The Endless Steppe by Esther Hautzig

Author:Esther Hautzig
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780241384053
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2018-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

A question like that in a place like that becomes a perpetual shadow.

But a breeze or two reminiscent of spring on its way, however agonizingly slowly, began to come up from the south and I was allowed to go back to school.

The children gathered round me: even in Siberia there was nothing like a broken limb or a prolonged illness to make a momentary hero or heroine of the most ignored child. What had I been sick with? Typhus? Flu? Pneumonia? Scarlet fever? they asked cheerfully and were quite disappointed that it had been only bronchitis, although they did seem moderately pleased that I had survived. Only Svetlana continued to act as if a fatal illness would have suited her better and she was most impatient with my inability to catch up with the work I had missed.

I was beginning to feel less of an outsider, almost – not quite – as if I belonged. I enjoyed the irony of the little capitalist joining the little comrades as we sang the ‘Internationale’ in assembly ‘… arise ye prisoners of starvation, arise ye humble of the earth …’ I sang as loudly and lustily as the rest … ‘’tis the final conflict … for the international Soviet shall be the human race …’ and up went my fist along with the rest. There was a great deal of choral singing in the assembly, most of it unfortunately political rather than classical. But singing along with the others helped the feeling of belonging. However, among ourselves, away from assembly, we sang the songs that pleased us most, great favourites being Russian folk songs.

The news that an American film was coming to Rubtsovsk sent the school into a dither. The Russian films (including some of the great ones) were all right, but nothing was as exciting as an American film. Everyone wanted to go. It was the topic: Are you going? Aren’t you going? When are you going? Who are you going with?

Two girls invited me to go with them.

I was beside myself. An invitation in itself was something I longed to accept – any invitation would do – and I also longed to see a film. And how much does it cost? I asked. Four roubles, I was told.

‘Four roubles!’ Mother exclaimed. ‘That’s a lot of money.’

My heart sank and I could feel an enormous wail coming up in me. I held it back and merely looked tragic. A family council was called. ‘Man cannot live by bread alone,’ my fun-loving grandmother said.

‘That’s the whole point,’ Mother agreed acidly. ‘Four roubles towards a piece of meat …?’

‘You call that meat?’ Grandmother was getting cross.

Father, the great peacemaker, intervened. ‘The child must go to the film.’

‘Must?’ Mother asked, and even Grandmother looked surprised.

‘Must,’ Father repeated, and refused to amplify, leaving the strong impression that the fate of all Polish deportees was at stake. Behind their backs he winked at me.

The cinema, which I now decided was a very pretty little white building,

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