Mikey dressed, too, and we came down in a group to the living room where Gribatchov was having an argument with our American colleagues. The topic was familiar, I should even say a classical one—the freedom of the press. In the heat of the dispute the NR publisher proposed to Gribatchov an exchange of articles on important international topics under reciprocal terms—once a week the editor of The New Republic would 78 publish an article in the Literary Gazette presenting the American viewpoint on some specific problem and once a week a representative of the Literary Gazette would give the Soviet point of view in an article in The New Republic. Apparently this idea seemed very attractive to our American colleague, and he was attacking Gribatchov with quite a lot of energy.
I did not have a chance to hear the argument to its end. The fair-haired David, with whom I had become quite friendly, dragged me away to the next room. We conversed in the manner of cavemen, using dramatic gesticulations and incoherent sounds, and yet we somehow managed to understand each other. David even managed to convey that he had built that radio himself, and that he likes to listen to Russian music. In proof of this he even sang, with boyish diligence and with a broken juvenile “basso,” a melody taken out of Swan Lake. However, he rendered it with a foxtrot rhythm.
I really liked that lively American youngster with his tall build, his curly fair hair, his rooster-like voice and his absent-minded disposition which strongly reminded me of my eldest son.
David showed me his favorite books, and then he suddenly produced a peculiar-looking magazine printed with a multigraph. He prodded his chest in a self-satisfied manner to demonstrate to me that this was his own magazine. He showed me a caricature drawing with his finger and then pointed his finger at Mikey, thus making clear that his brother was the artist.
Then the children ran back to the living room and came back dragging their father with them and M. M. Lopuchin, whom they had literally abducted out of an interesting conversation with the ladies. It was then that I came to hear the story of the magazine, which bore the romantic name The Green Spring-Menemsha Gazette.
Michael senior, the children’s father, evidently liked their undertaking. He sat down on the carpet next to us and as he was turning the pages of the magazine, he told us that out of a wish to imitate their father, the children had decided to start a publication. They wrote articles and other items, prepared illustrations and caricatures and arranged the whole material inside a copybook. They kept quiet so long that their parents wondered what their rowdy boys were doing. The parents went upstairs and found the boys busy over a heap of papers; the Gazette was already being “paged up.”
David, the editor of the publication, knew from his father’s experience that every printed organ must have readers. The children begged their father to give them a typewriter and when they got it, began to type patiently, with one finger, one page after the other, learning the art of typing in the process of their work.
Seeing that the children’s interest did not abate, the father gave them a present—a cheap toy “Shapirograph”—to print their magazine. Having secured production equipment, the editorial staff began to work with renewed energy. David, who up to that time was sharing his interest among many pursuits, forsook his former preferences. Even the little green parakeets, whom he loved dearly, were left without food quite often and sadly chattered in their cage. David had the jobs of editor, author of articles and typographer. The sturdy Mikey was the publisher, artist and supplier of funny stories. A neighbor’s little girl, Xandra Babel, was responsible for the news and special events—indispensable departments of every American editorial unit worthy of this name.
At any rate, no matter how, the magazine eventually appeared. It was even printed in 75 copies, diligently bound and, the following year when the family left for the beach during the hot season, to the mother’s great dismay, the whole issue and even the typographic equipment consisting of the typewriter and the multigraph as well as the paper stocks were taken along.