woman and could easily bear another five. Hmm … I think you’re right. Paraska Braskovia can certainly use a milking cow.”
Kulik wasted no time in picking up on Leyzarov’s benevolence. “We really must encourage women like Paraska. Her little ones need milk to grow big and strong, and the Soviet regime, as we all know, cares very much about the welfare of its children, especially the children of its workers. I beg you, comrade, give Paraska a milking cow. I understand you have at least twenty in the barn.”
Leyzarov tightened his lips. “No, I’m afraid that’s impossible. All the milking cows are to remain here. I have strict orders.”
“Well, then, maybe you can find something else for her?” Kulik was struck by his own boldness.
“Something else for Paraska? Let me see. How about a pregnant heifer? In a month’s time she will be with young and producing milk. Well, Paraska, what do you say about that?”
Paraska’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, thank you, comrade, thank you. That would be wonderful.” She grasped his hands and her face beamed with gratitude. She could scarcely believe her good fortune. “Is she really with young?”
“She certainly is.” Leyzarov turned sharply around and shouted, “Kirilo! Bring out the pregnant cow, the black-and-white spotted one at the back of the barn.”
In no time, Kirilo appeared with a rather heavy animal with broad shoulders and a strong horned head. Leyzarov forced a smile and with great formality handed her over to Paraska.
Paraska quickly took hold of the rope and, looking into the animal’s big round yellow eyes, immediately named her Rohula. She did not go directly home, but walked out into the road and proudly paraded the cow back and forth for all the villagers to see.
CHAPTER 4
T he first snow fell over Hlaby. Like the soft down from a pillow, it piled in the yards and walkways of the small wooden cottages and collected high on their rooftops. A cold, harsh wind blew in from the north and hurled the flakes up into the air and over the vast frozen mudlands beyond. Before a newly erected building, home of the Lenin Clubhouse, there was a pile of snow twice the size of any other. The clubhouse had shot up several weeks ago, like a mushroom after a rainfall, on a site where had once stood a one-story barrack that housed the Olivinski farmhands. The clubhouse, now the heart of the village, bustled with activity. There were meetings almost every night and people, some known and some not, rushed in and out at all hours.
A few weeks before Christmas, something rather unexpected happened, to which all the villagers reacted with surprise and confusion. A large black-and-white poster was erected in front of the clubhouse, showing a Red Army soldier in full uniform embracing a poorly dressed peasant who held a hoe in one hand and a sickle in the other. The peasant stood gazing up at the soldier in adoration, smiling, almost teary-eyed. On the bottom of the poster was printed: LONG LIVE THE RED ARMY OF WORKERS AND PEASANTS! LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!
Although Bolshevism had manifested itself in almost all areas of the Pinsk Marshes, with such images popping up in towns and villages everywhere, for Hlaby at least, a display like this was a novelty. The first to take interest in it was Timushka. Standing on the frost-covered walkway, huddled in her brown frayed overcoat, shestared fixedly at it, trying to grasp its full meaning. Before long, she turned to call out to passersby and even rushed to bang on the doors of several nearby houses:
“People! People! Come see for yourselves! You won’t believe it! There’s a huge picture in front of the Lenin Clubhouse. It’s a Russian Army man and he’s embracing one of our very own. Yes, believe it or not, he’s embracing Cornelius Kovzalo! They’re standing like true brothers and out in the open for everyone to see! The soldier has a pink smooth face, and our horse thief is hiding behind his moustache. As if
Kulik wasted no time in picking up on Leyzarov’s benevolence. “We really must encourage women like Paraska. Her little ones need milk to grow big and strong, and the Soviet regime, as we all know, cares very much about the welfare of its children, especially the children of its workers. I beg you, comrade, give Paraska a milking cow. I understand you have at least twenty in the barn.”
Leyzarov tightened his lips. “No, I’m afraid that’s impossible. All the milking cows are to remain here. I have strict orders.”
“Well, then, maybe you can find something else for her?” Kulik was struck by his own boldness.
“Something else for Paraska? Let me see. How about a pregnant heifer? In a month’s time she will be with young and producing milk. Well, Paraska, what do you say about that?”
Paraska’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, thank you, comrade, thank you. That would be wonderful.” She grasped his hands and her face beamed with gratitude. She could scarcely believe her good fortune. “Is she really with young?”
“She certainly is.” Leyzarov turned sharply around and shouted, “Kirilo! Bring out the pregnant cow, the black-and-white spotted one at the back of the barn.”
In no time, Kirilo appeared with a rather heavy animal with broad shoulders and a strong horned head. Leyzarov forced a smile and with great formality handed her over to Paraska.
Paraska quickly took hold of the rope and, looking into the animal’s big round yellow eyes, immediately named her Rohula. She did not go directly home, but walked out into the road and proudly paraded the cow back and forth for all the villagers to see.
CHAPTER 4
T he first snow fell over Hlaby. Like the soft down from a pillow, it piled in the yards and walkways of the small wooden cottages and collected high on their rooftops. A cold, harsh wind blew in from the north and hurled the flakes up into the air and over the vast frozen mudlands beyond. Before a newly erected building, home of the Lenin Clubhouse, there was a pile of snow twice the size of any other. The clubhouse had shot up several weeks ago, like a mushroom after a rainfall, on a site where had once stood a one-story barrack that housed the Olivinski farmhands. The clubhouse, now the heart of the village, bustled with activity. There were meetings almost every night and people, some known and some not, rushed in and out at all hours.
A few weeks before Christmas, something rather unexpected happened, to which all the villagers reacted with surprise and confusion. A large black-and-white poster was erected in front of the clubhouse, showing a Red Army soldier in full uniform embracing a poorly dressed peasant who held a hoe in one hand and a sickle in the other. The peasant stood gazing up at the soldier in adoration, smiling, almost teary-eyed. On the bottom of the poster was printed: LONG LIVE THE RED ARMY OF WORKERS AND PEASANTS! LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!
Although Bolshevism had manifested itself in almost all areas of the Pinsk Marshes, with such images popping up in towns and villages everywhere, for Hlaby at least, a display like this was a novelty. The first to take interest in it was Timushka. Standing on the frost-covered walkway, huddled in her brown frayed overcoat, shestared fixedly at it, trying to grasp its full meaning. Before long, she turned to call out to passersby and even rushed to bang on the doors of several nearby houses:
“People! People! Come see for yourselves! You won’t believe it! There’s a huge picture in front of the Lenin Clubhouse. It’s a Russian Army man and he’s embracing one of our very own. Yes, believe it or not, he’s embracing Cornelius Kovzalo! They’re standing like true brothers and out in the open for everyone to see! The soldier has a pink smooth face, and our horse thief is hiding behind his moustache. As if
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