When I was 6 years old, I was taken to the entrance exams (or as they are called there) to school. It was at the end of the school year. The interview itself I passed successfully, but when we (I, my mom and the student who examined me) came out of the office, a bell sounded.

The bell itself hanged right near the cabinet and was apparently either one of the descendants of the Tsar-Call or a sign of civil defense. That is how I remembered him.

I felt like a grenade had exploded right above my head, and I did what any man in my place would have done – I sat down and covered my head with my hands. I’d even lie down if I didn’t have a clean shirt. And I knew that the punishment for a dirty shirt was much worse than the explosion of a grenade.

Looking at my reaction, she said that I was too early to go to school, because I am so crazy about the phone call.

I went to school next year, but in another year. I went to this school a year later, in third grade. And all the remaining school years, when I saw people, regardless of age, crackling from that call like I once did, I felt like I was fooled somewhere.