I Already Understand That It Can Be Much Worse

Mitten.

I can’t say that I often think about school. It’s like a far away fairy story, which is forgotten from some different life hardly passed across time.

I studied not so well.

I already understand that it can be much worse.

When I was five, before two years the school, I didn’t know Russian language. Karelian language was my first language or better to say my native language. We spoke it at home and in the street.

Ten-year school was the first high threshold from which I waited to see new life, bright, lofty. Tuneful school bell, your own schoolbag, notebooks, first books, stories about the unknown and boys’ amusements – all this invited me to vastness. Why marks are necessary?

Twenty years have passed.

Everyday routine, less joys translucent layers separated childhood. Years are going unnoticeably as tree rings, layer after layer. And, with every new layer, it seems that nothing changes, but it much difficult to see the truth. Only how unexplainable remainders of the past appear of a person, event, and symbols.

I do not know why it is so, but most brightly from my school days I remember a story with mitten.

We studied in the first class.

Anna Georgievna Grishina, our first teacher, took us to an excursion in cabinet of lessons of work. The girls studied there housecraft: they studied to cook, to sew and to knit. This was not considered empty thing. We could not buy clothing of our size. We continued wearing from the older. Everyone lived with difficulty. Ability of handicrafts is valued. As a flock of scared sparrows, we are embarrassed and awkward fussing, sat at desks.

Teacher of housecraft at first told all to us, explaining where it is necessary in Karelian, and then she gave us the album with the best of children's works.

There were sewn and knitted socks, mittens, hats, scarves, dresses, trousers. All this doll size even for newborn baby would be small. I have seen a mother sitting at the sewing machine winter evenings, but it absolutely was not that.

We impatiently leaning over someone else's head, looked at this miracle enviously as long as it on a nearby desk, and with pleasure, however possible, with full rights, considered a wonder when it fell into our hands.

Bell rang unexpectedly.

Lesson ended.

Looking back on the album, we are in complete disarray, left the class. Pause passed and the next lesson begun. We took out books. Legs still have not stopped. Still jumped.Head behind them.Sat down comfortably. Echo again off again flows down to a whisper phrases. Anna Georgievna sedately gets up from teacher's desk, comes to the board and takes a piece of chalk. Tries to write. Chalk crumbles. White fragile pieces with fine dust fall out of hand.

Suddenly, the doors of class swing open. Housecraft’s teacher runs to us. We see red spots her face.

- Children, a mitten is lost - and not giving anyone to come round, snapped - took one of you. For descriptive she abruptly pulled out from behind album with samples and wide open, raised it above her head. Page was empty. In the place where recently lived tiny fluffy ball, I remembered it well, now protruded just a short piece of black thread.

There was unkind pause. Anna Georgievna look with prehensile eye and evaluated each other and began to interrogate took turns.

- Kondroeva?

- Gusev?

- Retukina?

- Yakovlev?

Turn came to me…moved further.

Children timidly got up from the desk and, bowed head, answered the same thing: "I did not take, Anna Georgievna".

-So good – with Jesuitical voice hissed our teacher, - anyway we will find it. Come on, one by one. Kondroeva! With a schoolbag, with a schoolbag …

Sveta Kondroeva, back to the desk and picked up her schoolbag from the floor. Clinging straps behind the lip of desk she, unblinking gazing directly into the eyes helplessly become to approach to the teacher.

-Come on come on! How to commit a crime, you are heroes. Know how to respond.

Anna Georgievna taken out of the Sveta’s hands her schoolbag and sharply flipped it, picked up strongly and shook. On the teacher's desk fall notebooks, textbooks. The dry, musical fingers of Anna Georgievna shook and shook her schoolbag. The doll fall out.

. Her nose buried in a pile of books, she froze in an awkward position.

-Ha, that is stupid! - Laughed Lekha Silin.-Dragged in school a doll.

Kondroeva, head down, silently crying.

Nothing found.

Take off your clothes! - Anna Georgievna bitingly commanded.

Svetka resignedly began pull off patching blouse. Large tearswith drops rolled down naughty of her puffy eyes. Continually sobbing, she took away her pigtails from her face. Crouching down, untied the shoelaces of boots and stood up, one by one pulled off them. Beige knitting tights were with a hole. Sveta’s pink finger disobediently protruded, himself exposing around, it seemed the world. Skirt has already removed. Deflated tights.White jersey with sagging straps. Sveta stood barefoot on the school’s floor in front of all the class and not able to calm her hands and fumbled in confusion panties.

Pectoral aluminum cross on canvas thread how a pendulum swayed on her baby cervix.

- What is that? - jabbing finger into the cross was outraged our teacher. –You should not wear it to school.

- Get dressed. Next!

