The Russian Century

by George Pahomov

  Georgii Altaev, How I Became a Cub Scout

  115

  rangle of the town square boys were lined up in a U-shaped formation. They were in strange outfits, greenish shirts and pants only down to the knees, black socks and boots. They wore broad-brimmed hats with the left brim turned up with some sort of colored badge on it. On their left shoulders they had two multi-colored ribbons and blue scarves around their necks like girls. The bigger boys held smooth rods in their right hands, as soldiers held rifles, with the butts at the toe of their right boot. Some of the rods had pennants with some sort of images on them. Several young men stood in the middle of this troop, also dressed strangely except that they had many badges on their pockets and sleeves. One of them, apparently the leader, was explaining something with everyone attentively listening.

  All this was so unusual that we held our breath while watching these little soldiers who were soon to be sent to war with the smooth rods. I looked for Stepka. He, aware of the huge impression the scene was making on us and sensing competition, smiled derisively and kept snorting louder and louder: “They’re supposed to be boys’ but they wear ribbons and scarves like girls. And the big guys are in short pants like they were too poor to have long pants.” He began gathering cones from some near-by firs and throwing them at the smaller soldier-boys. We began throwing as well, aiming at their bare knees. There was disarray in the ranks and some of the boys began to complain to their leader. “Aha!” we cried, “Not only are they sissies, but they’re snitches.”

  The troop leaders standing in the middle began looking at us and talking to each other as if consulting. We quit throwing cones anticipating what would come next. And then one of the leaders turned the right flank of his little soldiers, waved off an offered rod, and started toward us. We began to back up. But this young man, so strangely dressed, approached us with such a friendly wave of the hand and smile, that we stopped. He came right up to us and said, “Here’s what guys, we’re scouts. Come join us, you’ll be our cub scouts.” We were totally stunned. Adults only cursed us, street kids. Even now, we were the ones throwing pine cones but they were not angry, they heartily wanted us to join them. We glanced at Stepka. Even he was taken aback, expecting anything but this. Suddenly he seemed small and no longer fearsome. The young man asked us to sit with him. We walked off to form a semicircle on the grass, and he told us that they were boy scouts, that their detachment consisted of many troops of eight boys and that each troop carried the name of an animal or bird. He also told us that they were preparing for a parade and that, come summer, they would live in tents in the forest by the banks of the Sozh, swim, catch fish and cook chowder over a fire, play many exciting games and sing their songs.

  “Do you want to join us?” he asked suddenly.

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  “Yes,” we answered in one voice.

  “Well then, line up in size places, two rows behind this troop,” said our new leader pointing to the youngest boy scouts.

  We lined up, and were divided into troops. Seven street kids and a leader from the detachment. We were taught how to march. This was fun, but it made no sense why we had to start marching with the left foot. Some of us did not even know our left foot. Our leader showed us the left foot and told us to pinch our thigh hard. Squealing, we pinched our left legs and forever remembered which was which. In marching, at first it was difficult to keep proper dress. But in half an hour we got it and vigorously stomped along behind the real scouts. A large crowd watched our exercises with interest. Toward the end, as we marched past the head scoutmaster, two tipsy dandies in round straw hats and light colored suits could not control their enthusiasm. “Look, Kolia,” said one of them, “here comes the barefoot brigade.” His buddy raised his hat and shouted, “Way to go, bareheels!” We were surrounded by friendly laughter and joyfully laughed ourselves. It was good to be accepted so simply and heartily. Only Stepka did not march with us. He stood aside screwing up his mouth, hissing, showing us his fist and pocket knife. Then suddenly he was gone.

