All or Nothing : Take your choice!

      I wonder… When NOTHING did not yet exist, did that which was supposed to grow into SOMETHING, differ from NOTHING? Even if there was a difference, at the most, there were only two things: NOTHING and that which would become SOMETHING. 
Then the SOMETHING, out of excessive fear (or love?), exploded into the NOTHING, our universe came into being, and NOTHING as a concept disappeared. 
People are still looking for NOTHING, but cannot find. True, they are not conducting a proper and thorough search, except those scientists with radio telescopes. Nobody else can think about NOTHING without going completely crazy and melting down. 
Walking my way back from a public rally I start thinking, which is better to be carrying in your pocket: NOTHING or a fig. Perhaps the fig is better because it is more substantial. You might, for example, put it onto a piece of bread. NOTHING doesn't taste good on bread, nor can you put it in your files. 
On the other hand, NOTHING is always there somewhere; it just ducks out now and again when the fig is around. The fig you put in there because you're afraid of NOTHING. And you shouldn't be-fear is bad for the kidneys. 
Why not draw on life experience while thinking of SOMETHING and NOTHING? Sure you can't put that in your pocket. But you carry it on you somewhere, and it turns your thoughts back to the past. It reminds you of the long forgotten past, back before we started singing "I was young, and I hit the road in search of the unknown". Nor did ˛ have any embroidered shirts, back then, but I had a small world, demarcated by the village I lived in, our hut and the brick school.
Teachers worked in the school, and these teachers were respected, more or less, for dumping lumps of knowledge into our empty student heads. True, we often, spit out the knowledge immediately, but perhaps some residue remained stuck in the cracks in our minds. We chewed bread with "smalyets", lard spread, or jam during the Great Break and looked forward to the end of lessons with an irresistible feeling of optimistic accord. 
After lessons ended, the students were set free and the teachers became normal people again. They were just normal human beings with normal human thoughts and worries: Where did the chemistry teacher get her new outfit? What did Hnat Petrovych say to Lusya Timofeevna that made her blush and rush to the director? Is it true that Frantsia Petrivna got beaten up by her husband again?
But there was one teacher, who was above these things. His name was a relic from old times - Yevtykhiy Nikokovych. His surname was a curse, used by upper classmen to frighten the younger students. Kurylenko! He had no nickname. Everyone was afraid of him, even the teachers. Kurylenko! The word alone could spoil the mood of even the brightest apple polisher. He taught us Ukrainian language and literature, and did so with exceeding rigor. It was impossible to escape the knowledge he forced on us, and playing tricks on him was likewise impossible. 
He wore a dark blue high-collared service jacket and breeches. He saved all his light-colored outfits for exceptional cases. O, for any celebrations or special occasions, they were the only time he refrained from grilling us. 
Our feelings at the lessons were like those of concentration camp prisoners summoned in front of the director: If you did not answer, Bang! Then they carried you away and move on. If the next person could answer, they send him back to his place and moved on. I used to be afraid of Kurylenko as well, until I realized that I simply needed to always know the answer to the question. Kurylenko could be in various moods, but never unfair. If a student knew, Kurylenko was his best friend. If he didn't-Bang!
It looked something like this. 
"Students, today we shall review the rule for conjugating consonants. Lisoviy! To the blackboard!"
Sashko Lisoviy, looking like a convict sentenced to 10 years, moved towards the board.
"Who is in charge today? Zakharenko! Why isn't the board wiped properly?" he scarcely paused, "Why do I not hear an answer? Lisoviy, you wipe it, please! Zakharenko, you will answer the question!"
"I just did not manage."
"What didn't you manage?"
"To wipe the board."
"Well. Lisoviy, go and sit down. Zakharenko, come to the board."
Sashko looked like a man shocked to be walking away from the gallows. Zakharaenko looked the opposite.
"Write 'The Cossack went across the Danube.' Write it! What is this you're writing, it looks like chicken scratch!
At this point the chalk started breaking in Zakharaenko's hand.
Don't press too hard! Now make an adjective out of the word 'Cossack,'" another moment's pause, "Well go ahead, make it!" Zakharenko's look was not that of an adjective maker. He simply looked at his nails. The teacher stopped waiting-it was time to share knowledge with others as well. 
"Sit down! You get a two!" To Mr. Kurylenko, there were only two scores: if you know you get a 5, if you don't know, you get a 2. It was ALL or NOTHING.
"Akhrimova, Biliyenko, Bolokhivskiy," he called out quickly in alphabetical order. Anyone who remained silent got a 2. Those who answered needed to be as terse as possible. Bolokhivskiy knew this.
"H-Z-Zh; K-Ts-Ch; Kh-S-Sh," he quickly listed off, before Mr. Kurylenko could move on.
"Sit down. 5." Mr. Kurylenko said. True, the wave of questions would eventually get back to Bolokhivskiy again. It was dangerous to relax. But he was able to sit down. The privilege of sitting down was only for those who knew. All others needed to stand. 
Yavdyky! Mr. Kurylenko's knowledge test was almost over. Three students, all with the same last name, quietly stood up. They do not know. The teacher knew they did not know, but no one was exempt from his testing. 
Theoretically, the students who received 2s still had a chance to answer a further question and get a 5 in the second or third round of questioning. However, chances were slim-realistically those students could look forward to rewriting the rules after lessons were over. As a result there was never any merrymaking and shouting after Ukrainian classes; silence reigned like that after a battle. Those who'd survived unhurt comforted those who'd lost the unequal battle. But that was just one day. The next day they could read and prepare themselves and write down dictation without mistakes. Then there would be no need to worry about not getting a 5 for the quarter. 
When I grew up, I understood the magical meaning of these lessons. The trick was in Mr. Kurylenko's two-score division. It wasn't just simple, it was also fair. He prepared me for grammar and correct speech, but also trained me for life. This was his secret plan, his secret program that he instilled into me. I just did not understand it at the time. Not only did I not understand it, I was unfair to him in my thoughts. Thanks and forgive me, my Teacher. Let these words of thanks reach your spirit in that next world, wherever it is. 
This world is multicolor, ambiguous and diverse. One might hide in the colors, poised somewhere between light and shadow, for quite some time. One might even be able to do so for a whole lifetime. But one might also recall a tough teacher and stop fooling oneself. The choice is clear: white or black, knowledge or darkness, democracy or totalitarianism, ALL or NOTHING! 
The choice is yours!

Vitaliy Kononov