I had decided to recreate the discussions of my childhood so that my American readers would be able to get some valuable input into the way other cultures pursue theirs.

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Introduction

'To Kill a Mockingbird’ was translated into Russian and published in a very good edition (a hardcover with an introduction and the author’s bio) somewhere in 1968. Not that Harper Lee received any royalties. I read it in 1970 when I was 14 years old. That puts me a year older than Jem Finch in the book. As far as I know the book was not popular among the teenagers but I did notice a special interest among adults. That was the reason I decided to read it at that time and it triggered the events that followed. The dialogs and encounters I site in my essay are real; they really took place, although not always with me personally. But they happened. Since I had arrived into the US, my son went through the US school system and there they read and digested that book. To my utmost surprise the specific aspects of that book, the ones that drew the most attention in Russia here were not even mentioned. I thus had decided to recreate those discussions of my childhood so that my American readers would be able to get some valuable input into the way other cultures pursue theirs.

On a specific issue: I will use the word Negro in the essay. That was and is the word Russians use to describe black people, not only Americans. The word does not contain any negative connotation in the Russian language. On the contrary, the ‘black’ adjective has a very strong negative connotation and as such is used in Russian culture as an insult. It is thus understandable that I wanted to show that when referring to the black folks we in Russia did not mean to insult them in any way.

1. To kill what? The book on the shelf

No teenage boy in Russia would pass the book with ‘To kill’ on the cover. I perused the book looking for illustrations. There were none. It was a thick book though. I looked at the cover again and asked my dad,

-What’s Peresmeshnick (Mockingbird- MS)?

-It is a translation,- my dad said, “In Russia we do not have those birds.”

-We have soroka, I said.

_ Yes, and I heard it is a sin to kill it although it is very noisy, nosy and is the first to warn all the forest about the hunters approaching.

-Is this book about hunting?

-Hunting, indeed, - my dad said, “Something similar to Mark Twain’s. Only modern, 1930s or so. The author is a woman. Like the one who wrote The Gadfly.”

-Boring,- I said.

Women- authors were the automatic turnoff. No self-respecting boy of my age would consider reading a book written by a woman. That was because most of the books for the little kids were written by women and we all went through the sea of nursery rhymes where banner was rhymed with amber and granddad Lenin was the savior of all children on Earth.

The Gadfly, written by Ethel Lilian Voinich, somewhere in 1900s was a different story. That book was immensely popular, an eternal bestseller. There were also at least two movies. Children played in those characters. It was a tough argument but again, no teenager would admit at first that he was interested. Not a chance. Boring.

2. Kolya, the boy wizard

We were sitting with Kolya on the stone wall, eating ice-cream and watching cars.

-Hey, man, ever read any book about America?- I asked.

-Jack London’s sure. Swell dude. Malamute Kidd, Rivera, the Mexican. Hey, also that funny guy, O’Henry. They made a terrific movie recently. That ‘Indian Chief’ was just unbelievable.

-Any women- authors besides The Gadfly?

-Women? Nope. Wait, wait, that theater here recently staged some play by an American woman. Didn’t you see the posters? Something called ‘Little Foxes’. Boring stuff.

-I’ve got a book here, a new one, written by some woman. Seems to be about killing birds or something. Do you think I should try it?

-Those westerners, they sometimes have strange headings. How do you say it is called?

-Ubit Peresmeshnika (To kill a Mockingbird- MS).

-That could be some nickname of a gangster. Boss Mockingbird. You know, give me the book and wait for me. I will go and ask our school librarian. Don’t go with me- she becomes suspicious when we come together. Thinks we are on for some trick.

Kolya returned in about 0.5 –hour with a puzzled face.

-Dude, she says it is about Negroes. Kind off like Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Vopli i sopli ( Lots of noises and tears- MS). But she also said something I didn’t comprehend. She said it was not for me to read.

-What’s that supposed to mean?

-Don’t know. I can read anything. Recently I read a steamy book ‘A man and a woman’. Ever watched a movie?

-That’s French, right? This book is about USA.

-OK, you try it then and tell me if it’s worth it.