  Our leader told us that we needed written permission from our parents to join the scouts. Then a gathering was called for the next day. On our way home we tried to walk in step guessing whether we’d get permission and how best to break the news. There was a surprise waiting for me. Dad was home on his first furlough. He was still in uniform but without epaulets and signs of rank. His right arm hung lifelessly in a black sling. He asked me where I had been, and why I was late. Getting up my courage, I told him about the scouts and asked for permission to join. He frowned and said, “What scouts? They are simply a joke. Enough militarism,” he continued decisively. “We have to build a peaceful life now. Look here, I marched and marched and now I can’t move my arm, yet I have to work.”

  I sensed that there was no point in pushing my request. But I made up my mind that I would somehow sneak off to tomorrow’s gathering. For the whole next day the clock seemed to have stopped. Father looked through all my homework and tested me on the multiplication table. I made only two mistakes, 8 x 8 and 8 x 9, but didn’t have the nerve to ask for his permission a second time. Father sent me out for cigarettes. On the way I met some of the other boys. It turned out that only half had received permission. Some would not turn their sons over to a “joke outfit.” Others did not have the money for a uniform. “Wear the clothing of your older brothers,” was their response.

  When I was already in our yard, I heard Stepka’s familiar summoning whistle. I hurried to give father his cigarettes, climbed atop our fence, and

  Georgii Altaev, How I Became a Cub Scout

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  from its height told Stepka that I wanted to spend time with father who was home, join the boy scouts and not be a street kid anymore. Stepka was obviously dejected. “Half the guys have gone,” he said bitterly, “only the useless ones are left.”

  “Listen, Step,” I said, “why did you leave yesterday? Come, there is a meeting today. You’ll be the top guy with us. We’ll live in tents in the forest, we’ll go swimming and cook chowder over a fire.”

  Stepka thought for a while then said with bitterness, “They won’t take me. I’m useless; they’re from well-off families, rich kids.”

  “No, Step, they’re not all rich kids, now it’s . . .,” I struggled for a word, remembered the class committee elections and blurted out, “it’s freedom now.” Stepka raised his head slowly and looked at me. His gaze turned placid. “I’ll think it over,” he said softly, walking away.

  After lunch father was dozing on the couch, snoring lightly, his right arm stretched along his side. I sat in the corner with the multiplication table, watching the racing clock. Toward three father stirred and moaned quietly. His arm hurt. I coughed, and he raised himself and asked what I was doing.

  “Dad, I learned the table by heart. Eight times eight is sixty-four. Eight times nine is seventy-two.”

  “Good boy. What do you want for a reward?”

  “Let me go into town to play with Dima.”

  “All right, go but don’t be late, and I’ll go walk in the garden.”

  With that I immediately took off for the town square, hoping to meet the scout leader before the gathering. And he was there on the green sitting on a bench . . . with Stepka. Stepka was telling him something, waving his arms animatedly and spitting a lot. The scout leader sat a bit sideways, watching Stepka with absorption. He’d smile and ask Stepka something. When Stepka left, I told him, fighting back tears, that father would not let me join the scouts. The leader asked me for my name and address and then exclaimed that he knew the house that was surrounded by a large garden.

  “What does your father do after lunch?” he asked. I told him that father napped and then strolled in the garden.

  “Well, terrific,” he said, “tomorrow at two-thirty there’ll be a meeting of a troop in your garden. Is that OK with you?”

  “It’s OK,” I answered slowly, hoping for a happy outcome. Then he told me to r
un home.

  The next day while father was still asleep a troop came to our place and stopped by the broad garden path leading down to the river. They cut branches from a large wind-felled fir tree, tied their rods together and put up a lean-to. I was so involved in helping them that I did not notice father’s appearance. He gave me a severe look, but as he came closer the scout leader

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  presented himself and reported: “Eight scouts under my command building a lean-to, sir. Request your permission to remain and continue building.” During the report father snapped to attention. Receiving a report is a sacred matter among military men. He examined the lean-to, then, addressing the leader, asked,

  “What is the predominant wind direction in these parts?”

  “From the south.”

