Wave of Terror (21 page)

“What’s been going on here?” she demanded. Then with a look of absolute horror, she cried, “Who did this?” She pointed between her feet, where there were chalk marks everywhere. “Who’s responsible?”

Beneath the desks, all the way from the blackboard to the door, the entire floor was covered in chalked crosses.

“You little insubordinates, all of you! This is inexcusable!”

She swung around and made for her desk, hopping over the crosses as if she were afraid to step on one. Wide-eyed, their mouths agape, the children watched in silent amazement. They
had just witnessed a spectacle. What they had suspected all along was true—Haya Fifkina was living proof of their suspicion: Jews were afraid of crosses, and if they touched one, let alone stepped on one, they would be cursed.

Haya lashed out at them. “Anarchists! Provocateurs! Ignoramuses! Don’t you know crosses are symbols of subversion, a fabrication of our oppressors? We don’t put up with that kind of nonsense anymore, we stand liberated, and all thanks to our Russian blood brothers.”

Clutching her head, she murmured under her breath, “Oy vey, where have I ended up? In some dismal, backward hole, with no hope and no future, just a band of counter-revolutionaries!” She wagged her finger threateningly at the children. “The education inspector is coming from Pinsk any day now and I intend to tell him everything. Every one of you will get a flogging with my special birch rod! Understand?”

She turned to Ohrimko. “Come here, young man.”

The boy slid from his seat, and watching her closely, edged his way slowly toward her desk.

“Wipe off those crosses! Right now!”

“I didn’t do it.”

“Liar!”

“That’s the truth.”

“I’m telling you, wipe off the crosses!”

When Ohrimko shook his head, Haya Fifkina lost control of herself, and lunging forward, grabbed his ear. She tried to drag him to the ground.

“Wipe off those crosses! Wipe them off, I tell you, now!”

Ohrimko, kicking and punching, tried to break free, but Haya kept him down with a firm grip. After a moment, managing to free his right leg, he kicked as hard as he could, striking her several times, once in the belly, twice in the head. Screaming, she let go of him. The boy raced to the blackboard, grabbed a wooden ruler from the ledge and started striking her with it. She covered her face with her hands, trying to protect herself from the repeated
blows. The struggle continued for several minutes, until somehow Haya managed to knock Ohrimko across the floor. Breathless, she ran down the corridor and into Kulik’s office.

“Anti-Semitism! Anti-Semitism!” she cried. “This school is riddled with anti-Semitism. I almost got killed! I refuse to take it anymore. I didn’t fight for the emancipation of the proletariat and train to become a teacher so I could be run down by a band of fascists!”

Kulik was astonished. “Calm down, Haya, calm down. Please sit down. Now, tell me, what fascists are you talking about?”

“Those little monsters I’ve been assigned to teach. Fascists, all of them! And that Ohrimko Suchok is the worst of the bunch. I demand his expulsion immediately!”

She was in great distress and shaking. Her flat chest heaved with emotion, while tears rolled down her cheeks. Kulik tried to find something to say to calm her down, but he stopped short, afraid anything he said would only set her off even more.

She was thin, very thin, like a twig, and she seemed so helpless standing there trembling, almost tottering. He wondered how she had come to be here in Hlaby, so many miles from nowhere. She was not a teacher by any means, but a child, a mere child, who ought to have stayed home with her mother. With sympathy growing in him, he said at last, “I agree, it’s a very trying situation, but you must not forget that it’s a difficult time for the children as well. There’s been a complete overhaul, not only in the school system, but in everyday life. It’ll take time for them to adjust. All I can suggest is that you try and make them like you.”

“Try and make them like me?” Her eyes bulged. “They’ll never like me. They’re hostile and aggressive. In fact, the entire atmosphere here is unbearable.” Then looking at him coldly, “And you! You’re talking to me pretending to be my friend, but you can’t fool me, not for one minute. I know you’re the one responsible for creating adverse sentiments here. It’s because of you the children are the way they are.”

She had barely uttered these words, when the door was thrown open and Ivashkevich came into the office. Having heard Haya’s
accusations from the hallway, he immediately rose to Kulik’s defense. “You’re being too hard on our headmaster, Haya Sruleyevna. After all, the Soviet schools are only just beginning to be developed here, and to ensure a smooth transition, we all have to work together. The headmaster only just recently landed the post here himself. You can’t hold him accountable for your unfortunate incident.”

“I can’t hold him accountable?” Haya shot back. “You mean to say I can be murdered by one of my pupils tomorrow and the little monster will go free because our good headmaster here cannot yet be held accountable? What kind of place is this?” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. “I don’t have any peace anywhere, I’m terrorized wherever I go. In the classroom I’m harassed nonstop; out in the street I get sticks and snowballs hurled at me from all sides. And all because I’m Haya Fifkina Sruleyevna, a Jew. Under Soviet law we Jews now have the same rights as all citizens of the Soviet Union. Everyone is equal. The activities going on in this village are subversive and illegal and it’s my obligation to bring them to the attention of the authorities.” She stormed out into the corridor, shouting, “You haven’t heard the last of this! I’m not through with you yet, not by a long shot!”

Silence fell over the room. Ivashkevich stood against the wall awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do. Kulik sat at his desk, trying to appear calm. After several minutes, the two men glanced at each other. Finally, clearing his throat, Kulik said, as if nothing unusual had just happened, “Comrade Ivashkevich, please have a seat. How are things going with the third graders?”

“I have nothing to complain about, really. But on the other hand, I don’t have anything to boast about, either. The children don’t understand me and I only understand about every tenth word of theirs. In all honesty, when I was assigned to this school I really thought I’d be amongst fellow Belorussians, but that’s not the case at all.

“I think our new regime has made a serious mistake in not connecting this region to Ukraine. I don’t think our new leaders are quite the humanitarians they claim to be.”

Kulik was completely rattled by Ivashkevich’s remarks. He looked suspiciously at him; something was not quite right. The atmosphere became strained. Kulik hesitated, asking himself question after question. Why did Ivashkevich so brazenly and unabashedly take it upon himself to openly challenge the new regime? Certainly it was not because he was reckless, or incapable of seeing how dangerous such talk was. Was he testing him? Trying to provoke him in some way? Did he expect his defenses to be down, especially after the scene with Haya Fifkina? Something was wrong. He began to suspect that Ivashkevich had a secret plan of some kind. And then his worst fear turned to reality: Ivashkevich was an informer! This fellow teacher with whom he had exchanged friendly words, even the occasional anecdote, this man who showed only his good nature, was in fact a trickster, a government agent sent to spy on him. Kulik had a horrible feeling of helplessness; his heart pounded. He knew he had to do or say something to throw Ivashkevich off track. He said firmly and with conviction, “The Soviet regime has made no mistake, Comrade Ivashkevich, I assure you. Our good liberators always have in mind what’s best for the people of our great nation.”

“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.”