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civilian dress. They seem to be particularly shabby in the midst of the crispness and shine of the army uniforms. At first I don’t see any children, but then Yuri lifts me onto his knees and I notice a few.
    I don’t know what to expect but I feel very excited. It seems to me that everyone around me shares my mood. The lights dim, we are sitting in darkness, but below us the wooden platform is strongly illuminated. Something is going to happen there, I realize, and I keep my eyes fixed on the spot of light so as not to miss anything.
    At last a man appears in the light. He welcomes us to the army show and tells of the marvellous entertainment that will follow. I become so excited that I can hardly sit still. There will be singers and dancers, he tells us, who have come all the way from Moscow just to entertain us. Some soldiers from the camp will also perform a special act created for this evening. The clapping and cheering become very loud. Then at a sign from the man, everyone becomes silent. The show begins.
    There are no sets, no props, no costumes. The performers, like most of the audience, are dressed in uniforms. Yet I know immediately that what is happening on the platform has no relation to anything I have ever seen. Such is the power of the mood created by the performers that I feel myself carried away from my everyday self. I forget that it ever existed. I’m part of the beauty and magic that is being created before me. It seems to me that the people who are on the stage making this happen must be the happiest people in the world.
    Suddenly I realize that everyone around me is laughing. The singers and dancers have left the stage. In their place there is a man dressed in a suit much too large for him. His shoes are so long he keeps tripping over them. His clothes seem borrowed from a fat giant. He is joined by two women wearing dresses that touch the floor, so long that their feet become entangled in the folds. The three of them seem to be imitating the dancers who preceded them, but they only succeed in tripping each other and stumbling into each other’s arms.
    I ask my mother why everyone is laughing. “It is because of the clothes,” my mother answers. I have never seen such clothes. “They came from America,” my mother tells me, “in CARE packages.” But they are either so inappropriate or so outsized that they have become a popular symbol of post-war humour.
    I still don’t understand what is causing the laughter I hear, but everyone around me recognizes the skit. It seems to me that the audience is laughing at the actors and I find this laughter cruel. The people in the circle of light are part of the evening’s magic—sacred creatures to be revered and not laughed at.
    It soon becomes obvious to me that the actors themselves are contributing to this sacrilege. They have become awkward creatures trapped in their hazardous clothes. They stumble, trip, and fall over one another. The costumes are trampled, ripped and soon in shreds. At the end, the actors are dressed only in ludicrous rags. I feel sad. It all seems such a terrible waste. Why didn’t anyone stop them, I wonder.
    The show is over and I’m very sleepy. On the way home I fall asleep. But when I’m put to bed I wake up again. I remember what troubled me. I cannot let my mother leave the room unless she explains it to me. Most important, I must find out if the clothes have been ruined forever.
    â€œSilly girl.” My mother laughs. “What a thing to worry about.”
    But I do. In the world of scarcity that I know, the destruction I have just witnessed seems to me tragic. Surely the actors must feel as sad as I do now. My mother laughs at my sorrow, but when she sees that I will not sleep she tries to reassure me.
    â€œCome now, there’s no need for you to be sad. They were only pretending to tear their clothes. The way you pretend in your games. The actors tear at loose