Ohrimko Suchok, sitting by the door, watched her closely. Rubbing his hands and glancing around, he appeared to be up to something. When Haya turned her back to write a sentence on the blackboard, he took a slingshot and a small stone out of his pocket, aimed the stone directly at her and struck her on the side of the head. Haya screamed, and rubbing her head, faced the class, determined to find out who had done it. When no one came forward, she threatened to go to the headmaster at once. But the children only roared and clapped, pinned to their seats. She stormed into the hall and made straight for Kulik’s office. Banging his door open, she cried loudly, “Hooligans! Delinquents!”
Kulik leapt to his feet. He was dismayed to find her so distressed. “Calm down, please. Collect yourself and tell me what happened.”
“Hooligans! Delinquents!” she repeated. “Those children are unruly and antagonistic. They belong in a zoo!”
“Please, try and settle down.” He tried to calm her by offering her a seat.
“They don’t listen to a word I say. They’re defiant and rude. And that Ohrimko Suchok is nothing more than a thug!”
Seeing how truly upset she was, Kulik tried to comfort her. “Don’t get discouraged. I know it’s difficult for you right now, but once the children get to know you, they’ll settle down. I’ll have a talk with Ohrimko right away. I’m sure things aren’t as bad as they seem. May I make a suggestion? Perhaps if you conducted your lessons in Belorussian, at least in part, things might become a bit easier. Though they don’t know either Belorussian or Russian, the children are more familiar with Belorussian, because it’s closer to Ukrainian. Russian, I’m afraid, is completely foreign to them.”
Haya’s face suddenly changed; she seemed stunned and confused by what he had just said. She sounded quarrelsome. “Teach them in Belorussian? That’s out of the question.” Before long she started hurling Soviet standards at him.
“In our great Soviet Empire no one differentiates between Russian and Belorussian. To us it’s all one and the same. In my hometown of Slutsk, for example, Belorussian is not taught in the schools anymore, only Russian, and we embrace it as our own. I suggest you stop maligning Russian policy and concentrate on educating your pupils in true Communist fashion. The Soviets have given us the ultimate brand of socialism, and as a result we’re able to enjoy a free and happy life. We have our great leader, Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin, the most wonderful and compassionate man alive, to thank for all of this.”
When Kulik showed no sign of agreeing with her, she left without looking back, and slammed the door behind her.
The next morning to everyone’s surprise, Haya appeared in class looking refreshed and energetic, even with a twinkle in her eye. She seemed to have forgotten everything that had happened yesterday, and her looks had improved. Her unruly hair was neatly pulled back into a bun and her thin lips had a pinkish hue. There was even a touch of red in her cheeks. She showed every sign of wanting to set things straight. Smiling at the children, making a sincere effort to appeal to their better nature, she started the day with a lesson on the Russian language.
“Children! Children!” She clapped her hands. “Listen closely: Cyenia. Cye and nia make Cyenia. Now repeat after me, Cye-nia.”
But the children barely had a chance to open their mouths, when Ohrimko threw up his hand. He shouted out before being called upon, “Excuse me, Comrade Sruleyevna, but what does Cyenia mean?”
Haya, irritated, looked at him. “It’s the name of a malchik, of course.”
“And what’s a malchik?”
“Oh, you stupid little boy. Just pay attention and not another word out of you! Now sit down.”
When she turned her back to the class and began to write on the board, Ohrimko, to the amusement of his classmates, stuck out his tongue and shot a paper airplane across the room.
Without question, Haya’s biggest problem was little Ohrimko. He was a troublemaker, he was ignorant of the school rules and had no desire to behave himself. He not only quarreled with his classmates, but he beat them, often until they bled. He couldn’t leave even the girls in peace, and enjoyed pulling their braids and kicking them from behind. In the schoolyard he was feared more than Lucifer himself. Just a few days earlier, he had jumped on Philip Mak, a boy two years older than he, brought him to the ground, and punched him in the face until he was black and blue. The children worried about whom he might attack next.
One day when the bell rang and the children were let out from their classes, Ohrimko thought of another scheme involving Haya Fifkina. He really wanted to get her this time. Hiding behind the schoolyard fence, peering from between the palings, he waited for her to come out. He was holding a snowball, which he had packed so firmly it was as hard as a block of ice. When Haya at last opened the door and walked into the yard, the boy raised his arm over his head, and as hard as he could, hurled the snowball straight at her, hitting her in the back. Haya shrieked, and losing her balance, fell into the snow. Ohrimko laughed and cheered. He sang out loud, “Haya rode on a goose high in the sky, until she came upon the Sabbath day, oy vey, oy vey, oy vey.”
Scrambling to her feet, red with rage, she ran after him. “You again!” she cried. “You little brat! Wait till I get my hands on you. What you need is a good thrashing.” She almost grabbed his collar, but like a bolt of lightning, the boy took to his heels and raced down the street.
When Haya appeared in school the following morning, prepared to discipline Ohrimko in the harshest way she could think of, to her dismay, she was met by complete chaos: the children were running around laughing and screaming; a few boys were wrestling on the floor kicking over desks and chairs; paper airplanes were flying across the room; and in the far corner several little girls were making a great fuss over something, jumping up and down, giggling and pointing to the floor. Haya had never seen such disorder. No one seemed to notice her standing in the doorway.
“Order!” she cried out. “Order in the classroom! Everyone sit down. Immediately!”
At the sound of her voice, the children fell silent and quickly scrambled to their seats. Haya looked for Ohrimko. He sat at his desk, bent slightly forward, wiping his nose with the cuff of his shirtsleeve. His chest heaved with suppressed laughter. It was instantly clear to her who had instigated this latest episode.
“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?”