He glanced at his watch, collected his things, and hastily made for the door, where he called out, “I’m running late. Till next time. I have yet to look in on Dounia Avdeevna. Good day to you.”
In the road, Paspelov got behind the wheel of his black sedan and set off for Morozovich. Kulik watched him disappear into the distance. Feeling almost sorry for him, he muttered, “Prepare yourself, Boris Paspelov. Dounia Avdeevna is about to eat you alive.”
Had Boris Paspelov known what awaited him in the Morozovich schoolhouse, he would have bypassed it by ten kilometers, at least. According to his calculations, Dounia Avdeevna still had a few more classes to teach before the end of the day and would be in the school for another two hours. That would give him enough time to carry out a full inspection of the classrooms and to conduct an interview with her afterward. As he pulled up before the front doors, which were slightly ajar, he was surprised to hear singing coming from somewhere inside. It was a deep, husky voice, almost masculine, and horribly out of tune. “I lost my virginity to the man I adore. I lost my virginity …”
Paspelov quickly got out of his car, and stepping into the school, looked up and down the hallway trying to determine where it was coming from. As the voice struggled to reach a high C, he realized it was coming from a room at the far end of the hall. He poked his head in the door.
“Oh!” a woman shrieked, startled by the intrusion. “You scared me half to death. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Who are you and what do you want?”
“Good day. My name is Boris Paspelov and I am the new school inspector. I was sent by the People’s Commissariat of Education in Pinsk and I am here on official state business.” Then, curiously, “Was that you I heard singing?”
Dounia nodded and began to complain. “Ah, yes, it was me you heard singing. Singing, that’s my only salvation. I’m going mad in this horrible dead place. It’s not fit for human habitation. The people here are from the Dark Ages.”
Paspelov looked at her disapprovingly, took out his notepad and jotted down a few lines. Raising his head, he said severely, “There are still two hours left of school. Where are the children?”
Dounia brushed back her hair from her face. “They went home about an hour ago.”
“Did you dismiss them?”
“Yes, I couldn’t bear it anymore, they were driving me crazy. They’re just a bunch of spoiled, sniveling brats.”
Paspelov tensed. He was becoming quite perturbed. For a teacher to take such liberties was unheard of. He stormed at her, “And who gave you permission to do that?”
Dounia threw back her head. She was growing increasingly impatient with his questions. “Hah! Now you want to read me the bill of rights!”
“If I have to, I will. As inspector, my job is to visit schools and verify that all students and teachers are working in compliance with the new order. From what I see here already, this school is full of irregularities.”
“Full of irregularities? You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here and bothering me with irregularities! I don’t have time for your nonsense. And your approach is most unfriendly and disrespectful.” She added, “I suppose you haven’t heard … I’m not just the mere teacher you think I am. I’ll have you know, I’ve just become the leading candidate for Deputy of the Village Soviet. The people have voted me in. Yes, I’m to be the next deputy. As you must now understand, I’ve been kept very busy, and I haven’t had time to waste on schoolwork. My head is brimming with ideas, night and day. Meetings, meetings, every day I must attend meetings— there’s no end to them. And the speeches I have to prepare! And on top of all that, the peasants and workers have to be organized, the posters put up. As you can see, I’m a very busy woman.”
A constrained silence followed and the tension in the room intensified. The truth of the matter was that Paspelov was completely stunned to hear of Dounia’s candidacy for regional deputy; in fact, this was the first he had heard of it. The news literally left him speechless and made him wonder how such a crass and grossly underbred woman could be nominated to so responsible and dignified a position. This was a complete mystery to him. He didn’t want to believe it, and chose not to believe it. He decided that she was making up a story.
He said firmly and with a great deal of authority, “I am the school inspector and I shall conduct my inspection of your school as I see fit. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Pushing her aside, he proceeded to rummage through her classrooms, fidgeting in desks, sifting through papers and examining closets. When after about an hour he returned, he looked indignant and disgusted.
“This school is in appalling condition. It’s worse than a pigsty. There’s scribbling on the walls and the floors are filthy. The benches are all scratched up and dusty, and the blackboards look like they’ve never been cleaned. All that’s missing in this dump is a broken window.”
Dounia caught him up at once. “Actually, one of the little monsters broke a window just last week and I had to send a peasant especially to Pinsk to get it fixed. Why, it cost me almost thirty rubles!”
Paspelov wrote several lines in his notebook, looked up at her briefly, and wrote some more. Then he asked to see her lesson preparations.
“Lesson preparations?” Dounia shrugged. “What do you want with lesson preparations? Do you think I’m so stupid that I have to record everything on paper?” After briefly examining her nails, rolling her eyes, she pointed to a small wooden table with a lopsided pile of papers on one side and a stack of copybooks on the other. “If you feel you must do something, go right ahead, get it out of your system. That’s the work of the children over there. Take all the time you want.”
Paspelov promptly made for the table. He thumbed through the papers, and leafed through the copybooks, all the while shaking his head, muttering under his breath. He could hear Dounia humming at the other end of the room, and saying, “Oh, grammar, arithmetic. Trying to teach these little delinquents is an absolute horror.”
Waving a copybook in his hand, Paspelov came toward her. “This work is dreadful. This is not writing, it’s scribbling! And there are hardly any teacher’s corrections anywhere, and if there are, they’re either too sloppy to make out or just plain wrong. How do you expect the children to learn anything?” He turned his attention to a pile of papers that appeared to be arithmetic homework. “Why, you don’t even know your fractions! This is an outrage!”
“What do you mean?” Dounia was offended. “Of course I know my fractions. I’ll prove it to you. Here, for example, is an apple. If I cut it in half, I get two halves. And if I cut the half in a half, I get a quarter. Simple!” She faced him with her hands on her hips. “Hah, and you say I don’t know my fractions?”
“And how do you add a half and a third? How do you multiply an eighth by a quarter? And what’s a common denominator?”
“Common denominator? Hmm …” Dounia scratched her head and thought a while. Finally she shrugged. “Quite honestly, it slips my mind for the moment. But it’s no big deal, these little monsters could do very well without these common denominators of yours. Besides what do they need to know them for anyway? Look at me, I’m doing just fine and I’m even a teacher, not to mention the soon-to-be Deputy of the Village Soviet.”