After the football incident, Jerry became friends with the player who had stuck up for him. They began to discus things with each other, including their interests.

"You like to read history?" Jerry's friend asked him after Jerry had told him of that interest.

"I sure do, Steve." Jerry answered him.

"History bores me; I can't keep my eyes on the stuff without falling asleep."

"I like it; It's a great story."

"I like computer science."

"That puts me to sleep. I don't like mathematics much at all."

"What about video games?"

"Games I love, math I hate."

"Well, I don't think much of geography. I do have a report to do, one on a country. Could you help me with it?"

"I guess I could; I do okay at geography. What's the country?"

"I was thinking about Russia."

"Russia ?" Jerry was startled by Steve's choice.

"What's wrong with Russia?"

"I ..... don't like Russia. Their government does not like us. It twists the history books, and the school system has become an assembly line: no room for individual attention or choice."

"What about their pleas for a weapons freeze?"

"They have the most weapons. Anyway, I read about their recent history. Some years ago, when we were just toddlers, there was a movement in Russia of looking at freedom and of real friendliness. In the past few years, however, their government's been getting more unfriendly to us and more restrictive on the country. You can't do a thing without being asked why."

"Hmm ..... Jerry?"

"Yes?"

"That ..... slight accent of yours, is it Russian?"

Jerry was shocked by Steve's question, but managed to come up with an answer, "I'm not Russian; my parents aren't either. It's just a quirk I have. My grandfather jokes my brain picks up Russian radio."

Steven laughed at Jerry's humor. Jerry himself managed to grin.

Life went on for Jerry-Anton. He soon finished grade school and went on to junior high. At age fourteen, his accents were barely noticable, but still there. In America, his life excelled. He was even planning to be a historian as an adult. In Russia, his life was little better. Because of restrictions on freedom getting tighter, it was getting worse in most respects. He had less to enjoy, and his father's alcohol problem received less attention from those who had promised help.

Things were not completely sour in Russia; Anton gained a friend. He was a couple of years older than Anton, but shared many of his interests, including history.

"I remember some of the things of the history books before the censors rearranged them." Anton's friend told him, one day when they had a conversation walking home from school in the city's streets of two story brick buildings. There were few other people out walking. "They weren't criticizing America so much."

"I heard about it, Leon." Anton replied, "the freedoms were greater then. If only the reactionaries hadn't taken over and slowly dragged everything back."

"Only if. Now that that they're in control again, they're putting up all these anti-American stories."

"Trying to make everyone afraid, so the fat old men can justify the hardships they put on everyone else." The two then came to an intersection.

"This is where we go our separate ways."

"Okay, see you later." Anton continued on his way while Leon made a turn. Anton felt happy about Leon; he felt he had found a friend in Russia that he could trust and share his views. Unfortunately, things are not always what they seem, especially in totalitarian societies. Leon pulled a small tape recorder out of his pocket, and rewound it as he approached the place where he was to report.

A few days later, on school grounds near the parking lot, Jerry was having one of his conversations with Steve. "You act like you've been feeling better." Steve commented.

"I do feel better;" Jerry informed, "those nightmares of mine aren't as bad as they used to be."

"I still can't imagine why you would have so many."

"I've thought about that time after time after time. I have found not a hint of what the cause could ....." Jerry stopped talking when he noticed a beer bottle next to a garbage dumpster. It reminded him of his Russian self's father, and his alcoholism.

Could the man's boozing somehow messed up some genes to trigger part of what caused his split identity?

Steven noticed Jerry starring, "What is it?"

"Er ..... nothing. Just a thought. In any case, things are getting bet-" Jerry then lost consciousness.

The next thing Anton knew was that he had been grabbed by two uniformed men and was dragged out of his bed, still in his pajamas. Anton yelled out, demanding to be let go, but the men were unimpressed. They dragged him out of the room, and headed to the front door. Anton saw his parents being dragged out too. His father kept screaming "No! No! We have done nothing!" The men were unheeded. They dragged the three out into the night where three vans were waiting. Anton's captors dragged him to one, shoved him into the back, and closed the door. It was pitch black, and felt like it was all metal. Anton pounded the doors, trying to get out, but to no avail. He just sat down in despair.

The next thing Jerry knew, Steven was shaking him. "About time you got out of it." he spoke. Jerry said nothing; he just sat where he had fallen with a look of horror on his face, "What's wrong?"

"The ..... nightmares," Jerry slowly muttered, "they are back ..... in their ultimate form."

"Want me to take you to the school nurse?" Jerry nodded.

On the school bed, Jerry could do nothing but wait in fear of the Russian authorities' next move. It came suddenly upon him, as his mind reappeared in his Russian body as the two men pulled him out. They dragged him inside a large building; it was a prison. They dragged him through a few halls, then took him to an office. There, an officer ordered him to take off his pajamas and underwear. Anton did fearfully, and the officer looked him over. The officer then handed the other two men a small prison uniform and a key. They dragged Anton, still naked, through several hallways lined with cells before they stopped and opened one. They then threw Anton in, and the uniform after him.

Anton quickly dressed into the scratchy gray uniform, and looked around. It was a small cell with no windows. There was only a crude prison bed and a bedpan inside the room. The door was built thick and solid with a slot in it for meal trays.

"I'd say this was just a bad dream," Anton moaned to himself, "but I never dream." He fell on the bed and cried himself to sleep.

Go to Chapter Three

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