Read Online Dancing Under the Red Star by Karl Tobien - Free Book Online Page B

nothing. And she never complained.
    Mama spent much of her free time gardening and cultivating, and she managed to provide us with a fairly decent assortment of food. In 1934 some of the residents created a “closed” food store within the village, available only to foreigners who had the necessary passes. It stocked such rare items as white bread, butter, eggs, meat, sugar, candy, flour, and cereals. Usually my family could not afford these luxuries. When we had a few extra dollars not slated for other necessities, a very rare and special treat was to purchase some real coffee from a store in the city about twenty kilometers away. Coffee never tasted better to me.
    In the meantime, I graduated to the fifth grade. One day we were abruptly informed that all our classes taught in English were being immediately terminated. From then on, we were going to take our classes with the Russian students…and in Russian! Henceforth, we would take English as a foreign language. We were dumbfounded. The news felt like being hit hard in the stomach and having the wind knocked out of you. I was just thirteen at this time, but I remember feeling that a major season of change was beginning. They were only talking about the language for now, but I wondered what changes would invade our lives next.
    None of us really understood the language sufficiently to cope with the complexities of studying mathematics, science, physics, literature, history, and geography. We soon discovered that the Russians are not a very subtle people, and sensitivity to our needs was not a pressing concern to them. Compassion was not a strong suit with most Russians I knew. Most of us kids struggled greatly. All in all, there were about twelve subjects in our new school curriculum. Since we were being forcibly merged with existing Russian classes, already numbering more than thirty students each, there was no time for individual tutoring or attention for us foreigners.
    We drifted along for the first few weeks, barely holding on, while most of the Russian kids snickered at how we were struggling to learn their language. I remember it seemed overwhelming at first, but eventually it somehow made sense, and learning Russian actually turned out to be faster and easier than I had feared.
    After a few months, things seemed to lighten up a bit for us in school, except that the Russian children genuinely hated us with a sort of vengeful and jealous disdain that we couldn’t ignore. Mama said it was probably because of our well-nourished appearance and the ample lunches we brought to school. For Russian children, lunches were just a bit of black bread and perhaps a raw onion, if they were lucky. Their clothes were crude, not very clean, and smelly; it was clear they also envied us for our usually clean and fresh attire.
    “We should have pity on them, Maidie, and help them with whatever we can, for this is what God would want. And be thankful for all you have, for we have been blessed,” Mama would say. Sometimes I’d say it, and sometimes I wouldn’t, but the question I wanted to ask her was, “What do you mean, ‘blessed,’ Mama?”
    What I remember most about this time is feeling constantly deprived. Compared to the Russian children, my life must have been filled with good things, but you couldn’t have convinced me of that then. The Russian girls in particular didn’t care much for me, because the boys usually picked me first for their games. No other girl seemed to have the level of agility, stamina, or ability to keep up with the boys that I had. And all of the Russian boys liked me pretty well, so I was shoved and bullied around plenty during school—mainly by jealous girls—but I was tough enough to endure it.
    As time went by, a major improvement began in our relationships with them. The transformation was astonishing, inexplicable. The Russian children seemed to realize that we didn’t have any personal animosity toward them, and their attitudes changed