Secrets! Secrets!

I think I will go to the Penguin now (that is what they call the bathroom in our institute). I will sit there until the hands on the big clock of the corridors show three minutes to five.

I feel very uncomfortable, walking down the deserted corridor. There isn’t a soul on this floor. The sound of my own steps seems unbelievably loud and makes me turn around: who is it stepping behind me?

Finally I’m at the Penguin. It is also unusually empty and quiet here. All the day students have gone home and the borders are not allowed to use this bathroom when school is over: they have their own, on the third floor.

Am I imagining this? No, I’m not – someone is crying. I walk closer. Sitting on the window still, in the deep niche of the window, there is a girl. Closing her face with her hand, she is shivering in silent crying. Tears are seeping between her fingers, dripping onto her black apron, while her other hand is squeezing a corner of the apron – as if she is falling into an abysm and is trying to hold on to something.

Carefully, I quietly touch her shoulder.

“Why are you crying?”

The girl suddenly takes the hand away from her face. She looks at me with hateful, spiteful eyes.

 “What do you need from me?” she saying hoarsely through her sobbing. “I hate you all! Everyone! Everyone and everybody! Hate so much that it hurts even here, in my throat!”

 “And me… You hate me?” I say in surprise.

I’m surprised because this girl, Sonya Pavlikhina, is almost a stranger to me just like I am a stranger to her. She’s a border, studying in the 1^st section of our 5^th year while I’m in the 2^nd section. We know each other by surname and face. But we have never said a word to one another… What does she hate me for?

Sonya Pavlikhina looks at me fixedly – eye into eye. She then, unexpectedly, pulls me towards her. I sit next to her in the window still. She hugs me, putting her head on my shoulder. With the sudden revelation of despair – as one person, who’s kept silent for too long, spits out their grief to the first person they see – Sonya Pavlikhina tells me about her misfortune.

Yesterday, on Sunday, the borders had a day of family visit – “the family day”. So many times has Sonya asked and begged her mum to not come here, the institute! Throughout the four years, mum has never been here.

They only saw each other during the summer, on holiday, when Sonya visited her mum. Sonya knew: if they saw mum, it would not end well; there will be trouble. But, recently, Sonya was sick with measles Mum found out and, of course, couldn’t resist and visited…

Because mum doesn’t have anyone in this world, except Sonya, just like Sonya has no on except mum! Mum is so weak, quiet, every drunkard can harm her. But mum can’t – she just can’t! – shout at anyone; drive the drunkards out of the pub.

I don’t understand much of Sonya’s confusing story where, for some reason, there are violent drunkards, who need to be driven out of the pub, but Sonya’s mum just can’t do that. But Sonya Pavlikhina is crying so much, squeezing my hands in a seizure, that I understand: something terrible has happened.

 “So mum couldn’t resist! She came to visit from Ponevezh (she lives in Ponevezh) to see me after measles, so that we could be together for at least an hour. We were so glad to see each other – hugging, crying, not seeing anyone around us!... But, they…” says Sonya with anger, “they see-e-e-e, they see everything! I look at them and they are staring at my mum. And I stare at her,” sobs Sonya. “Mum’s dress! I can remember it throughout my whole life! It’s so old! The sleeves are not in fashion, not bouffe, but slim, like straws! And the hat, oh, and the hat! Mum probably borrowed it from one of her friends to look pretty; it’s also not in fashion, with a shabby wing. And the shoes!” Sonya desperately grabs her head. “Mum is sitting there, her feet under the chair… How shameful, what shame, oh God!”

 “What is so shameful, Sonya?

“Is our poverty, in your opinion, not shameful? I’ve hid it for so many years! Of course, they never thought that I was rich. But the saw the poverty for the first time yesterday. And then it got worse... The families left, and the councilor started unpacking the gifts. When visitors come, they put their gifts on the big table in the corner of the hall with a note: who the gift should be given to. Guess who the councilor was yesterday! The Jerker! Evil scum!”

That I understand: the Jerker was my form teacher in the first year and I hated her for the rest of my life.

There is a rule in the institute: every bag with family gifts has to be opened by a teacher in case it contains something forbidden like banned books or wine (!!!) or something else. The gifts are opened in front of all the girls: those who get a lot of good gifts, the rich ones, are happy, but those who get small humble gifts are ready to disappear out of shame.

 “You know,” continues Sonya, “the Jerker opens the gifts of Zoika Lanskaya. Even two people wouldn’t be able to carry it! It’s all covered in silk ribbons! The Jerker describes everything there is with that sweet voice of hers! “Box of chocolates – three pounds! Another box: chocolat mignon! Pears, grapes, jar of caviar, ham, salmon…” There isn’t an end! Of course! Zoika’s father is a gendarme colonel!”

Sonya says it with such respect to this “great person”, the gerndarme colonel. She says it with such dreamy jealousy to his lucky daughter Zoika that I am completely lost.

