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P I was startled by thunderous banging on the door. Father jumped out of bed, hurriedly turned on the light, and rushed into the hallway. Mother also got out of bed. “It’s three o’clock, who could that be?” she said haltingly, and there was fear in her voice. There were heavy footsteps in the hallway. Father came into the room, ashen and shaking. Three NKVD men followed him, pistols in hand. “They came to arrest me . . .” Father’s voice was quivering and scratchy. “There must be some mistake . . .” Seeing that only Mother, I, and the baby were in the room with Father, the men put the guns into their holsters. Mother, wearing only her nightgown, sat down, or rather fell on the bed, staring at them with wide-open eyes and biting her knuckles, as if trying to suppress a scream. I sat on my bed with my nightshirt pulled over my knees and looked from one man to another. The one in charge was big, swarthy, with heavy cheeks and bushy eyebrows. I knew his name was Dziuba, because his son was in my school. I did not know the names of the other two. “You search the kitchen,” Dziuba, who came in behind Father, ordered the second man, who appeared to be older. “And you search the other room,” he told the third one, who was young, thin, and blond and, unlike the other two, did not appear to be angry. “If you would tell me what you are looking for,” said Father, his voice trembling, “I may be able to help you . . . ” He seemed to be at a loss as to what to do. “Get dressed!” barked Comrade Dziuba as he searched in the wardrobe, pushing aside Mother’s dresses and going through drawers. When he came to my erector set on the table he stopped and regarded it with suspicion. I  watched him closely. Then he frowned and pointed a chubby finger at the spring motor. “What is this?” he asked in a strident voice. “It is an erector set,” I said. “It is a toy.” I remember actually smiling at his ignorance. He noticed my smile and for a moment stared at me with suspicion, as if expecting the erector-set motor to blow up in his hand. Mother began moving around slowly, as if in a dream, gathering some of Father’s clothing into a small suitcase. Then, all of a sudden, she collapsed to the floor. I froze with fear. Father was in the other room getting dressed. Comrade Dziuba looked startled and only the young NKVD man rushed into the kitchen and brought Mother a glass of water. She came to, and the young man and Father helped her to get up and guided her to a chair. Father closed the suitcase and sat next to Mother, holding her hand and repeating that it was all a mistake and he would be back as soon as things were sorted out. After what seemed like an hour of searching and not finding anything suspicious, Comrade Dziuba shouted: “Let’s go!” Father shook his head as if waking up to what was happening. “Please, let me collect my immigration papers, I completely forgot about them . . .” “Never mind!” angrily barked Comrade Dziuba. “Where you are going you will not need any papers!” Afterwards we often thought about the meaning of his words.  A R  B ...

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