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.”
As this continued, Kulik completely lost track of what Cornelius was saying. He saw Cornelius’ thick, cracked lips moving soundlessly under his moustache. But the words fish tank and two thousand rubles caught his attention. He was curious to learn why the new regime had so generously parted with such a substantial sum of money. He said, “You mean to say the new school instruments were purchased by the government and sent here to our school?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Cornelius opened his eyes wide and blinked. “Our government is committed to providing the best education for all children of the Soviet Union, whether they live in urban centers or in backward, isolated villages. We’re all treated equally. The instruments were brought from Pinsk by car, and I myself unloaded the boxes and helped carry them into the school. The villagers were thrilled to see their children with such modern tools.”
Talking louder and louder and faster and faster and becoming more impassioned, as the words flew out of his mouth, it was not long before he let the truth slip.
“Yes, it was a great job to raise that money and everyone participated. The people worked hard to enable the new regime to buy the instruments for the school. It was our regime’s idea, and if not for our regime, we would have nothing. A meager amount was requested from every household, and naturally the people complied. And why did they comply? Because the people are the government — it’s all one and the same. The government is run by the people, the money is collected from the people, given out by the people, for the people.”
Kulik listened with mounting anger and contempt. He now understood everything. He said bitterly and sarcastically, “So it is we the people, or rather, we the government, who, according to you are one and the same, who are giving us our fish tanks whether they have the money or not? People like Paraska, for instance? Is she part of the government?”
Cornelius’ small black eyes flickered, filled with rage. He said sharply and disdainfully, “How dare you challenge the government. You are a subversive, and I can see by the light in your eye that you’re not one of us.” Then a warning, “The frozen wastelands of Arkhangelsk are not far off, in fact they’re beckoning you as we speak. And in case you didn’t know, the NKVD is already hot on your trail.”
Kulik’s heart thudded, “Why, that’s ridiculous. I’m a simple, humble teacher and I have had no political affiliation whatsoever other than with the Communist Party.”