3. Screening in the Red Corner

The school was empty late in the evening and the Red Corner was the coziest place. All those photos of Lenin and other big comrades were protecting us. They seemed curious too, squinting at the book we put on the desk. We read it. It was the time to share.

-Ponyatno ( I see- MS) – said Kolya, “It is a social book. Our folks here only translate the books which describe the tough life in the capitalistic society. Negroes are oppressed in America, right? In this book that Negro Robinson was accused of something I do not fully comprehend and found guilty. I also do not understand why that guy Ewell attacked the kids after that. And what is with that Boo? Strange book.”

-Alabama, where is it?

-I’ve got a map. Here, it is, down South, close to Florida.

-South, huh? Remember in that movie ‘The Circus’ that white woman had a child from a Negro and she had to flee because of all those Southerners. She had to flee up to here. --When was it?

-In the 30s, before the war. Guess what, you’re right- this book is also about that time. Remember how they talked about Hitler and stuff. Funny, for them Hitler was something so far away.

We looked around. The Red Corner was full of war photos, memorabilia of our grandfathers, their uniforms, group photos on the tanks, in the German cities, etc. Hitler, yes, we knew about him.

- OK, let’s go home. Too bad we have no Negroes here to ask about this book.

-My cousin Tanka, she knows some of them. Those are foreign exchange students, We can ask her to bring one. It will cost us a box of chocolates.

4. The Negro

The man was very tall. He towered over petite Tanka like a giant from the fairy-tales. And he knew Russian. His name was William and he was from South Africa.

-You said you needed a guy from the South,- said Tanka,”Where are my chocolates?”

-Here, choke on them!. What’s the use if he is not from the US?

-I know this book,-William said. He took it from me and started turning pages slowly, deliberately. I noticed that he had remarkable hands: slim, long- fingered, like those hands we were shown in the museum of arts.

-I know this book, he said again, “It’s a book of Death.”

-What Death. That Ewell dude?

- And Tom Robinson, and Mrs. Dubose, and love and justice and that dog. They all died. And one man became a murderer.

William sat on the bench. He looked now like one of those odd sculptures we had in the parks- a man made of black metal sitting on the bench.

-Alabama, the Beautiful,- he said, ”Yes, that’s how it was. A black man would feel sorry for a white girl, they kiss, she then gets scared, accuses him of iznasilovanie ( rape- MS) and the whole Hell breaks loose. Here, in this country girls like us.”

He smiled at Tanka. It was a good smile. She blushed.

William carefully closed the book and put it on the bench,

-You do not have to read that,- he said, “Here you have such books of your own. The books full of Death.”

-Never heard of those,-Tanka said.

-I read one,- I said. “It was about Chapaev, that Civil War hero.”

-What about him? He was funny.

-In the movie he was funny, In the book though they tell what happened when the enemy counterattacked and captured some small towns. If they had read those pages during the class we would have comas. It was Death, real one. The one that stinks.

William hugged all of us.

-Let it go,- he said, “This is not for you.”

-Iznasilovanie,- I said, “What is that?”

Tanka suddenly became angry, “Leave him alone, you two. Poshli ( Come-MS), William. We had enough.”

5. Sherlock

Sherlock was a skinny geek with inquisitive eyes and outstanding memory of a chess player. The book took him a day.

-I read it at night under the blanket with a flashlight.- he said, “Some things are obvious: those white folks in that poseolok (little town- MS) tried a black man on the accusation of isnasilovanie. That girl said he had his way with her. The attorney was defending the Negro but it was all fixed from the start. She was 19 years old and presumably tzelka (slang for the virgin girl- MS)..

-Who?

- A virgin, you, moron. Isnasilovanie is a sexual attack on a woman who does not want it. If she happens to be tzelka such encounter can lead to injuries. The court doctor would very easily find out if that really happened. But that sheriff whoever, that court- they never examined her. Surely that Ewell guy never asked for a doctor either.

-How do you know those things about the girls?

- My uncle is in the militia and he brags a lot. Such things are called ‘routine‘ (date rape- MS). That is some guy likes a girl, she goes out with him, he gets all excited but she for some reason is not in the mood. He gets drunk or so and ... he gets 3 years in jail.

