Apricot Jam: And Other Stories Read Free

paper. The commissar roared out a fearsome speech telling about what was going on in the country and saying that from now on there would be no mercy for those shirking work and there would even be trials and executions. Then he began moving down the ranks pointing at people here and there while the clerk took down the man ’ s name, company, and platoon. He also pointed at me: “ This man as well. ” The clerk wrote it down. Then we were dismissed. That evening the platoon commander came to the barracks: “ The commissar has put you down to work on your day off for malingering. I don ’ t know who reported you. I told HQ that no one had come to me about it. No one can countermand the commissar ’ s order. Just go to work tomorrow, and we ’ ll get you the next day off, on the quiet. ”
     
    This was in February. A powerful blizzard blew in that night, then it rained, but by morning frost had set in. That morning I wrapped some rags around my feet and went to work. Eleven of us were sent to work in the timber yard. There was a stack of long, thin poles there, and we were ordered to shift it to a different spot about forty meters away. “ If you finish the job early you can go back to the barracks, if you don ’ t you ’ ll be working into the night. ” I said not a word because I was well past caring. The others, though, were all sons of NEP-men, city kids, well fed and warmly dressed. They made out that since this was a day off, they weren ’ t going to do any work. A platoon commander, not my own, went off to report this to HQ, but it was some distance away. There was only one path that had been trodden down across the snowy field, and it was no easy job to navigate it.
     
    In my rags and tatters, the icy wind was blowing right through me. “ Listen, boys, ” I said, “ you do what you please, but if I don ’ t go to work I ’ ll soon freeze. ” One smart fellow jumped up and said: “ You ’ re a provocateur! You ’ re undermining our solidarity. ” “ You swap me your clothes for mine and I won ’ t work, ” I told him. Then the others spoke up: “ Let him be. Let him work if he likes. When the platoon commander comes back he ’ ll think we ’ ve all been working. ” I picked up a stake and pried up the top layer of the frozen logs. I set them up to make a ramp and began rolling the poles down it. They were frozen and rolled down nicely. I went on working and even got myself warm.
     
    Suddenly I heard a shout and some strong cursing coming from the other end of the yard. It was the commissar, who had sneaked up from behind using a roundabout way; plowing along behind him were the platoon commander and some people from HQ. The lads were expecting them by the path and hadn ’ t seen them coming.
     
    The commissar had drawn his pistol and was waving it around, kicking up a row and cursing: “ I ’ ll have you all arrested, you bourgeois scum! Off to the guardhouse! You ’ re going on trial! ” And they were herded off. To me he said, “ Why are you looking like such a beggar? ” “ I ’ m the son of a kulak, Citizen Commissar. ” He poked at my bare knee with his black leather glove: “ What ’ s the matter, don ’ t you have any proper underwear? ” “ I do, Citizen Commissar, but only one pair. There ’ s nowhere to wash clothes, and my underwear ’ s dirty. Wearing it all the time makes my whole body ache. My undershirt is as stiff as rubber. So I bury my underwear in the snow by the barracks for a day to disinfect it and then I put it on again for the night. ” “ Have you got a blanket? ” “ No, Citizen Commissar. ” “ Well, I ’ m giving you three days ’ rest. ”
     
    They issued me a blanket, two pairs of long underwear, some worn, padded pants and new boots with wooden soles that didn ’ t bend—it was hard to walk over icy places in them.
     
    But I ’ d already suffered so much, and I was covered with boils as well. A few days later, I fell down in a