cut him off angrily.
     "Why so?"
     "My brother, it is a long and unpleasant story. It is better that you are not brought in to this. You came and found us all in good shape, so let us enjoy the good fortune and forget the bad things of the past."
     "We can all stay with my father and my brother," Uncle MeishI solved the problem. His father, Nokhem-Hirshl, as well as his brother, Rakhmiel, lived only a short distance away.
     Gradually Ruvin was brought up to date with all the happenings of the family. He suggested that the Sandlers should go to America, where Aunt Sonia would be farther away from the places that would remind her of her death sentence and prison.
     "As soon as I return home I will start making out papers to bring you, Sonia, with your family, to America."
     Ruvin declared one day that he would like to ride a horse. He made a trip to Riga and came back with a new saddle. Nobody had a suitable riding horse. Grandma had a sister, Rachel Novomisli, whose son, Khonke, dealt in cattle and horses. Khonke was summoned and he provided a good-looking red mare. Half the town came to watch Ruvin saddling the horse, mounting it, and galloping away in a cloud of dust. Bogdanov, our chief of police, was there too. He walked over to my father and said to him;
     "Getzel, I will have to arrest your brother-in-law."
     "You are joking no doubt."
     "I am not joking."
     "What has he done that is against the law?"
     "He has a saddle and has no permit for it. A saddle is classified as military equipment, and one cannot own it without a permit, not even if one is an American."
     "Are you sure of this law? It does not seem logical to me."
     "Maybe it is and maybe it isn't the law. It could take time to find out. For ten lats I could heal the wound of the law. I'll tell you, for twenty lats I can guarantee that your brother-in-law will have no trouble when he comes to pick up his passport upon departure."
     "It's a deal. I am glad you spoke to me first about this deal before arresting him. It could have meant inconvenience for us and trouble for you. He would have complained, no doubt, to the American Embassy in Riga about your 'hospitality.' You know how eagerly Latvia is soliciting American friendship and help."
     "You are a smart man, Getzel, I like to do business with you. I will send over my wife one of these days, and she will buy a few things in your store, about twenty lats' worth. You will give her credit, won't you?"
     "Sure, any time."
     Uncle Ruvin left after visiting for six weeks. He left an indelible mark on our lives, on the Sandler's lives, and on the life of Varklian in general. His last act of largesse was to donate, at the parting banquet, one hundred dollars for the construction of a new school building for the Jewish children of Varklian, This was enough for the purchase of the lot and all the building materials. The labor was supplied by the citizens of Varklian.
* * *
     Thus ended an era that began with the Polish Empire and was succeeded by the Russian tzarist Empire, the German Occupation, the Kerensky Revolution, the Communist Revolution, and now the Latvian Democratic Republic. For better or for worse, it was to last for the next nineteen years . . .