“You really think so?” Ivashkevich smiled uneasily. He could not hide the fact that he was very much discouraged by Kulik’s response.
“Absolutely.” Kulik reached across his desk. “Take a look at this microscope.” He carefully picked up the instrument and handed it to Ivashkevich. “It’s quite magnificent. Our school has never seen anything like it before. The Soviets, by providing something of this caliber, show that they truly care about quality education for the masses, from the factory worker to the peasant.”
As Kulik spoke, he felt Ivashkevich’s eyes on him, weighing his every word, as if looking for a break in his voice or hesitation of some kind. Ivashkevich was waiting for him to make a slip or to do or say something incriminating so he could take it to the authorities. Kulik watched Ivashkevich watching him, and he wondered if Ivashkevich doubted him as much as he doubted Ivashkevich. When finally the expression on Ivashkevich’s face seemed to suggest he was giving up on his little game, Kulik, at least for a moment, was able to let down his guard.
Ivashkevich had lost the first round, and as if realizing this, in an attempt to mask his intentions, began to mouth propaganda. “You are correct, Comrade Kulik. We must forever be grateful to Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin for our liberation and for the good fortune he has bestowed upon us. Just to see an instrument like this microscope or the fish tank in the sixth grade is enough to convince anyone that the new regime is truly generous and wonderful.”
After finishing this speech, Ivashkevich adjusted his shirt collar, abruptly excused himself and hurried out the door. As he disappeared down the corridor, Kulik couldn’t help but wonder, who had truly come out on top, he or Ivashkevich?
The bell rang. Recess was over and classes were resuming. Kulik, still at his desk, took a deep breath. The dark clouds hanging over him were forever descending, and before long they would consume him completely. Although he had gotten off easy today, he knew that with each day there would be new and more formidable hurdles to leap. He was upset and very tired. The future looked grim, if there even was a future, and the past had been blown into little pieces. Tomorrow would no longer be a day like any other, but the beginning of a new and more terrible challenge.
Kulik’s thoughts were in a tangle. He tried to read through some papers. But no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on his work, he couldn’t get Ivashkevich out of his mind. The truth of the matter was, Ivashkevich was a government agent, an informer, with one purpose—to get him, Kulik, on even the flimsiest of suspicions. Yes, he understood it all now; he was being pursued, and by someone in the school, and now more than ever he had to watch his every step.
To further complicate things, the unfortunate incident with Haya Fifkina grew bigger and bigger. News of trouble at the school spread like wildfire and it was not long before every house rang with the scandal. Small groups of women gathered to gossip in their yards, men argued in the streets, and officials in the Clubhouse called emergency meetings. Everyone was shocked to learn that Ivan Kulik, the new village headmaster, was an anti-Semite. And it didn’t stop there: he was not only stirring up the children, but also promoting anti-Semitic sentiments everywhere in the region. When these very serious allegations reached his ears, Cornelius took it upon himself to confront Kulik.
“What’s been going on here?” he demanded. “Word has it you’re pumping the children up with anti-Semitism. It’s a good thing Haya Fifkina caught wind of your actions before they got out of hand. She’s already reported you to the Pinsk authorities.”
“What are you talking about?” Kulik asked.
“Don’t fool with me. I’m the Village Chairman and I know everything that’s going on around here. You set the children against Haya Fifkina for the simple reason that she’s a Jew. And that sort of behavior is subversive and punishable by law. Our free and liberty-loving regime has sent Haya Fifkina here to teach the children, not to be maligned by them.”
“What are you insinuating?” Kulik stood up. “Your accusations are absolutely unfounded, not to mention ridiculous. Haya Fifkina was welcomed here just like any other new teacher. And as far as the children are concerned, I know they’ve gotten out of hand, and first thing tomorrow disciplinary measures will be taken. But to imply that in some way I riled them up is absolutely preposterous.”
