as far as the tea house, and from there we walked to the streetcar stop.
“The Turkmen Bazaar,” the conductor announced. We got off, and the streetcar sped away, sparks flying as it left.
It was pitch dark as the sparse streetlights flickered dimly. There was that special stillness that one felt only at night. It was intensified by the rustling of leaves, the peaceful buzz of cicadas, and the sounds made by the tires of rare passing cars.
The Turkmen Bazaar was on the other side of the streetcar track. The huge market, which stretched for hundreds of meters, was silent now. It would come back to life at sunrise.
We walked slowly. Mama was carrying the lightly snoring Emma. It took us twenty minutes to get to Korotky Lane. The bulb above the gate lit the lane dimly. Jack barked gruffly and then felt silent as he sensed us.
Everyone was asleep in the house.
Mama unlocked the door. We could smell the sharp scent of dampness coming from inside. There was a loud click as she turned the light switch. The bright light suddenly illuminated the small room that served as a foyer, kitchen and place to entertain infrequent guests.
“Close the door, Valery.”
Standing on the threshold, I reached for the door handle. Then I looked at Yura’s windows. They were dark… The war game, I remembered. Yura must have waited for me for a long time.
Mama put Emma to bed and lit the stove.
I told her I was hungry. We had had dinner long ago. Mama opened the fridge. A lonely lightbulb revealed its empty shelves.
“It’s late, son. Let’s go to bed,” she said as she turned away.
“It’s all right, Mama. I’m full. It’s late. It’s late,” I repeated, holding back my tears.
Chapter 4. A Little Mouse from a Little Hole
Day was breaking. The first roosters had already crowed. Cows were mooing in the yard next door. Jack was dangling his chain.
“Kids, get up! You’ll be late for kindergarten!”
Mama turned on the light. The bedroom window faced the yard, so the sun didn’t visit us often.
After eating our sweet tea and bread, we walked into the yard. It was the hour when Grandpa Yoskhaim performed his customary morning grooming. With his drawers on and a jar of water in his hands, wearing galoshes but no socks, he shuffled to the wooden outhouse. After leaving the outhouse, Grandpa squatted near the vines and, patting his bottom, did his final thorough washing. Grandpa was very tidy. Following the Eastern tradition, he used only water, and he had an aversion to paper, for he considered it a harmful innovation. Everybody made fun of him saying that the biggest grapes grew where Grandpa washed his bottom. Then, Grandpa began to wash himself. Bending under the water faucet, he soaped his shaven head, neck and hairy chest, and poured cold water all over himself, snorting.
Even though the sight was all too familiar, Emma and I were ecstatic about it every time we saw it.
After saying good-bye to Grandpa, we set out for kindergarten. It wasn’t far – it took just twenty minutes to walk to Little Fireflies kindergarten.
Our group’s room was large and light. Before all the kids arrived, we were allowed to play. Together with my friend, curly-headed Grisha, we tried to catch a spot of reflected light that hopped back and forth on the wall. We failed to catch it. Grisha got angry. He grabbed a wooden mug from the shelf and, banging it against the wall, chased the agile messenger of the sun.
“It’s time for morning exercises!”
Our teacher Maria Petrovna, clad in a neat white overall, tall and gray-haired, was strict, and we were somewhat afraid of her. We took off our outer garments and did our exercises diligently. After the calisthenics, we had breakfast in the spacious cafeteria where each group had its own table, and each of us – an assigned seat.
Grisha and I quietly put crusts of bread into our pockets for we needed to feed our friend. “Little Mouse from a Little Hole,” as we called it, lived near the garbage bin next to the restroom. But we couldn’t visit it yet. Classes began right after breakfast.
We were sitting at small desks. Maria Petrovna began with the usual. “We live in a big harmonious country. What is it called?”
She waved her hands like a conductor, and we shouted, “The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics!”
“And who was this country’s founder?” and, just in case, Maria Petrovna pointed to the portrait of a curly-haired boy, and we shouted as loudly as we could, “Vladimir Ilyich Lenin!”
Grisha was particularly diligent. He loved to shout, and he used every opportunity to do so.
“How many brotherly republics are there in our country?”
“Fifteen!”
“In which of them do we live?”
“In the Uzbek Soviet Socialist Republic!”
Our harmonious and clear answers would have surprised only a very uninformed person. We repeated the whole thing over and over again very often, day after day.
Then we could play. When the weather was warm, we were taken to the pavilion. Grisha and I exchanged glances – at last! Doing our best not to be noticed by the adults, we ran to the garbage bin. We were agitated. Would Little Mouse from a Little Hole, our little gray friend, show up when we called?
After placing the bread crusts by the wall, we waited patiently for its arrival. And we were rewarded – first a black nose, then eyes bright as cinders appeared in the hole. Another moment, and our mouse ran along the wall…
“What are you doing here all by yourselves?” the voice of the kindergarten janitor sounded like a bolt from the blue.
We ran away as fast as we could. None of the adults knew about our secret friend.
“Has the janitor seen it?” Grisha whispered, his voice trembling, when we returned to the pavilion. “Oh look, she’s coming this way… She’ll tell everybody about us.”
Paralyzed by fear, we watched the arrival of the janitor.
“Maria Petrovna,” she called to our teacher. “They’ve delivered beef to the kitchen.”
“Is it fresh?”
“They say it’s all right. But they don’t have much of it. You’d better hurry.”
“Thank you. I’ll go see them.”
The janitor moved away. It had blown over this time.
Fair-haired Kostya came running to the pavilion holding up his index finger.
“Look what I have. I’m going to trick it now. Ladybug, fly to the sky. Your children are there waiting for the candy you’ll bring them,” Kostya sang.
And the trusting ladybug spread its wings and flew away to look for its children.
After lunch we all lay down on
