ON ICECREAM AND YEPTON, THE GOD OF WINTER
In 1944, the air began to smell of Victory. Vague hopes for better times appeared, yet hopes nevertheless. Even at our orphanage! In autumn, at one of the night amnesties, it was decided to celebrate the New Year of 1945 with ice cream. Yes, ice cream, made by pooling the resources of all the pipsqueaks in our ward. None of us really knew for certain what ice cream was. The elder pipsqueaks vaguely recalled that it was milky, cold, sweet and filling, and if it was filling, then it had to have bread in it. From the beginning of winter, we decided to gather the ingredients that made up our dream. From three holidays – the November holidays, the Day of Stalin’s Constitution and his birthday – we accumulated a supply of sugar. It was easier for us to
