We had geography club on Wednesdays. It was attended by a small group of students, just like other school clubs, but the members enjoyed it, including me and my friends Savchuk and Smirnov.
As Yulia Pavlovna, sniffling, took off her thick scarf and warmed her fingers, the members of the club gathered, all ten of us. Yulia Pavlovna sat on her desk, inviting us to feel at ease. And we did feel at ease, making ourselves comfortable at our desks. We could stand during club hours and behave as if we were at home. We didn’t have to wear school uniforms. We appreciated the relaxed atmosphere of our club gatherings very much.
“Shall we sail away? Then we’ll be looking for a Captain Grant. Who wants to be at the helm? You, Savchuk? Be my guest.”
Yulia Pavlovna moved to the edge of the desk to make room for a big globe. This globe was not new. It had been touched by so many not-quite-clean hands and was so threadbare that the names of the continents and oceans couldn’t always be distinguished. But that made it look like an old maritime map and created the illusion of being on a ship.
“All right… This is where we are now… The thirty-seventh parallel, South America… We’ve arrived at the shores of Chile.” Igor reported in a businesslike manner. “I’ve decided to leave the ship and set out for…” He buried his nose in the globe.
“Wait, wait! First look around. Who lives on the shore, what grows here? And in general…”
We grew animated at our desks. Someone leafed through a thick book; someone else walked to the teacher’s desk waving photographs.
We didn’t take quizzes here. We didn’t bring along notebooks with homework. We only brought what we were interested in, what we had found while searching through books and magazines. And we were interested in voyages, discoveries of new lands or, for instance, the Bermuda Triangle, or the magnetic storms of Antarctica…
Yulia Pavlovna, as I understand it now, was also a romantic. She enjoyed the travel game, wandering freely around the globe as much as we did, but she also had her little tricks, without which a talented teacher couldn’t manage.
“A question for all of you,” she again interrupted Savchuk, who was done with Chile and ready for a land journey. “If the Duncan approached the shores of Chile today…”
“The Chilean junta!” We yelled at the top of our lungs.
We knew that well for they trumpeted it on the radio, television and in newspapers. But the boring words “political system” were never pronounced. We, on our ship, simply got into a complex situation, and we discussed what might happen to us.
Captain Grant’s search was successfully accomplished after two hours of a dangerous journey filled with adventures. Then we decided that we would explore the Juan Fernandez Islands, on one of which the famous Robinson Crusoe had found refuge.
Then, everybody went home. Only Gennady Herald and I stayed in the empty classroom. We were on duty today.
My classmate Gennady was an ethnic German. But that was not the reason he was famous in our school. He was famous as the younger brother of Sokura. The elder Herald brother – I don’t know how he got his nickname – was a dangerous guy who led a local gang. Stories were told about him as if he were a fierce legendary robber. For example, someone allegedly dared him to kill one of his pigeons. He didn’t hesitate and tore the pigeon’s head off. Then he smashed the mug of the guy who had challenged him. That’s the kind of person he was so, naturally, the younger Herald brother was also somewhat feared. Gennady was a poor student, often played hooky and, unlike us, didn’t attend the geography club out of a love of travel. He had become a club member for a short time, hoping to earn at least a C in geography.
Today, we were on duty together. “Students on duty,” as teachers preferred to call us, was somewhat too general. Simply and roughly speaking, we were janitors. And our work wasn’t easy.
There were three rows of desks – ten in each – thirty desks with heavy metal frames. They had to be stood on end, the trash swept out, and then they had to be put back. I was the first to lift the desks while Gennady handled a raggedy mop, keeping his legs apart like a peasant in a meadow mowing grass. Then we switched.
It wasn’t easy for me to lift the desks. It strained my back. It was even more difficult for Gennady, even though he was stronger than I, because he was short. But he didn’t show it was hard for him: he lifted desks and put them down as if he were lifting barbells.
When we had all the desks standing on end like soldiers at attention, I mopped and mopped the floor, wondering how all that trash could have accumulated in the classroom in just one day. Where could it have come from? Well, we had blotting paper fights, among other things.
It seemed we were finished.
We entered the corridor and looked outside. It was already dark. We saw a group of boys in the lit area. They were looking up, and as they saw me, they began to move and fuss. Someone pointed at me.
As I saw Kolya and Edem among them, I was glad: they must have come to pick me up. But then I remembered that I had had a falling out with them.
Boys quarrel and make up all the time, everywhere and at all the ages. We were no exception. Kolya and Edem had been my friends for many years, but quarrels were an integral part of our relationship. We quarreled because of different trifling things during any game we played. We quarreled because we disagreed on different subjects, and an argument often ended in a fight, but we almost always made up right away. However, something had changed lately. When Kolya and I began to argue, his brother Sasha, along with Rustem with Edem, joined in our argument. They didn’t side with me; they always sided with Kolya. I was insulted and, at the same time, depressed: why was I always wrong? And a quarrel was insignificant, nothing to worry about. So, what was wrong? Sometimes, it was worse when Kolya’s father and mine quarreled, and the brothers stopped hanging around with me. But why did Rustem and Edem do it?
Of course, we would soon make up, usually without explaining anything. But that damned “why?” tortured me ever stronger. I lacked self-confidence and became suspicious. And one suspicion flashed through my mind more and more often: was it because I was a Jew?
Of course, I had heard at home that Jews were humiliated and persecuted all over the world. Even here, in Chirchik, they weren’t treated well enough. My parents and their friends discussed it quite often. I myself had heard offensive, burning words a few times. It wasn’t easy to forget them.
By the way, I also heard Tatar boys insulted quite a few times so ethnic intolerance wasn’t something abstract to me, but I didn’t expect it from my own friends… When such thoughts occurred to me, I considered them ridiculous and shameful, and I drove them away.
Last time, even though the quarrel was petty, it had ended in a malicious squabble. As I was leaving to go home, Kolya muttered, “Just you wait, we’ll deal with you!”
I paid no attention to it then; one could utter anything out of spite. But now, looking at Kolya and Edem surrounded by boys from Kolya’s class through the window, I remembered those words. Had they really come here to “deal” with me? Some friends they were…
I found it disgusting and, to be honest, rather scary.
“Are they waiting for you?”
I hadn’t noticed Gennady standing next to me also looking through the window. I didn’t want to answer and kept silent.
Herald slapped me on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry… Let’s go talk to them.”
The snow crunched under our feet. Gennady walked with his jacket unbuttoned and his cap cocked. A cigarette between his lips gave off smoke.
Taking long strides and pretending not to see anyone in front of him, he slammed right into the group of boys. Ready for a fight, I stood next to him.