[Note: This is prose narrative, not poetry. Here is the translation:]
In 1952, a remarkable story happened to me that I still remember with great warmth in my heart. As is known, after World War II, two such impressive superpowers as the United States and the Soviet Union began an arms race, which by the early 60s smoothly evolved into the Cold War, filled with propaganda and cultivating anxiety in people's hearts. This deeply affected me during my school years, as it was then that Edgar Hoover and Joseph McCarthy began their anti-communist policies, which provoked pressure on Russians from Americans.
At that time, schools even introduced special safety drills for military attacks from communists – we were trained to hide under desks at the alarm. These actions turned many school students, especially boys, against me and my German friend. However, the girls did not take the provocations seriously and, thanks to my talent as an artist and my love for portrait painting, by which the school beauties of that time already had paintings with their images, maintained friendly relations with me.
Once, when I was in 8th grade, at the end of 1952, I was walking home from school, lost in thought, when suddenly a bully named Jim called out to me with several other boys. I immediately understood that they had waylaid me on purpose, and as soon as I stopped, a pack of boys pushed Jim toward me to hit me. But miscalculating his punch, he missed and fell, and these boys immediately shouted about me, "He's Russian, he knows karate!" This situation greatly angered them, and I understood that I had no chance against them, for there were many of them, and I couldn't fight, nor could I match them in strength – I had been short since childhood and was absolutely not accustomed to settling things with fists. However, the situation was resolved when two of my girlfriends, beautiful Mexican girls whose portraits I had recently painted, came around the corner toward us. Surprised by their inappropriate behavior toward me, the girls approached these boys and told them that if they continued to bully their friend Mike, they would have to answer to the girls' brothers. The boys immediately retreated and never bullied me again, and the friendly feeling toward these Mexican girls I carried in my heart through my whole life – despite the fact that after school we scattered to different cities, and I never saw them again.