Cornelius kept up his attack. “You’re asking for trouble, Comrade Kulik. Take my advice and run the school like a devoted servant of the state. Teach the children the true spirit of revolution. And teach them to like Jews. Make them understand ours is the most democratic country in the world where everyone is equal and Jews are just as equal as anyone else.”
Cornelius had much more to say; he was determined to get Kulik to see things in the proper light. “We’re all one and the same, and I’ll prove it to you. Take, for example, the merchants of Pinsk. Just last week, weren’t they all rounded up and interrogated, then imprisoned equally? The Poles, the Ukrainians, the Jews—no one group got discriminated against. Hah! So there you have it, we are all equal!”
Kulik listened to Cornelius’s idiotic rant with increasing exasperation. He wanted to grab him by the scruff of the neck and hurl him out the door. His patience was wearing thin.
Cornelius went on. “You, comrade, are a product of a bourgeois society and you’re tampering with the minds of our young children, teaching them perversity and anarchy. You must prepare your lessons in such a way that the Party and our glorious leader Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin are above all else revered and praised. The children, especially the younger ones, must know how their parents suffered under Polish oppression and how Olivinski, the Polish tyrant-landowner, enslaved and demeaned them. They must understand that the new Soviet government is their great liberator and they must forever show their gratitude. The new regime not only cares about educating the masses, but also about doing away with illiteracy in the most backward of villages. Who do you think brought this microscope and the fish tank to the school? Our new regime, of course. They spent two thousand rubles on these items because they care. Allow me to say it again: subversion must be quashed at all levels to ensure our new system runs smoothly and productively. I, as a Soviet citizen, will do my utmost to make sure this happens.”
As this continued, Kulik completely lost track of what Cornelius was saying. He saw Cornelius’ thick, cracked lips moving soundlessly under his moustache. But the words fish tank and two thousand rubles caught his attention. He was curious to learn why the new regime had so generously parted with such a substantial sum of money. He said, “You mean to say the new school instruments were purchased by the government and sent here to our school?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Cornelius opened his eyes wide and blinked. “Our government is committed to providing the best education for all children of the Soviet Union, whether they live in urban centers or in backward, isolated villages. We’re all treated equally. The instruments were brought from Pinsk by car, and I myself unloaded the boxes and helped carry them into the school. The villagers were thrilled to see their children with such modern tools.”
Talking louder and louder and faster and faster and becoming more impassioned, as the words flew out of his mouth, it was not long before he let the truth slip.
“Yes, it was a great job to raise that money and everyone participated. The people worked hard to enable the new regime to buy the instruments for the school. It was our regime’s idea, and if not for our regime, we would have nothing. A meager amount was requested from every household, and naturally the people complied. And why did they comply? Because the people are the government—it’s all one and the same. The government is run by the people, the money is collected from the people, given out by the people, for the people.”
Kulik listened with mounting anger and contempt. He now understood everything. He said bitterly and sarcastically, “So it is we the people, or rather, we the government, who, according to you are one and the same, who are giving us our fish tanks whether they have the money or
not? People like Paraska, for instance? Is she part of the government?”
Cornelius’ small black eyes flickered, filled with rage. He said sharply and disdainfully, “How dare you challenge the government. You are a subversive, and I can see by the light in your eye that you’re not one of us.” Then a warning, “The frozen wastelands of Arkhangelsk are not far off, in fact they’re beckoning you as we speak. And in case you didn’t know, the NKVD is already hot on your trail.”
Kulik’s heart thudded, “Why, that’s ridiculous. I’m a simple, humble teacher and I have had no political affiliation whatsoever other than with the Communist Party.”
Cornelius laughed ironically. “You don’t fool me for one minute. Even Kokoshin and Leyzarov are on to you.”
“Did they send you here? Is that why you’re here?”