Now, if she was not tzelka… then it is very much another story.

-Elaborate, genius.

-You, clueless. Many girls in our school have sex with seniors, college students and even total strangers. Now, if such girl complains unless it was a group attack it would be tough for her to prove anything. These girls, they prefer to keep it cool. Nobody wants to be dragged out into the open. Now, that chuvicha (girl- MS) in the book was so morose that she most likely would not notice the moment she lost her virginity, unless…

Sherlock stopped. He grabbed the book and started to turn pages frantically, found something, read through, then read again. Then he gasped.

-Her father had sex with her,- he said, “Fucking bastard. That’s what it was all about from the start; they all knew that, the whole town knew that. That Ewell bastard, he thought it was his chance to get off. If that guy Robinson was convicted he would become some kind of a hero. Only he miscalculatedl they surely convicted a Negro but he got nothing but notoriety. That’s what drove him crazy and he attacked the kids. Boo killed him. Freaky people.

- The father...-I said.

-Yep. Here it is tougher to do- too many people around; such freak would not be able to do this for long. But I heard that in some villages…

6. The old man

It was a sunny day and I was sitting on a bench. The book laid beside me. An old man sat down near me and looked at the cover. Then he looked at me. We knew each other only this time his expression was different.

-We did the same things here, you know,- he said.

-What things?

-This is Ubit Peresmeshnika, right? The sentimental story about some Negro accused of attacking a white girl…

-Iznasilovanie,- I said.

-Know the words, huh? I bet in that introduction to the book they do not say we did such things here?

-We did?

-Yep. How about accusing the 65- years’ old medical professor of attacking his female patients. He got 25 years of hard labor. Died there, surely. At least that Negro in the book had a lawyer. Here the lawyers actually helped the prosecution.

The old man became very angry. His voice trembled and he wiped the sweat off his face.

-Americans, they can publish such books and learn from them. Here we pretend that never happened. They do not teach such things at your school, do they?

-Never heard of that.

He made a sweeping gesture.

-Forget about it, kid. Sorry for my outburst. You be happy.

He left and took the sunshine with him.

7. Sobbing in front of the mirror

Something wasn’t right. The book did not go back to the shelf. I carried it in my school sack for a while. Then I lost it and found it again. It followed me. Something was still in the open.

I took the book and went to the school librarian.

-Why did you say to Kolya that book was not for him?-I asked.

The elderly woman took the book turned some pages, then said,

-That is because it was not for him.

-For whom then?

-School day is over. Come with me to the office. Want some tea?

In the office she poured me tea and started rummaging in the desk. She produced out our school yearbook.

-Here,- she said. “Look at yourself. You are smiling on that photo. A happy boy.”

-So?

-Look in the mirror.

I looked. A thin-lipped, gloomy young man was there. He was very preoccupied. Nothing happy about him. And then- I did not know how it happened but I started to sob. I could not stop. I sobbed and sobbed until she sat me back into the chair and forced me to drink more tea.

-That’s how it ends,- she said, “Childhood, I mean. Now you are a young man. Now you know about death, about horrible injustices, about gory mysteries, perversion and deep misery. But despite that all you did not throw that book away, right?

-I just couldn’t..

-It was your time then. Kolya can still stay in the childhood for a while. But for you it is welcome to the school.

-What school?

-The real school, the school of life. The one where people are real, life is real and books are truthful. They do not have to be about America. Here’s the one for you.

She produced an old book. It said ‘The School’ by Arkadi Gaidar.

-I know him,-I said, “He is the children’s author; writes heroic books for kids.”

-Open it. Read from any page. It is a biography.

I opened a book in the middle and read, “He laid on the ground with his fists still clenched. I was fifteen. That was the first man I killed.” I closed the book.

-Thank you,- I said.

-See you soon.

On the way back it seemed to me that the lighted street was full of shadows. Right before I turned around the corner from which I could see our apartment building a big soroka sat on a branch near me. She shook her tail and croaked.

-Don’t you worry,- I said.

Authors Bio:

The writer is a retired engineer