Revolution Baby by Alison Anderson, Joanna Gruda Read Free Book Online

whose parents were in prison for political reasons, and the children of communist militants from a number of countries. The AS was run by the CGT, the Communist trade union. The philosophy of the place was founded above all on respect for the children, who were allowed to express themselves freely, and who were being taught to think for themselves. But I would only find all that out much later on.
    The first striking moment of my stay at L’Avenir Social was my meeting with Arnold, one of the instructors, whose principal qualities, or at least those I noticed right from the start, were that he was of Polish origin and could speak my language. He was a tall, slightly stooped fellow with a piercing but gentle gaze, a long face, chestnut hair in a crew cut and—a characteristic that fascinated all the children—three fingers, two fused together, on his left hand. He had a natural joy about him, and took everything with a sense of humor. He was the favorite instructor of most of the children, and this earned him the nickname “My Pal.” Thanks to him, if I had something important to say, it was possible to do so. I had my own personal interpreter. I could chat with him, listen to his stories, and ask him questions. I was waiting to get to know him better, all the same, before deciding whether I could trust him enough to tell him about my abduction. He was also the only person there who called me Julek, the diminutive of Julian in Polish—to everyone else, my name was Jules Kryda—and I took comfort in hearing my old name from time to time.
    One piece of good news: there were some French children who actually were fun. I’d just been unlucky on my visit to the Eiffel Tower. Some of them even had a repertory of nasty faces every bit as good as my own. With the other “orphans” communication was not a problem: they spoke to me in French and I answered in Polish. We probably lost a certain amount of subtlety, but it was enough to be able to play dodgeball or cops and robbers.
    Only a few days after my arrival, there was an unpleasant incident. We were standing in a line outside the refectory, waiting for the doors to open for the midday meal. Behind me, I heard a very shrill and stupid laugh. I turned around, and saw a skinny little boy with a turned up nose and ears that stuck out. He was looking at me, still laughing. He seemed to be making fun of me. I immediately disliked his stuffed owl manner. Obeying only my pride, I jumped on him, and with all my strength, fists clenched tight, I hit his little freckled nose. After his initial surprise he grabbed me by the neck and tried to strangle me. I couldn’t see anymore, couldn’t hear, I was biting and kicking in every direction. It took two adults to pull us apart and end the scuffle. I had trouble getting my breath back, and I saw that my hands were bleeding. My opponent was sitting on the floor, his head thrown back, and a woman was holding a handkerchief firmly over his nose. Well, his little turned up nose wasn’t so solid after all, I thought, wiping my hands.
    As a punishment, I had to spend the entire meal standing in a corner of the refectory with my back to everyone. The owl got off scot-free. All through my punishment I was fuming. I could understand that what I’d done might warrant a sanction, but I found it hard to accept the fact that the kid who’d made fun of me and almost strangled me had gotten off so lightly.
    After the meal I was released from my humiliating position. I left the refectory, not looking at anyone, and went to sit on my bed. I was disheartened: I still didn’t know whether I’d manage to get back to Poland, and I thought my stay here had gotten off to a very bad start. That afternoon, I realized that the other children were smiling at me more often than usual, and now and again they gave me a wink or a pat on the back. It was always discreet, when there were no adults around. I began