Kondroeva, flopping with bare feet, collected scattered pencils, hastily clasped in schoolbag books, arched duds, and pressed a doll to her chest, she went on tiptoe to her desk. Children were stripped to their underwear, one by one. No one else was crying. All badgered silent. Searching by turns student, women rarely gave gusty commands.

My turn was coming. Ahead of two.

Now shaken Yura Gurov. Our houses stood near. Yuri was from a big family except him they had three brothers and two sisters. Sisters are younger. His father had strong drink and Yuri often, as neighbors, saved himself to us.

His schoolbag was without a handle and he carried it to the teacher's desk, holding under his arm. Grubby notebooks and only one textbook - that is all flew out at the teacher's table. Yuri began to undress. He took off his sweater, without untying the laces, took off shoes, socks and then suddenly stopped and burst into tears in his voice.

Anna forcibly shook him out of singlet. Then a small blue mitten fell to the floor.

-How did it come to you! How!?- Poking mitten in the face, try to find out Anna Georgievna, leaning direct to Yura's face. - How? Answer me!..

- Min entyye! Minh entyye! Minh entyye ... - babbled intimidated Yurka with excitement going on Karelian.

- And do not you know?! Do not you know! Well, I know! You stole it. Thief!

Yura's lips trembled. He avoided look at us. The class was silent. It was a terrible picture. How after that could I live? I do not know...

We studied together to 8th grade. More Yura never did not steal anything at school, but it is not matter. Stamp "thief" was forever delivered to the village on him and on his whole family. I can safely say that the eight years of school turned around a prison term for him. He became an outlaw. Anybody from his older brothers never came to class and did not protect him. He was always alone. Yuri was not beaten. He was humanly humiliated. Spit in Yuri's cup with compote; pour things out of the schoolbag in a cold autumn puddle; throw his cap in the garden - was considered a feat. All cheerfully laughing. . I have not lagged behind the others. Biological need to be raised above weakest, planted with the birth of each person got the upper hand. Human worse than animals, when he becomes an animal.

Fateful nineties became for Russia ordeal. Entire cities fell silent, stopped plants, closed factories and farms.

People as rats in a barrel, were furious, pulling solder each other. Despair was drowned with alcohol.

Stealing steep high wave covered Karelian villages and rural areas. Carried off the last: night dug out potatoes in the gardens, dragged products from the cellars. Sauerkraut, jars of jam and vegetables - scraped out cleaned.

Many families remained empty. The police remained inactive, and people meantime approached the line beyond which began lynching. Once villagers’ patience ended. It was decided not to wait for salvation to Chukovsky’s «sparrow." Of thieves court decided to punish.

The broken state farm "keyway" hard skidded in fresh snow, first moved to the village from the lair of one thug to another, then left on a country road. Seven strong men, swaying potholes, were aggressive silent. Steam from smooth breathing smartly flied in dank air of the cabin. On the metal, with shining bald floor was crawl backward across the icy crust of local thieves. Who in our village did not know their names? There were five of them: Lekha Silin, Kareda, Zyka, Petka Kolchin and Yurka Gurov - are they for the past eight years, have pulled with impunity the latter from villagers. Was not aware about it until for the police.

Hands are not tied-where will they go. Took them easily, without giving time to recover. Yes, and moment is successfully - at noon. Time of dream after work. "Keyway" humming went out of the village along a forest road.

Nobody talked. Topics are not found. Everyone on his own. Everything was clear and without words. Nobody rushed nor prosecutors and lawyers.

They stopped at the fifth mile. The road was straight on the coast of Lake Kodayarvi. The engine was stopped. Guests were pushed out in the snow. Gave two ice chisels and ordered to chop in turn.

Weather meanwhile dispelled. The sun looked out, affectionately; it seemed to me, watching us. Frost

Became breeze up by the evening. No one was going stoke thieves, but they had to be taught a lesson well. There are cases in which the sensitivity is inappropriate ... worse rudeness.

State farm in the garage we drank two bottles straight from the bottle. Standing. A piece of stale rye bread was one for all. We drank for the victory.

That night I went to the city, and the next morning I got a call from the village: Yura Gurov hanged in his shed.

If not for that call, I would probably have not remembered a blue mitten.

Miraculously clear, as in reality, I saw a crying Yuri, a small, defenseless; transgress bare feet on the cold floor...

His plaintive "Minh entyye! Minh entyye! Minh entyye ... "deafened me.

I am acutely, painfully remembered the biblical story, Jesus not only knew from the beginning who would betray him. Only when the Mentor had dipped a piece of bread, he gave to Judas, only "after this piece and Satan entered into Judas." On a professional police jargon, this is called “betrayal”.

Yura, Yura... your destiny for me as a reproach ... and a sense of guilt grows.

Something happened in my soul. Ached. But drown out the pain some reason I did not want...