Revolution Baby by Alison Anderson, Joanna Gruda Page A

that.
    â€œSo, my Julot, what do you think?”
    â€œYeah, well, there’s nothing very new in it, however . . . ”
    â€œMaybe not, but I think it shows very clearly why we are bound to win and why the bourgeoisie is doomed to perish.”
    â€œIndeed, it does show that . . . ”
    While we were talking, the orphanage gradually began to stir. First we could hear the sounds of dishes clattering in the refectory, and then a crescendo of children’s voices: they were clearly very excited by the thought of the great day we were about to experience. Philippe paid no more attention to me and went back to his reading.
    Â 
    At breakfast Albert came in and whispered something in the director’s ear. Henri took his handkerchief, quickly wiped the corners of his mouth (I was always impressed to see how he concentrated when performing this useless act, given that he was hardly the type to make a mess while eating), whispered something in Arnold’s ear in return, then stood up and left the refectory. Arnold swallowed his coffee in one gulp and got up in turn.
    â€œArnold, have the Soviet comrades arrived?”
    â€œYes, Jules, I’m going to meet them. Since I speak some Russian, Henri wants me to be with him during the visit.”
    â€œAre we going to be able to talk to them?” asked Philippe, his cheeks flushed and his eyes shining.
    I started laughing hysterically to see Philippe looking so colorful.
    â€œHey, why are you laughing like that, you idiot?”
    â€œWhoa, calm down! I have to get there right away, but I promise to pass on your request to Henri. Would anyone else like to talk with them?”
    Five or six children raised their hands, including Roger and me, of course.
    â€œI’m glad that you’re so interested. I can’t guarantee anything, I don’t know how long they intend to stay, but I’ll see what I can do.”
    Â 
    After Arnold left, everyone got even more excited. We were all speaking at the same time, and throwing things across the refectory at each other.
    â€œHey, Robinet, do you think the Soviets have water faucets?”
    â€œI bet you can’t even find the Soviet Union on a map. If you had to lead us there for a meeting with the comrades, we’d all die of shame before getting close!”
    â€œDid you see what a bright red color Philippe’s ears were? It was to impress the Communists!”
    Philippe didn’t answer, he just took on his air of an adult who is disappointed by a child’s puerile behavior, and got up to take his plate to the basin full of dirty dishes. I decided to follow him; I didn’t feel like goofing off with the others and giving L’Avenir Social a bad image.
    After leaving the refectory Philippe headed toward the director’s office. I acted as if it was perfectly natural for me to trail along behind him. The door to the director’s office was closed, and we couldn’t hear any voices. Philippe and I looked at each other, hesitating. “Maybe they’re outside?” I said very quietly, in hopes I’d be forgiven for my incongruous hysterical laughter earlier. Philippe didn’t answer, but headed toward the door leading to the garden. We went outside. Henri and Arnold were there, with four strange men, and they were showing them Gros Pierre’s garden (and my little plot at the same time). These gentlemen were . . . how to put it . . . very disappointing. Maybe I was naïve, but I thought they would be wearing their shirts open at the collar, like the revolutionaries in Russian films. No, they were wearing suits and ties. And while Arnold was waving his arms, showing them things left and right, all they did was nod their heads from time to time, halfheartedly.
    Philippe and I, and then Roger and his brother Pierre, who came to join us, followed them around during their entire visit, to be sure to be the first to speak to them if the