“No one sent me here. You think I’m stupid, don’t you? I came here because I know what’s going on. I’ll have you know I have a good nose; I can smell a traitor when I see one. I didn’t make my way up the Party ladder because I’m thick in the head; no, I made it because I get the job done. I can see where your sympathies lie as clearly as I can see the light of day. You claim to be of peasant stock, which may be true, but in spirit you’re a bourgeois. We know about your past. In Vilno you obtained a bourgeois education and associated with subversives. And subversives are the great enemies of Communism and must be dealt with immediately. We live in the most democratic country in the world, where the masses rule. The workers have finally overthrown the ruling classes, and we must fight to preserve this wonderful new life of ours, no matter what the cost.”
Kulik lost all self-control, and flew at Cornelius. “You’re nothing more than a buffoon! I’ve heard enough. Get out of here before I throw you out!”
Cornelius’s face lit up with a sardonic smile. “Hah! I see I’ve touched a nerve. The aloof and self-important headmaster has lost his temper. Just like a balloon he went ‘pop!’” Then with a snarl, “We’ll get you, you wait and see. Already you’re being watched. It won’t take long now. And a word of advice, if you ever dare utter another word against Jews, it’ll be off to NKVD headquarters with you!”
“Get out of here! Now!” Kulik almost choked with rage. Lunging forward, with all his strength he grabbed Cornelius by the collar, and punched him in the face, knocking him down.
“Help! Murder! Help!” Cornelius cried. He managed to scramble to his feet and make a run for the door. But he was no match for the stronger and younger Kulik, who quickly tripped him up, dragged him across the floor, and hurled him out the front door into the yard. As he landed in the snow, Cornelius cursed and howled at the top of his lungs, “Damn you, bourgeois! Your head will roll for this!”
Kulik slammed the door and bolted it shut.
CHAPTER 16
To everyone’s surprise, pinned to the wall outside the grade one classroom was a long sheet of paper with an elaborate, detailed cartoon drawn by a steady and capable hand. It was a caricature of a young boy with tousled hair and an upturned nose, who clutched a ruler in his left hand, aiming it like a spear at a woman. The boy wore a fierce, nasty expression and bore a strong resemblance to Ohrimko Suchok. The woman, skinny with frizzy hair, looking very much like Haya Fifkina, was scrambling through a window trying to escape from him. Several children were penciled in at the bottom, crouched on all fours, peering fearfully from under their benches. Under the drawing was written:
It is not a ruler but a spear
Haya Fifkina, beware!
At recess, almost all the children gathered around the drawing, laughing and talking at the top of their voices. A few older boys elbowed their way to the front to get a better look, while several girls stood on tiptoe, shouting and pointing excitedly. One little girl in a blue frock and gray knitted stockings, standing near the drawing, twirling her braids, took it upon herself and for the benefit of all to read the words aloud, “It’s not a ruler, but a spear …” As she read, the children fell into an uproar. Enjoying the attention, just as she was about to start on the next line, suddenly Ohrimko appeared and charged toward her. He was red in the face and fuming with rage.
“Why don’t you just shut up!” he shouted at her. “You’re just a dumb old girl. It’s not funny!” Raising his arms, with all the force he could muster, he pushed her to the ground and kicked her in the head. When her nose started to bleed, horrified at the sight of blood, she picked herself up, and made for the door as fast as her little feet could carry her, down the corridor, straight to the headmaster’s office. Standing in the doorway, panting and gasping, wiping her tears with the cuffs of her blouse, she smeared blood all over her face.
Kulik saw her and leapt up in horror. “Good God,” he cried, “what on earth happened to you?” Before she could answer, he pulled her into the kitchen, filled the basin with warm water, and washed her hands and face. Later he applied poultices to her cuts. “Who’s responsible for this?”
The girl cried out, “Ohrimko Suchok!”
