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.