Lena and I had a tearful conversation before I set off for Aksai. Upon arrival in the small town, I waited in my old apartment for the landlady to bring my belongings down from the attic. Disappointingly, not all my books were there, and my new jumper was faded and unrecognizable. I later learned from the landlady that they hung the jumper in the sun for three months to protect it from mice, which left it badly damaged.
Back at the Lenin state farm after my trip to Rostov-Don, I told my mother what I learned from Lena. She seemed to avoid the topic and offered no further questions. She did scold the landlady about the ruined jumper and missing books. Feeling lost and unsure about my future schooling, I asked my mother what would happen next. She suggested I ask the girls at the farm.
The next morning, after milking the cows, I rode on a milk truck with a teacher who informed me of a ten-grade school in Mikhailovskoye, 5 miles away. The other option was a 7-grade school on the opposite side of the farm that taught French, while I had already studied German for three years. Determined to attend the school in Mikhailovskoye, I hitchhiked there. The sight of the three-story school filled me with immense joy.
As the cold nights approached, the authorities announced it was time to move the cattle from the summer pasture to the central farm and work in the barns. Unfortunately, there was no housing available. Four families, including mine, were crammed into a single 20-square-meter room. These families were my mother Medvedeva Anastasia and I, another woman Smakatukha with a son, Golubinskaya with a daughter Valia, and Margarita Arkadyevna with her adult son Zhora who suffered from epilepsy.
Initially, we tried to make the best of the situation by socializing with the other girls on the farm who would sing together in the evenings. I shared my Ukrainian folk songs, which they were happy to learn. We would sing together until midnight, forgetting about the terrible living conditions for a while. The adults on the farm were impressed by my singing, calling me their "new singer."
A significant event during this time was the arrival of a new milkmaid named Fidiy Daria Grigorievna at the Aksai state farm while I was visiting Lena. I particularly remembered her middle name because she became a friend to us and reminded me of my own Aunt Daria. We often joked that if her middle name were Alekseevna instead of Grigorievna, I would have considered her my aunt. She became close to us, and during milking time, I would only talk to my mother and Daria.
Life in our small dwelling became even more crowded when Golubinskaya decided to marry the fat shepherd, despite rumors of him stealing milk from the cows. She justified her decision by saying at least she would have a husband, unlike her daughter who would eventually grow up and leave her. With this new addition, there were now nine of us crammed into the tiny room.
One day, I found myself alone in the room with Margarita Arkadyevna, an elderly woman and former teacher. For the past three days, she had been sharing her heartbreaking story. Her life had been peaceful until a young female teacher arrived at the school and attracted her husband away. Margarita initially blamed the other woman but eventually realized her husband was more at fault. She begged him to stay, but he left with his new love. Devastated, Margarita contemplated suicide, but the presence of her son gave her a sliver of hope for her husband's return.
Years passed with no sign of her husband. Twenty-one years later, Margarita became mentally ill, and her son developed epilepsy. She described a recent incident where her son fell ill and began having a seizure. Thankfully, the episode subsided after a few minutes. Just a short while later, her son casually asked her about a book he was reading. The stark contrast between his normalcy and her deteriorating life was evident.
As Margarita recounted her tragic story, a sudden sound startled us. Thinking it was the children returning, I opened the door to find a large, human figure wrapped in a fur coat lying on the floor, reaching for the door with his hand. Horrified, I shouted. A weak, raspy voice rasped, "Margusha, it's me..." Confused, Margarita approached the door and barely recognized the man. She began hitting him repeatedly on the head with her wooden shoe, enraged by his unexpected appearance. I had never witnessed such violence and didn't know how to react.
Exhausted from the assault, Margarita collapsed onto her bed. The commotion alerted the neighbors who called for help
The scene with Margarita and the dead man was intense. I had never witnessed such brutality - the relentless beating, the complete disregard for human life. Frozen in shock, I stammered a plea for Margarita to stop, but she wouldn't listen. Consumed by rage, she continued until her strength gave out.
Margarita collapsed onto the bed, utterly drained. The commotion from her attack attracted the neighbors, who alerted the authorities. The workers arrived and, upon seeing the lice swarming over the dead man's fur coat, decided to dispose of the body immediately by throwing it into the garbage pit.
Lice infestations were a constant battle for us. We'd doused our hair in kerosene and combed it out relentlessly, but this situation was unlike anything I'd ever seen. The lice covered the entire body and the fur coat. Panicked, I ran to tell my mother. Through the window, I saw Margarita rocking back and forth on her bed in a state of shock. Knowing it would be best to leave her alone for now, I took charge of the situation. We had a legitimate fear of the lice spreading, but thankfully, they remained clustered on the body. As a precaution, we scattered fresh wormwood everywhere to deter any strays.
Thankfully, Zhora wasn't home during the ordeal. He was at the club and remained blissfully unaware of the events that transpired. The next morning, we rushed to the pit, but the body was gone. Workers had dug a hole, thrown the body and fur coat in, covered it with garbage and earth, and buried it two meters deep. I begged everyone to keep this from Margarita, wanting her to believe he was buried in a proper cemetery. She fell gravely ill after that horrific incident.
Meanwhile, there was a happier development. Our accountant, Taya, and the shepherd, Borka, were finally getting married. Love was blossoming, and wedding preparations were underway. However, my future remained uncertain. I pressed my mother about finalizing the arrangements for my apartment in Mikhailovka before school started, but she seemed distant and preoccupied. It became increasingly clear that Mom and Aunt Dasha were planning something. Finally, I confronted them, demanding to know what they were hiding. The truth emerged: they had decided to move to Central Asia.