  “Then why is your entrance also facing south? You’ll get gusts right into the lean-to. There is a slope here. You ought to dig that up-slope ditch a little deeper in case it rains.” Then he asked the leader to go off for a talk with him. We began rebuilding the lean-to. Some twenty minutes later not only did I get permission to join the scouts, but the scouts were allowed to gather in small groups on our property. My little world which up to now consisted of several streets, the cathedral, town square, and gimnazium suddenly became greater, compellingly engaging, and full of new mysteries. Our meetings were moved to the enormous estate of Count Paskevich which seemed to have been created for our activities and games.

  Three magical summer months flew by, and in that time we matured as if it had been three years. It was wonderful that our leaders did not shout at us or order us about. Rather, they suggested things, and their suggestions had the power to attract and grip us for a long time. I remember that almost every boy on our street became a cub scout. The older boys became boy scouts right away. During the very first days our leader had a talk with us in which he said that every scout is a friend of children, the elderly, the weak, as well as the friend of animals and that every day he does at least one good deed. After that meeting we all rushed home vying with each other to compensate both people and animals for all the foul things we had done to them during the spring of that momentous year.

  Old women no longer had to carry buckets of water from the town wells. “What’s come over all of you?” they would say, puzzled. “Before we’d look both ways before going out, but now you’ve all become so good all at once. Must be the Holy Spirit entered your hearts. Well, thank you little grandkids; come into the house, maybe there’s some candy for you,” they would say and wink conspiratorially. But we, proud and pleased, always declined “payment” for our good deeds. I should add that during those hot summer days cats would serenely stretch out on the broad beams of gates, and dogs, relaxed to their fullest, serenely slumbered in the dusty streets. Also, after a premature cracking of our piggy banks, the broken windowpanes in town were all replaced.

  I also want to say that from August on, my pack leader was none other than Stepka. At my insistence mother sewed a scout’s uniform for him as well. He

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  immediately became a scout and in two months’ time so distinguished himself that he was transferred to the cub scouts as pack leader. Our pack was the best. Stepa had so much energy that beside his usual responsibilities he occasionally took charge of the “combined detachment” of cub scouts who gathered on their own initiative to play on our property. No one called him Stepka anymore; it was Stepa or Stepusha. He was rid of that onerous “-ka” ending.

  Once after watching us, father called Stepa over and told him that when he grew up he would be the sergeant-major of the best regimental training unit in the whole division. Stepa shook his head and protested that he would become the leader of the scouts and cub scouts in the whole province.

  In October of that year the second revolution took place. In 1918 after the German troops departed, the screams about “freedom” reached a frenzy, but freedom itself somehow vanished. The gimnazium was closed and the scouts were banned. We, the ex-scouts, met secretly for a long time without uniforms or any signs of distinction. The only distinction we had was our handshake with the left hand and our wonderful loyalty to each other, even though we had not been scouts for very long.

  Two years later our family left Gomel. I lost from sight but not from memory the wonderful friends of my childhood.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nikolai Filatov, A Soldier’s Letters

  The views of Nikolai Filatov on the war and revolution are of historical and cultural interest, as is the manner of expression of this self-educated peasant soldier. The run-on text of each letter has been divided into paragraphs and capitalization of proper titles added, but an attempt has been made to preserve in translation other idiosyncrasies of the author’s language without drawing attention to them with the conventional notation sic. They include punctuation errors, tense and person inconsistencies, run-on sentences, a few fragments, non sequitur clauses and questionable lexical choices. One ellipsis in brackets in letter 2 [. . .] is from the original. Other comments in brackets and footnotes are the translator’s. Taken from Nikolai Filatov, “Soldatskie pis’ma 1917 goda” [A Soldier’s Letters of 1917] in Vospominania. Paris: YMCA Press, 1981.

