shook Russia, jarring individual destinies as well. Mother caught smallpox and was sent to the quarantine barracks, while we three, two younger brothers and myself, were left alone. The chances for recovery were slim. Our neighbors took us to a children’s home, as orphans. There we merged with other orphans, the homeless and under-aged, young enterprising travelers, removed from the trains on which they had hitched rides.
The smell of carbolic acid, the prickly gray blankets, the thin wheat porridge, the bullying by the other children, were compensated for by the beneficent presence of the Komsomol [communist youth league] member Misha, [diminutive for Mikhail] a kind and fair leader. He organized hikes in the
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woods and fields during which he acquainted us with the healing herbs and described their properties. He spoke of birds, how beneficial their presence was, and how one should safeguard them.
Meanwhile, the food situation worsened and the orphanage was moved to the country. Our instructor was sent to the operational center, while the housekeeping head, without waiting for the arrival of the replacement, fled, grabbing what he could. He was a dodger. His convictions changed depending on circumstance. Taking advantage of the interregnum, those who were drawn to Tashkent, “the city of bread,” walked the eight
My younger brothers were assigned to an orphanage for boys on a dairy farm twelve kilometers from Kiev. It was said that children were well fed there and taken to a school in Kiev with the milk cans. The question of food became dominant for us. I was happy for them. It was good that they, who were inseparable, would be together. They wouldn’t be miserable. Insofar as things concerned me, I was certain from my younger years that I could handle anything. Reminiscence, self-pity, sorrow—I immediately quashed these feelings within myself. I wrote the address of the orphanage on the lining of my white canvas shoes.
I was temporarily left at the site. We, the older ones, were allowed to walk around town provided we were back by six in the evening. On one of these walks I met a short fat lady who was carrying two large packets. Glancing at my uncomely clothes, she addressed me:
“Little girl, help me carry my things. I’ll pay you fifty kopeks.”
Strong and tall, I looked older than my years. “Where do you live? I have to get back to the orphanage shortly.”
“Not far at all.”
We were in the Podol area with the Dnieper flowing below. Despite late autumn, it was as warm as in spring. Having reached a tiny house standing in a small garden, the woman pushed open the wicket gate and we entered. A black shaggy dog rushed out happily in greeting. He treated me with suspicious indifference. We entered with the packages into a room whose table had a huge glass sphere and upon which playing cards with strange drawings were laid out. On an easy chair by the table sat a well-fed black cat with shiny fur. He appeared as suspicious as the dog. I did not even venture to pet it. The woman gave me the promised fifty kopeks. Puffing and panting, she sat down in the easy chair moving the cat aside. “I get tired from walking a long time. Yet, I was a dancer in my youth.” She
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pointed to a photograph hanging on the wall of a young ballerina, thin as a blade of grass, who had nothing the least bit in common with the squat, fat lady.
“Do you want to come here tomorrow? You’ll help me a bit with cleaning, and you’ll get another fifty kopeks.” I happily agreed. I would save some money this way!
On the following day, right after dinner, I went to the small house. I had to sweep and wash the painted floors in three rooms (the fourth was locked) and in the kitchen. “I’ll take care of the fourth one myself,” said Tat’iana Ivanovna, the mistress of the house. I finished my work quickly. In the orphanage I had learned how to wash floors and dishes properly, rinsing them and then wiping them dry.
“Good girl! Sit a minute and tell me about your family. Why are you in an orphanage?” I told her all that I knew. She remained quiet for awhile, then asked: “Do you know how to sing?”
“Yes, I know how to sing everything that my mother sang.”
“Sing something!”
She brought out a guitar and quickly played the chords to Glinka’s romances which I sang for her one after another. I always sang when cleaning or when I was in a meadow or in the woods. But it was very new and pleasant to sing with accompaniment.
“You have a good ear. Have you ever danced?”
“No.”
“Well, come tomorrow. You can peel some pears for my jam, then we’ll try some dancing.” Squeezing the fifty kopeks in my fist, I returned to the center in an elevated mood. This way I would save money for a trip to Leningrad.
The next day, sitting on a stool in the kitchen, I commenced peeling fruit. Without breaking away from the work, I peeled a whole pan of pears. “So! Now, let’s go dance. Follow what I am going to do and try to repeat it. Watch.” She took off her robe and was left in black tights. She made several movements the probability of which, coming from her, was impossible to conceive. I repeated, as best I could, the steps she had executed. “Not bad. Not bad. The main thing here is to have a musical ear and a feel for rhythm. Besides that, you’re pretty and it is pleasant to look at you.” Everything that I heard was totally new and terribly interesting. “Tomorrow I’ll teach you a simple dance.” Having discovered my “choreographic talents,” Tat’iana Ivanovna offered, “Would you like to stay here? I’ll teach you to dance character dances. Sometimes we’ll perform together and you will make a little money. In the mornings you’ll go to school. I’m alone, you’re alone, we’ll both be happier.” This offer seemed exciting to me. Everything at the center was done quickly. Tat’iana Ivanovna pledged that she would send me to
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school and take care of me, and I pledged that I was willing to live with her. Her address was recorded and we were told that an inspector would visit.
I was given a cheerful room in the small house, with lace curtains and pots of geraniums on the windowsill. A table and chair stood by the window. There was a small closet but I had nothing to put or hang there. A key protruded from the door to my room and Tat’iana Ivanovna ordered me to lock myself in at night.
In the morning she took me to school not far from the Podol. She spoke to the teacher for a long time, then left. There were none like me. All the girls lived nearby with their parents. They scrutinized me unceremoniously