Kulik was shaken. Ohrimko Suchok was an incorrigible boy, hopeless; he was at a loss with what to do with him. He wanted to call the boy to his office at once, but he wasn’t sure how to handle him. Ohrimko had just been disciplined for attacking Haya Fifkina, and with no noticeable results. Finally, Kulik decided to wait until the end of the day, until classes ended, to allow himself time to think of a plan. He considered suspending him and sending him home, keeping him after school, giving him a good thrashing…. When the bell rang, he had come up with the perfect solution, one that had just popped into his head. It was rather unconventional, but he was confident it would have a positive effect. He sat at his desk, patiently waiting for Ohrimko to knock on the door.
“Come in, young man.” Kulik rose to his feet. His tone was calm and composed and there was even a smile on his face, which he didn’t attempt to hide.
The boy stared. He didn’t know what to make of this. He expected the headmaster to be enraged, fuming, but he certainly did not expect him to be smiling. He anticipated the worst and was very frightened. Any moment now, any second, he would get a flogging a thousand times worse than he had ever had before. Drawing a deep breath and standing without moving a muscle, he closed his eyes tight and waited for the onslaught to begin. But there came no sound of a switch, no pain to his palms, no heavy breathing of the headmaster over his head. There was only silence. Slowly opening his eyes, to his surprise he saw the headmaster sitting quietly at his desk with his hands folded, still with that same strange smile on his face. Ohrimko watched him closely, convinced he would spring on him at any moment.
Kulik motioned to him. “Come here, young man.” That his tone continued to be soft, even kindly, further confounded the boy.
Creeping timidly toward the desk, Ohrimko wanted only one thing: for the punishment to be over and done with. He suspected the headmaster was up to something and whatever plan he had for him he was certain would be brutal.
Kulik watched the boy but didn’t speak. He was thinking. As he was about to say something, before any words came out, to his great surprise, the boy burst into tears; his entire body trembled. He couldn’t stop crying.
“Ohrimko, what’s wrong?” Kulik was amazed to see the school bully in such a state of distress. He had expected defiance and anger from him, but not tears.
The boy continued to whimper. “It’s my legs. They’re sore. My father beat me last night, he beat me with a nettle switch and now I can barely move.” Rolling up his pants, he showed Kulik the cuts and bruises on his legs.
Kulik was deeply disturbed by what he saw. Even though Ohrimko was the biggest bully in the school and made life miserable for everyone, there was a kind of helpless sadness in his eye that had to arouse sympathy. For the first time he saw the boy not as a little monster out to create pain and misery for others, but as a lost, confused, lonely child trying to get attention.
The boy stood hesitating, rooted to the spot. The thought of getting another beating all but para
lyzed him. Suddenly he saw the headmaster rise to his feet and come toward him. Any second now and everything would be over. He would grab him, strike him, finish him off right then and there. But instead Kulik took hold of his left ear. Pain shot through the boy and he let out a cry. He was guilty and now he was about to pay. He had beaten up a defenseless little girl and he deserved what was coming to him, and probably more. He waited for the flogging to begin. But instead of a flogging something completely unexpected happened. The headmaster made a very peculiar sound and his mouth twisted with disgust:
“Ugh! Ohrimko, this is completely unacceptable. We simply cannot allow this sort of thing to go on. Your ears are filthy!”
The boy stood dumbstruck. He turned red with shame and embarrassment. It was true he did not take kindly to soap and water and very rarely washed his face, let alone his ears. But why was the headmaster making a point of it now? Wasn’t he there to be punished? When the headmaster opened the top drawer of his desk, Ohrimko was sure he was going to take out a switch or something equally unforgiving. But instead he brought out a small parcel wrapped in newspaper and tied with brown string.
“Here, Ohrimko,” he said, “this is for you. I bought it in Pinsk. Something tells me that at heart you ‘re a good boy.”
For the longest time Ohrimko stood looking dazed, his eyes round with wonder. Edging toward the desk carefully, he leaned forward and grabbed the parcel. Peering inside, to his great astonishment he found half a dozen candies in thin paper wrappers, everyone a different color. He could hardly believe his eyes. No one had ever given him such a treat before, and straight from a candy store in Pinsk!
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