  1. FRONT LINE TRENCHES

  March 5th, 1917

  How do you do greatly-respected Olga Valerianovna, I send you my greetings and wish you good health. I write you, Olga Valerianovna the following. We are still in position. The night of 28 February–1 March, precisely at midnight, in our entrenchments along the entire front we shouted “hooray” on the occasion of the English forces taking a city. At first we were told it was Gaa [Hague?], now they say it is an entirely different city, but that can be put off for now. Now lies ahead a more serious turnover, which happened in Russia. The matter is as follows. On March 4th at 8:00 PM we received at our position a telephoned telegram with news of the Russian Emperor’s abdication.

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  Nikolai Filatov, A Soldier’s Letters

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  This incident causes us much talk and discussions. Some say this means the end of the Russian State, and some say that the sovereign was deposed by Germans, of whom there are still many in Russia who occupy senior posts. But no one knows correctly. Today the officers announced that the sovereign himself no longer wanted to reign for reasons of health, but no one believes that. In response to our questions about who will be tsar, the officers say that everyone supposes that the brother of the former sovereign, Grand Prince Mikhail Aleksandrovich will be chosen.

  I request, Olga Valerianovna, that you write what you know regarding this overthrow and where the former sovereign will go. The troops feel sorry for Nikolai Aleksandrovich, the only consolation is that Mikhail Aleksandrovich will be chosen. We have no newspapers that describe the politics of state, and so rely on rumors and what the officers say.

  For now, Olga Valerianovna, good bye, be healthy, I wish you all the very best. Give my regards and wishes for good health and all the best to your mama Olga Petrovna.

  Respectfully your acquaintance N. Filatov.

  I have not received your books, from boredom I read fairy tales, though I do not like reading them, but in the evenings my comrades, who find them interesting, ask me to read them.

  2. ACTIVE ARMY. FRONT LINE TRENCHES

  May 12th of this year [1917]

  How do you do greatly-respected Olga Valerianovna, I send you my greetings and wishes for all the very best. I first of all inform you, Olga Valeri-anovna, the following. Yesterday I received your letter of the 29th of last month, and today I received your 9 books in two packages. You ask me to write what is happening at the front, that is, what the general mood and discipline are like. I will endeavor to write you everything that has happened since March 5th. On March 5th I wrote you that we, that is the troops, do not want the New Government, but we want the old one. For this you probably called me a fool. But I
deserve that name only in part, in that I could not wait for the matter to be resolved.

  We were read some orders. These orders stated that a soldier has the right to travel first class and some other privileges, then it was said that discipline now will be severe, that for every minor infraction any officer has the right to shoot soldiers like [. . .] in a field trial, without sending a report to the upper command, as was formerly done. Then the officers explained what sort of

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  minor infractions can be cause for summary execution. There were many such orders that made our hair stand on end and our skin crawl. We were very strictly forbidden to gather and talk about the tsar, it was strictly forbidden to say that the tsar had been deposed, and not that he himself abdicated. We were allowed to say that Mikhail Aleksandrovich will be chosen tsar. The officers scurried about and fussed as if caught in a trap. Finally the commander of our regiment, Colonel Velikopolskii, wrote a telegram to the Provisional Government. In this telegram the commander wrote that in my regiment there is utter antagonism, that soldiers desert their posts, nobody obeys anything, and that he demands discipline (that means extraordinary).

  I do not need to repeat to you, Olga Valerianovna, what sort of situation we found ourselves in (between two fires). To think that there was antagonism in our ranks and we abandoned our posts. The telegram went through the headquarters of our 84th division, but when it reached the corps headquarters, it was sent back and two days later the commander of our Second Caucasus Corps came to visit us in our entrenchments. The corps commander spent a lot of time in the trenches, asked about all our needs and satisfied them, as he was able. We all loved him very much and he knew us soldiers well too, that’s why he stopped the telegram and did not let it go further. He knew full well that under the old government we never caused antagonism, and under the new government we certainly shouldn’t either. He knew that was all fabrications by the officers. When he came he told us the whole truth. After his departure the gentleman officers themselves began to incite unrest. They gathered us and said: