#9 Letter to Dostoevsky

This one's about stupidity and how I first encountered it.

Dear Fyodor,

Long time.?

Missed me?

It's not that I ignored you, but the last four weeks were intense. I know, I know, you'll say that I must not skip writing, reading, and learning. And you're right.?

My usual distractions are my kids and a very demanding neurotic dog.

To work calmly, I built a schedule and reduced my interaction with the world to a minimum. However, the rare but inevitable encountering idiots throws me off balance.

You see, Fyodor, I can't tolerate stupidity. From the very moment I first experienced it.

It happened in kindergarten.

When I was one year and one month old, my parents dropped me off at my grandparents, who lived in a village, and picked me up when I was six. For five years, I enjoyed absolute freedom and love.

But then I had to go back home and "prepare for school," which meant attending kindergarten for a year. As a girl from a "professor's family," I also had to enroll in a musical school. I chose to play piano.

On my first day in kindergarten, a kid approached me while I washed my hands before lunch. "Our nanny is stupid; tell other kids," he whispered.

I didn't.

He ran out of the bathroom and came back with the teacher. Pointing at me, he told her: "She said the nanny is stupid and that I have to tell other children!"

The teacher yelled at me, then the nanny came, and they both yelled at me. Then, they put me in front of everyone in the main room and continued yelling while the other children ate lunch and stared at me.

"There is no lunch for you today! Stand in the corner! You are punished!" yelled the teacher.?

I had no idea what "standing in the corner" meant. My grandparents never punished me.?

Nanny pushed me to a corner of the room where everyone could see me. I had to stand there until the other children finished eating, cleaned the tables, and prepared to sleep.?

At least they finally shut up.

Since I had to stand with my back to everyone, there was nothing else to do other than examine the cracks in the wall and think.

"Wow, what was that? The nanny is stupid indeed. As are the kids and the teacher."

I didn't feel hurt, angry, or upset. I was surprised and curious, like a scientist who discovered a new species—a whole new world of weird creatures.

We looked alike and spoke the same language, but it felt like we came from two different planets. They had values different from mine and lived by laws I couldn't understand and accept. I didn't realize how different I was from everyone else back then.

My plan to remain silent and on my own hasn't worked. I needed to figure out how to avoid getting in trouble. Must I even mention that I still haven't figured it out?

But? back to my childhood.

Sleeping was another torture. After lunch, we had to move the tables to the wall, get cots, pillows, and blankets out of a huge closet, make our beds, and sleep for two hours. I couldn't fall asleep.?I never slept during the day before.

I tried laying with my eyes closed, pretending I was asleep. But the teacher and the nanny, who must have completed courses for Gulag guards, walked between the rows and, listening to each child's breathing, checked if everyone was asleep. They carried a wooden pointer and hit anyone talking or lying with their eyes open.

But the most humiliating punishment was for those caught pretending to sleep, which was me in most cases. When everyone woke up, folded their cots, and went to eat, I had to stay in bed—no food, of course. Imagine laying in your underwear on that stupid cot in the middle of the room

surrounded by tables at which children ate their lunch and stared at you.

It continued until the day our music teacher saved me. It was before a matinee. I was the only child who played piano. I had to play two pieces myself and one with the teacher. She was waiting for me to rehearse.

When I didn't show up, she came to our class and saw me lying on the cot, crying, while all the other kids were eating and staring at me. I cried because no matter how hard I tried to explain to the stupid teacher and nanny that I had to go to rehearsal, they didn't care.?

"You are punished, no food and no piano."

That's when I realized that arguing with a stupid person is useless. I also learned that crying doesn't help convince idiots but irritates them even more.

The teacher of music yelled at my teacher and nanny, helped me dress, and took me with her.

We were alone in a big hall playing the piano together. The other kids went outside. The hall was on the ground floor, and they all gathered in the windows and watched us.?

I was so happy, and not just from playing the piano.

I was glad for the temporary respite from stupidity and injustice.

I imagined that ugly Soviet hall with shabby brown linoleum, an old piano, and sad-looking plants was a kind wizard from a fairy tale. Bewitched by an evil sorceress, he had walls instead of hands.?

I felt like the hall had grown in size, as if the wizard wanted to give me more space and extend the distance between me and the outside world.

?I was playing with my back to the windows. When I finished, I turned my head and saw that the kids were shouting and waving their arms. I could hear nothing. My magic guard made sure no sound disturbed me.

As if noticing that I didn't want to leave, the music teacher began playing more complex pieces for me. I couldn't take my eyes off her beautiful hands and thought she must have been a fairy.?

I remembered the hands of my piano teacher from musical school—bony, yellow, with visible blue veins. I shuddered, remembering how cold they were, and thought she must have been an evil witch.

I was so bored at that kindergarten. I missed my books. Other kids were still learning to read, while I joined a public library at the age of 4.5 after reading all children's books from home.

We had to go outside and play in the yard twice a day. I didn't want to attract unnecessary attention and get in trouble, so I avoided playing with others and running. Instead, I pretended to examine the trees, flowers, or snow, depending on the season. It didn't always work; sometimes, the teacher would yell at me to play with the children.

I remember approaching a group of kids playing in the sand.

"Do you have a handkerchief?" asked a girl.

"I do," I replied, taking out of my pocket a snow-white handkerchief with embroidered?edges.

"Give it to me. I'll show you something."

She laid my handkerchief on the ground, straightened the edges, and put wet sand in the middle.

Moving quickly and confidently, she gathered the corners, squeezed them, and started twisting the handkerchief, compressing the sand. Then, she began banging the side of the sandbox with it, continuing to twist and compact the sand.

Finally, she finished, put the handkerchief with sand in front of me, and unfolded the ends.

"Look! It's pasochka! Isn't it beautiful?" her eyes shone with happiness and pride.

At this stage, I was so shocked that I couldn't move or say anything. The handkerchief?was dirty and had holes, and the compacted sand didn't look beautiful. Clearly, we understood beauty differently.

"What a stupid game. She destroyed my handkerchief. My parents will kill me," I thought but said nothing.

That day, I realized that?in order to?survive, I needed to maximize the distance between me and people like those children, teachers, and nannies.

Music, books, love, wise people, guardian angels, wizards, fairies, and belief in miracles helped me.

Yes, Fedya, I am still that girl who believes in wizards and miracles. I try my best to protect this belief and keep having fun.

Every encounter with some Shvonder or Sharikov pisses me off so much that it hurts. I then need time to recover and calm down.

Ok, Fedya, I must walk my dog now, but I promise not to disappear.

PS: Shvonder and Sharikov are characters in The Heart of a Dog.

PSSSSSS: The Heart of a Dog is a book by Bulgakov.

PSSSSSSSSSSS: Yes, it's me in the photo. I was 6, I think, and the photo was taken in that kindergarten.

PSSSSSSSSSSSSSS: And yes, I still have the same facial expression and frown, looking at the world with curiosity?and slight disdain.