Whenever my dad talks about this person (he has to defend his culprits in front of him), he calls the wonderful colonel nothing else, but the “colonel dog”.

Sonya continues, “And everyone had luxurious sweets, fruits… One girl even received the “Stephania” cake! And me… and me…”

Sonya is crying so hard that I’m starting to turn cold of horror. What was in her gifts? What could it be?

 “And inside my gift… The Jerker opened it and, oh, how shameful! Of course, there are no ribbons; everything is tied around with ordinary thread. There’s only a bit of monpasie and sandwiches… smoked lard sandwiches! Think about it – smoked lard! The jerker bit her lips – like that! “Does your mother, Pavlikhina, think that you’re starving here? Why did she send you such soldier gifts?” And everyone started laughing, “Soldier gifts, ha ha ha!” The Jerker, evil scum, and those rich idiots will not understand that it is out of mum’s love! So that I regain my strength after measles… The rich ones don’t care,” Sonya suddenly fills with spite, “that mum might have been only living on tea and bread to get here (the train tickets cost a lot!) to bring me those sandwiches!... And now it’s worthless… The end! The whole institute found out!”

Sonya is in such despair as if the whole institute just found out that her mum was as bad as a thief or a murderer.

 “What did they find out, Sonya?

 “Ah, you don’t understand!” Sonya almost screams. “I’m telling you – I hid it from them! I hid our poverty. And the fact that my mum… works! She’s a cashier at a wine pub, selling vodka to drunkards! Now they will find out!... Can you understand how shameful that is?

No, I don’t understand what is so shameful about it. My dad always says “The one who works is a fine fellow!” If Sonya’s mum works then she must also be a fine fellow!

 “You’re speaking nonsense, Sonya. Your mum is nice and you should really love her for that!”

Sonya hugs me. Maybe she can slightly understand the fact that I’m right. For the four years spent in the institute, she was always told that wealth is the most wonderful thing in life and that it is shameful to be poor and that it’s even more shameful to work! It is not that easy for Sonya to make apart what is wrong and what is right.

And the main thing is that Sonya doesn’t really listen to what I say. She speaks openly, maybe for the first time in these four years. She wants to let out everything she had kept inside of her.

 “I will tell you everything!” she says selflessly. “I have something worse. So they ask me: who is your father? And I say: my dad is an officer. But really… He’s not… He’s not an officer. I don’t have a dad at all!”

 “Is he dead?”

 “That’s what I tell everyone: he’s dead. But I’ve never had a dad! I’m illegal! Il-li-gi-ta-mate! According to you, is being illegal not shameful either?”

To that, I reply honestly, “That I don’t know… Do you want me to ask my dad?”

Suddenly, Sonya gets really scared. She realises that the secret she’d never told anyone before had just been revealed to the girl who is almost a stranger. And that girl might tell others; she’s about to tell her father!

To my horror, Sonya gets on her knees and starts kissing my hands, mumbling almost unconsciously, “Look I’m on my knees, asking you… Begging you! Don’t tell anyone! Not one person! Don’t tell dad! Don’t!”

I also fall on my knees; I can’t just talk to Sonya, bending down as if she’s a child! I also cry and mumble, “Sonya, telling dad is like whispering it inside a cupboard! Dad is a doctor; his patients always tell him all of their secrets. And he never tells anyone, never! It’s called,” I cry, “medical secrecy!”

Sonya calms down and just asks, “Okay, you can tell dad. But no one else… Swear to me!”

“No one!” I promise, triumphantly.

 “Cross yourself!” demands Sonya.

I explain to her that I can’t: I’m not Christian.

“Then who are you?”

“Jewish.”

It is as if a dark cloud passes through Sonya’s face. I understand that, in this institute, they have probably also told her that Jews are the worst people of Earth. She is probably regretting the fact that she’s ever trusted such a dark person like me…

 “Swear!” she asks.

 “You have my most, most, most honest word!”

Sonya and I probably look funny from the side. Two girls, on their knees – in the bathrooms! – are swearing triumphantly!

 “Look, you swore not to tell anyone!” reminds Sonya. “If anyone in this institute finds out that I’m illegal… I will hang myself! Right here, in the Penguin, on this hook, I will hang myself!”

Of course, my words probably had little impact on Sonya. Poor her, she was crying so much that my words have barely reached her. But, after trusting herself to me, after crying in front of me, she probably feels a bit better.

Sonya gets up from her knees, “I have to go. I hope they don’t go looking for me… Thank you!” she trustingly puts her hands on my shoulders. “I will tell you if everything is okay with me or not…”

We kiss and, as I feel Sonya’s cheek, hot from tears, I feel pity for her.

 “Sonya, don’t be scared. Even if I die I will tell no one, but my dad!”

                                                       - Alexandra Brushtein 1961