My Own Revolution by Carolyn Marsden Read Free Book Online Page A

takes a piece of paper from the drawer and a pencil from the jar, and begins to write.
    To have a permanent black mark on my record is even worse than copying
The Communist Manifesto.
I could be locked up after all.
    The next day, Tati throws another paper down on the dining-room table. “This one I refuse to process,” he says. “This is my colleague Dr. Albrecht. I absolutely refuse.”
    I stare at the paper. It’s a little crumpled, as if Tati balled it up, then straightened it out. Is Mr. Babicak somehow responsible for this new order? Has he taken his revenge so swiftly? “What will happen to Dr. Albrecht?” I ask.
    “He’s to be put away in a mental institution. No better than prison.”
    “No tractor driving?”
    Tati shakes his head. “He might still open his mouth and say things the party doesn’t want said.”
    “Maybe he’ll see Adam Uherco at that place,” I say.
    Tati presses his lips together.
    Mami glances at the window.
    Last week a man washed those windows, using a rag on a long pole. It could have been Dr. Csider doing the washing. Except he is way up by Prikra.
    Maybe someone has planted a bug. And now somewhere a man is huddled in an office, listening to our conversation. Recording it for proof with a reel-to-reel tape recorder.
    Mami yanks back the curtain. Maybe the window washer was really a high-up party spy. Maybe he planted a microphone. She runs her fingertip along the frame, perhaps checking for wires. She tries to open the window, but it’s corroded shut.
    “What will happen to you, Tati?” I ask, moving closer. “To us?”
    “I hardly care anymore,” Tati says.
    “You have to care about the children,” says Mami gently. She turns on the radio, perhaps to cover up our conversation.
    The broadcaster announces that the Soviet spacecraft Luna 10 is still orbiting the moon. This makes the Soviet Russians very proud. But what is
really
going on — friends turning against one another, people being certified as crazy, school principals terrorizing their students, students fighting back in little, stupid ways — of that the Soviet Russians will tell us nothing.
    Just as the Russians hold back secrets, so do I. Babicak has no proof against me. There’s nothing for me to confess to Tati. And yet I now have that black mark. I should tell Tati to watch his back. I really should.

In botany, Mr. Ninzik stands with his jacket on, gripping the massive tome of
Trees of the Western Slovakian Forests.
“We’re going on a field trip today, boys and girls.”
    Murmurs. No one ever takes us out of here.
    “I’ll be accompanying you and my third-period class to the Bazima Forest. We’re going to identify trees. Please bring notebooks and pencils.”
    I do a quick calculation of Danika’s schedule, and yes, she and I will be in the forest together. Bozek will probably be back at school studying the Peloponnesian War.
    We gather in the hallway in lines, each of us in an assigned spot. When the other kids join us, I wave at Danika and smile. She smiles back — beaming widely. She’s smiling. No turning away from me.
    Maybe, just maybe, she’s already changed her mind. An unforeseen miracle has come to pass. The whole world suddenly feels just right.
    We walk single file down the street, Danika and I separated from each other by eleven students. I count and count again those who separate us. The overhead flutter of the red flags, the yellow-hammer-and-sickle Communist flags, almost makes me happy.
    Entering the forest, Mr. Ninzik waves, signaling that we’re liberated. He sets down the heavy field guide and strolls off with his hands in his pockets. He obviously doesn’t really care if we identify a darn thing. He’s brought us here to get away from school and all the propaganda. We dump our notebooks into a giant pile.
    I make my way to Danika. But I don’t stand too close. Not yet. “Remember how we used to play cowboys and Indians here?” I gesture toward the trees, the spotty