The Rascally Romance (in a single helluva-long letter about a flicking-short life). Сергей Николаевич Огольцов

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СКАЧАТЬ long table in that room could easily be used for ping-pong playing. And a couple of girls came too out of curiosity. Raissa Grigoryevna received the newcomers with delighted welcome, and we began to rehearse a puppet show “Kolobok” based on the same-named fairy tale.

      Our mentor taught us the art of controlling common hand puppets, not letting them duck below the screen, out of the onlookers’ sight. We gathered at Children Sector twice a week, but sometimes Raissa missed the rehearsals or was late and on such occasions the key was to be found on the windowsill in the room of the movies list painters whose door was never locked but kept wide open for often visits of fans of their talent and art-lovers in general… So we opened Children Sector and played ping-pong for hours, albeit with a tennis ball, across that long table. Neither had we bats, effectively replacing them with the thinner of school textbooks in hard covers and the net between the players’ sectors was also made of the slightly open textbooks lined spines up, and though hard hits of tennis ball knocked them down but then restoring the net didn’t take long either…

      Rough and exhausting is a puppeteer’s job: both mentally—you need to copy your character’s clues and learn them by heart, and physically—you shouldn’t ever low down your arm stretched out and aloft with the hand doll donned on your 3 fingers. During rehearsals, the acting arm grew numb because of the strenuous exertion, and even propping it with the remaining hand didn’t really work. Besides, there appeared that pesky nagging crick in the neck because your head was constantly tilted upward to check the actions of the doll. But, on the other hand, after the on-stage performance, you would step out from behind the screen and come in front of it, keeping your hand inside the doll lifted up to your shoulder, and Raissa Grigoryevna would announce that it was you who acted Hare. And, following the theatrical nod of your head, Hare next to your shoulder would also give a nice bow provoking the eager laughter and applause among the audience. O, thorns! O, sweetness of the glory!.

      Later on, many of the participants dropped out but the core of Children Sector—Skully, Kuba, and I—persevered. Raissa made of us actors for short performances about the heroic kids and adults from the times of the October Revolution or the Civil War. For the performances, we made up, glued real theatrical mustache on upper lips, wore army tunics, rolled cigarettes of shag and newspaper slips the way she taught us, and let the smoke in and out of our mouths without really inhaling so as not to cough. With those performances, we toured the bigger shop floors in the KahPehVehRrZeh Plant, the ones that had Red Corner rooms for meetings where, during the midday break, we acted on tiny stages before the workers eating their midday meal out of newspaper packages. More than anything else, they enjoyed the moment with hand-rolled cigarettes…

      Twice a year Club staged a major amateur concert where the Club Director, Pavel Mitrofanovich, recited heartfelt poems dedicated to the Communist Party. The pupils of Anatoly Kuzko, the teacher at the button-accordion class by Club, played their achievements.

      Yet, the creamy crest of the concert program was dancing numbers by the Ballet Studio because their trainer Nina Alexandrovna enjoyed a well-deserved reputation which attracted students from all over the city. Besides, Club possessed a rich theatrical wardrobe so that for the Moldovan dance of Jock the dancers appeared in skin-tight pants and silk vests spangling with sequin, and for the Ukrainian Hopuck, they wore hugely wide trousers and soft ballet boots of red leather.

      The accompaniment for them all, including young girls in ballet tutus, was provided by virtuoso accordionist Ayeeda standing behind the scenes of the stage. And there, next to her, stood also we, in army tunics and adult makeup, marveling how classy she played without any sheet music.

      The handsome electrician Murashkovsky recited comical rhymed humoreskas and sang in duet with the bald tenor, a turner from the Mechanical Shop, “Two Colors of My Life” in Ukrainian. On Murashkovsky’s right hand there missed three fingers – only the pinky one and the thumb stayed in place and, to hide the deficit, he clutched a spiffy handkerchief between them like an extrinsic catch grabbed by a crab claw.

      Two elderly women sang romances, not in a duet but in turn, accompanied by the button-accordion of Anatoly Kuzko himself, whose eyes were sooner astray than crossed, when he eye-contacted you with one of them, the other was looking straight into the ceiling.

      For the concluding peak of the concert, Aksyonov, the blonde Head of the Variety Band, and his musicians came to the stage thru the dark of the auditorium. The drums and double bass were already waiting there in the small makeup room behind the stage for their invigorated players, but his saxophone Aksyonov was bringing himself.

      Blonde Jeanne Parasyuk, also, by the way, a graduate from our school, performed a couple of popular hits accompanied by the Variety Band and the concert ended with the all-out applause and eager shouts “encore!”

      The auditorium at those events was filled to the brim, like for a show of some popular two-sequel Indian film. The stage was inundated by the light of lamps sitting along its edge as well as from those above it, and the blinding beams of searchlights from both balconies. In the dark passage along the wall beneath the balcony, the Ballet Studio dancers kept trotting to the Dressing Room of auntie Tanya on the first floor, to change their stage clothes for the following numbers.

      For acting our short performances, Raissa trained us how to appear on stage from behind the scenes and get out without turning your back to the spectators, and how to look into the hall – not at someone in particular but just so, in general, somewhere between the fifth and sixth rows. Although in the crude glare of the searchlights directed into your face from the balconies thru the dark hall, you could hardly make out anyone after the fourth row, and even those in the first one looked fairly blurred…

      So Club became a part of my life and if I didn’t show up home for a long time after school, they didn’t worry – I was dawdling at Club as usual….

      In the dark of winter nights, we got together for hanging out along the streetcar track because our favorite pastime became riding the streetcar “sausage”, so was called the tubular grille hanging under the driver cab. We ambushed a streetcar at the stop, neared from behind and, when it started rolling forward, we jumped onto the “sausage”, grabbing at the small ledge under the windshield of the empty driver cabin. The narrow ledge provided nothing to catch a hold at, and you strained your fingers to the utmost seeking some absent point of vantage in its smooth surface. The streetcar rolled and rumbled, and bumped on the rail joints, the springy “sausage” jumped up and down under your feet – wow! Super!

      The speediest stretch in the track was between Bazaar and School 13. It’s where the streetcars fancied being racing cars and it was there that once my fingers grew too numb and began slipping off the smooth ledge, but Skully shouted, “Hold on!” and pressed them back with his palm, but in a minute Kuba cried, “Kapets!” because his fingers also slipped off, and he jumped from the “sausage” shooting along at full speed. Fortunately, he didn’t ram against the trunk of some huge poplar and he caught up with us jogging from the darkness, while the streetcar waited at the stop for its counterpart coming from the Settlement, so we went on riding without losses…

      The attraction was not exclusively our hobby-horse though but in common ownership of the Settlement guys. At times there collected a whole bunch of “sausage”-riders so that the springy grille began to scrape the railheads. At longer stops, the conductors got off the car in an attempt at driving us away. We fled into the frosty winter night, yet as the streetcar started off the stop, we lighted back onto the grille before the means of public transportation gained full speed…

      ~ ~ ~

      One day the classes for our 7th “B” were canceled because we walked for an excursion to the KahPehVehRrZeh Plant.

      First of all, we visited the Plant Fire Brigade which was not too far from the Main Check-Entrance. Thence we proceeded to the shop floor for filling tall cylinder iron СКАЧАТЬ