A Child Weeps in Moscow

A CHILD WEEPS FOR MOSCOW

by

Lawrence Dagstine

A Child Weeps for Moscow

Copyright 2013 - Lawrence Dagstine

Homepage: http://www.lawrencedagstine.com

Cover Art Copyright 2012 - Bob Veon

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

This story is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this story are either fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarities to real people, either living or dead, are purely coincidental. No part of this story may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without permission from the author.

1

People had been disappearing. Everyone knew that. And yet, when Abe came down to breakfast and found that his whole family had been taken away—his mother, his father, his young sister, Natalya, and his grandmother, Bethda—he couldn’t quite believe it. He hadn’t heard a thing because of his crazy room, just a little cell on the second floor that had been used for storage, small, stuffy, with only a tiny window near the ceiling giving dim light. He disliked it heartily, because he had to go through his parents’ room and then push through all the stored things—old clothes, quilts, boxes—to get to his bed. He had been secretly angry when they made him move from the room he and Natalya shared, with its window over the garden, so that Natalya could have it all to herself. But he was accustomed to obeying without protest. He had long understood that the rights of children were limited to the wishes of parents.

Now he thought that it was probably the crazy room that had saved him. When the Invaders, with the help of the secret police, had come to take everyone away, they had overlooked the storeroom. Certainly the only good thing about that room was its isolation. One could brood about one’s feelings there and not be distracted by sounds of people talking or trucks rolling on the cobblestones—or gunshots. It was a good retreat too for working on the math puzzles that his teacher, Klara Izolyev Bakoloff, invented for him. When he had come down to breakfast, there wasn’t a sign of anyone; no fire was in the grate. There wasn’t even the detested smell of scorched oatmeal. But what had alerted Abe and started the wave of fear had been the chair overturned in the front hall. His mother, tidy as she was, never would have allowed a chair to remain that way for more than a moment.

Abe straightened the chair and called hesitantly, Mama? Papa? When there was no answer, he called, Natalya? Grandma Bethda? Where is everyone? The chilly house, with its cooling hearth, seemed to answer with an echo, Nary a one, and even as he called, a very cold feeling started in his chest. Tight. Frightened. It could have happened to them!

Like birds in winter, snow in spring, people had been disappearing for months, years now. Sometimes hundreds a day. The vast majority of the population blamed the otherworldly visitors. Who else could plot something so large? Who else, other than the secret police, could possibly want the citizens out of the way? None dared talk about it except in the privacy of their homes, with the curtains drawn, but Abe knew that certain people and even whole families were being arrested and sent away. But sent away where? And why?

Since the Revolution and the civil war, nobody was really safe. When the alien ships arrived, the political climate changed for the worst again and the Invaders took things to a whole other level. No, they were not friendly. No, everything was not as it seemed. Yes, they were masquerading. Yes, there were promises, but they were the empty and unfulfilling kind. Events had made enemies of very ordinary people who had no idea why they had become enemies. Abe’s father had told him that much. He was an educator, the administrator of several schools. It was not a political job—not then, anyhow. He told his teachers not to discuss politics with the students in their classes. It was not their business.

Yes, but then why had the Levokova family down the road been taken away? They had been dragged from their houses out to a closed van one day, just as Abe was coming home from school—Mr. Levokova, a pragmatic man and an engineer, stooped and pale, his wife crying hysterical, and the children clinging to her, carrying no possessions. Abe’s father had said, Try not to think about it. Abe had tried, but nevertheless it was one of the things he thought about a great deal in his crazy room. Once, a few years ago, his uncle Konstantin in Moscow had sent him a very shiny stone. This will turn to gold, he had written, if you hold it in your hand and not think of elephants. Abe had tried and tried to banish the thought of elephants from his mind as he held the stone, but he could not. He could not forget the Levokovas, either, despite his father’s advice.

In his little room he often wondered how life could be so perilous for the people, even though his father had told him that the new government—with the help of these new overseers—was a people’s government. Abe wondered if these kind of governments were perfect for any people. He wondered if it was only his country being spied on, or were there other nations. After all, it was the Russian people who were taken away or shot, and thousands streamed along the roads at the edge of town, going anywhere, nowhere, made homeless by this so-called people’s government. There were months at a time when the town had had no meat, no milk, no bread. The peasants were being forced to give up their farms, and to join collectives. Many of them burned their fields instead; some had it burned for them. Abe understood that the czar had been selfish and cruel and that was why there had been a revolution and civil war, but why wasn’t it better now? Could the prevailing state of citizen affairs really all be blamed on the Invaders and their arrival some years earlier?

When he asked his father about that, his father had spoken carefully in his richly accented tongue. Perhaps it will be better. Perhaps this race from the heavens will deliver us. Do you remember the famine? Even people like us had difficulty getting any food at all, and thousands died of hunger. Now you have oatmeal on the table nearly every morning, don’t you? We have a rich soup at night, and sometimes meat. You would be wiser, Abe, not to think about whether this government is better or worse. If you live your life in an orderly and honest way, be obedient, do your work well and mind your own business, you will live long and prosper.

It was obvious the old man was trying to instill hope.

Yes, but Papa, the police come and take the people. They wear strange armor and carry unusual weapons. Whole families, whole streets disappear overnight. They vanish without a trace. It was not like this five years ago.

Historically, his father had said, revolutions cause changes. You are going to be twelve years old. Didn’t you read about the French Revolution in school?

People were beheaded! Abe had cried.

Yes, Abraham, his father had replied. Blood ran in the gutters.

Do you think it is the Invaders who ask for the blood to be spilled? Abe asked.

His father shook his head. No. Do you want to know what I think? I think God wants someone to watch over us, prevent us from making any more mistakes and getting in any more revolutions.

So you are saying they are like angels?

Yes. Something like that.

I remember the fighting in the streets here in Murom, Abe recalled. Kovrov, too. I remember the blood then. I bet it still flows heavily in the Oka River—all the way to the head of the Volga, perhaps even into the Baltic itself.

Now try not to think about it, his father had said. The past is the past.

There it was again, the stone that would not turn to gold.

For a while that morning, a shocked and frightened Abe kept walking around the house as if he might be able to find his family. Finally, through the fear came the knowledge that he might be in danger himself. In the case of the Levokovas, a new family had been moved into the house the very same day. The family of a high-ranking member of the police. Modifications had been made to the exterior, and, he figured, most likely the interior. It was all so futuristic looking.

Abe went back to his feeble excuse for a room and hastily gathered some things. He had a few kopecks in a black-lacquered box, and he put them into the pocket of his jacket. He put on his warm coat, scarf, hat, and taking his book bag, went through the house, closing all the doors. He watered his mother’s plant in the front window and put out a crust for the birds as he always did. Then he went out and closed the door.

Somehow he felt like a thief, sneaking away from the house. He looked up and down the street, felt nobody noticed him, then ran across the road and started over the bridge. At first he didn’t really know where he was going; he just had to get away before the police returned or the Invaders had new tenants move in.

While he did not know his final destination, Abe decided he could not go anywhere without first telling Klara Izolyev what had happened. She was not only his teacher, she was a friend of the family’s. He knew she admired his skill at math, but he felt too that she liked him for himself. In his eyes she was truly beautiful, clever, and wise. So Abe followed his usual routine and went to school.

How time can creep when one wanders and ponders. Abe agonized through the day but was relieved that none of his classmates said anything to him about his family. He did not even tell his best friend, Galina. One thing everyone had learned was to keep things to oneself, especially with the secret police running about. Don’t trust anyone who might betray you. Not Galina, of course. But words, once spoken, have wings.

Nothing, though, could shake Abe’s faith in Klara Izolyev, and his impatience to speak to her was like a flea in his shirt. When the last lesson was finished, he gathered up his papers and told Galina not to wait for him.

I’m staying to do some work, he said, hating to lie to Galina but knowing he must. The less Galina knew, the better.

For Klara, I’ll bet, Galina teased, and poked him. What do you see in that bag of bones?

Abe was used to these gibes, so he just returned Galina’s poke and said, You’re just envious because I beat you in math. That, and I belong in the advanced class now. He was acting very well, he thought—playful, not worried, while all day his insides had been crying, sometimes screaming in pain.

I’ll come over after supper, Galina said. We can walk down to the river and watch them chopping ice by torchlight.

"No, not