“That’s right, Comrade Sum Representative and Teacher. But that was last year. At that time, Comrade, the revolutionary spirit of the arate, of whom I am one, was not as high as it is now. It has since grown tremendously. It says so in the paper. I have heard it read with my own ears, Comrade Darga Sum Representative and Teacher.”

“All right then. I trust you, Comrade Arate. Also, I understand there has been word that you want to join the Party?”

“That’s right, Comrade Darga Sum Representative and Teacher. As surely as I am an uneducated arate, I feel a revolutionary heart glow and beat inside me. And I do not have the slightest doubt that the great wise Father Comrade Marshal Choibalsan and his faithful sons and students, the comrades dargas at the sum, will recognize this honest wish of the simple arate that I am.”

In this way the dialogue between the sum representative and the arate took its course. Then the teacher turned to Father: “Your daughter—.”

Father rushed to accommodate him: “Yes, daughter Torlaa is eight years old, that’s right. And she, too, will attend school on the assigned date.”

“Why don’t you follow your older brother’s example, Comrade?” the delighted teacher turned to Uncle Sama.

Uncle Sama, however, had only a small, unequivocal smile for such a comment. And even Uncle Sargaj, the glowing Party candidate, rewarded Father, his brother-in-law, with a mere smile for his forthright words.

Sobered, the teacher looked at the group and turned again to Father: “So far I’ve only got half of the six children from your ail that are supposed to go to school. If only I had four! Tell me, Uncle, what shall I do? What shall I tell the dargas when I get back?”

“You need one more, don’t you?” Father asked instead of answering him.

“I do. At least one.”

“Then take my boy as well.”

“But, Uncle?!”

“He is only seven. But what’s a year? It doesn’t matter if he goes this year or next.”

Mother, who had already flinched, only now got a chance to call out: “You want to give Galkaan away as well? You can’t do that!”

“You keep quiet!” Father snapped and ordered the Dandisch son: “Write down his name. He is called Galkaan, Galkaan of Schynykbaj.”

Then Father got up and left the yurt. The teacher got up as well.

When he left the ail, he left behind a fight. On the one side stood Father, alone; on the other side, all the ail’s other grownups came together.