“Did you hear? Then why didn’t you call us? Why didn’t you shout?”
I was about to answer that I hadn’t shouted because my voice had disappeared, and sounds wouldn’t come out of my mouth. But it was very difficult to explain, and somehow, I didn’t want to.
“Well, what do you want him to explain?” Mama came up to me and hugged me. As always, she understood everything. “He was sound asleep. He thought he heard something in his sleep… Thank God he…”
She didn’t finish what she meant to say, kissed me, and then went over to the coat rack.
“Thank God, they took only one coat… Petty parasites…”
Chapter 23. My Father Is Also a Teacher
“Yuabov, another reprimand, and I’ll record it in your report card.”
I should have expected it… What could I do? How could I sit still and not look back if Larisa Sarbash was sitting behind me? Larisa had such eyes that when she looked at me, I… Well, I didn’t know what came over me, but I wanted to look at her all the time. And I also wanted to tell her stories, because Larisa listened very attentively, her eyes wide … If only we shared the same desk. But Larisa sat behind me, and I sat at the second desk in the middle row, under the teacher’s very nose, so to speak. I wasn’t allowed to look back, but I absolutely needed to.
I suffered, and our teacher, Yekaterina Ivanovna, or Fat Woman, as we had nicknamed her in first grade the previous year, was pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard. The floor near the blackboard usually squeaked slightly. It should have been squeaking loudly under her heavy weight. But our teacher had a special gait. She didn’t waddle. It seemed that she floated or rolled. And the floor kept silent. With her hands behind her back, Larisa Ivanovna floated back and forth and talked, and talked, and talked… She was presenting new material to us – the water cycle in nature.
Yes, a teacher is certainly a special person. A teacher is not like us. She had been speaking about that cycle for half an hour without reading from a textbook but telling us about it from memory and, as she was doing so, she didn’t look at us, instead gazing at the ceiling or out the window. But one of us had only to stir, and she noticed it right away. How? It’s simply amazing. She couldn’t possibly have had another pair of eyes in the back of her head.
Yekaterina Ivanovna grew silent and sat down at her desk. She was looking down at some notes with her round, good-natured face, on which being angry was so unbecoming. Her face was framed with short, wavy red hair. Her natural hair was already grey, but she dyed it with henna. The students knew everything. The girls naturally discussed how teachers dressed and what their hairdos were. In everyone’s opinion, Yekaterina Ivanovna dressed simply yet tastefully.
“All right,” she said. And again, she spoke about the cycle. How much longer would she go on like that? My back was cramping because I was fighting the desire to look back. It seemed to me that I felt Larisa’s gaze on the back of my head. If only she would whisper something to me. But no, she would not. Larisa was shy, she was very modest. When I talked to her, she just listened, with her eyes wide open, without even blinking. She never acted wild, running through the corridor during recesses. She only jumped rope sometimes. I loved to watch her jump. She was so deft and slender. And she had fluffy light hair. And her freckles were simply delightful.
Remembering the freckles, I couldn’t take it any longer.
“Let’s go buy cookies during the big rece…” I whispered turning back to look at Larisa. Before I finished the sentence, I heard:
“Yuabov was the most attentive student today.”
I turned sharply, secretly hoping that my haste, as evidence of my obedience, could rescue me. But no, what was bound to happen followed right away.
“Well, Valery, tell us what you’ve learned today…”
Oh, that cycle… It had seemed so boring to me just a minute ago, but now I would have given anything to have the separate fragments of what I had heard in class today turn into something comprehensible in my head. But I lost any ability to think at precisely that moment.
I stood up and, shifting from foot to foot – that was what students who had not done their homework did and what I usually laughed at – said slowly:
“The water cycle in nature… It always happens… in nature…”
I grew silent because I absolutely didn’t know what else to say. On top of that, I was afraid that my face would betray that I was at a loss. So, I knitted my brows, squinted and cocked my head to the side. I tried to attach an intelligent look to my face, as if I were trying to remember something I knew. Just a moment, I was about to remember it. But no thought came to mind.
“Of course,” Yekaterina Ivanovna sighed, “Of course you have nothing to say. You fidgeted all the time instead of listening. You’ll give me your report card during recess. Let you parents read it… again.”
I heard “read it… again” quite often, to tell the truth, approximately once a week. Yes, before the week was over, apart from the usual notes and grades, the fatal lines appeared, “He is inattentive, gets distracted, talks in class, bothers other students.” And every time, I was terrified, anticipating a conversation with Father and another scolding, like those I had received so many times. Every time, I promised myself and my parents that it would never happen again. Actually, I didn’t know anyone who hadn’t had that experience.
Since I always got good grades, that helped me out and alleviated Father’s anger. Most of the time, I still managed to grasp the meaning of a lesson and to chat with Larisa. Besides, at home, I somehow didn’t get distracted, did all my homework diligently and made up for what I had missed in class.
“Shall I tell them that I’ve lost my report card and get a new one?” I thought on the way home. That life-saving idea had struck me many times, but I gave it up since I anticipated that I would need to do it again in a week.
At home, I immediately settled down to do my homework. I always did it. It was much better to finish it right away and have the evening free. Besides, I was determined to mend my ways.
Strange as it might seem, I enjoyed doing homework, especially because I had a wonderful desk. My parents had given it to me the year before, when I finished the first semester successfully.
The desk was not made of simple plywood but of real wood. It was shiny, lacquered and looked like a mirror. You could see your own reflection in it. I paid more attention to its cleanliness than to my own, wiping it with a soft rag every day so there wasn’t a speck of dust on it. All the shelves and drawers were lined with paper. Naturally, I kept Emma away from my desk for she might stain or scratch it. Let her earn her own desk, I thought. Well, I did allow her to sit at the desk under my supervision for a minute or so once a week.
I was still doing my homework when a loud knock was heard at my door … Father! Only he knocked like that. My heart skipped a beat every time I heard that knock. Even Emma’s face revealed fear.
Yes, both of us were afraid of Father. When he was home, we felt constant tension. It was impossible to guess in advance what Father’s mood would be, what it would be in a minute, what might enrage him. He could fly into a rage because of any trifling thing. And then, you could expect to be punished. How? It could be either rude cursing or a flick on the forehead or a slap on the back of the head, or a vigorous spanking … It could be anything, and it depended on his unpredictable and capricious mood.
I pondered sometimes – it usually happened after yet another row and punishment – why did we have such a father? Why weren’t other children punished so cruelly for any misdeed or without any good reason?
Father was a teacher. However, Valentina Pavlovna, the mother of my friends, Kolya and Sasha, was also a teacher, yet neither she nor her husband would ever hurt a fly.