by Shlomo Kalo
So, I was proficient in the Russian language and all that was left for me now was to extricate myself from the camp in order to bring my plan to fruition – to enjoy the masterpieces of the great Russian writers in their original form.
A WORK OF ART
Among the prisoners there were many artists – poets, novelists, sculptors, composers, singers, actors and others. They themselves could not say what they had been charged with, but they were confident that through their incarceration they were contributing to the revolutionary effort and bolstering the power of the progressive regime, and all the people, when the time was right, would appreciate them and erect statues in their honor, with honorific and poetic inscriptions celebrating their heroism and the valiant part that they had played in the victory of the sublime notion of the great Georgian.
To pass the time and in particular, to suppress irksome thought and imagination – utterly enslaved as these were to a single idée fixe, embodied in the living picture of a fresh and fragrant loaf of bread, or not so fresh and fragrant but just as alluring and tormenting – the poets and novelists would compose short playlets which the actors performed for us, while the painters gave their attention to the scenery and sets, and designers introduced variations of their own to the standard prison garb, and the decaying planks of the floor were piled up to create something resembling a stage. Not a few of the prisoners were from the upper echelons of socialist society – formerly high ranking army officers, including generals, and Party chairmen in important locations. All of these were flung into the tents in their full formal regalia, including medals, parade uniforms and shiny boots. Such costumes were often used to enliven the prison camp dramas.
With the approach of spring, one of the former generals, who, as it turned out, was one of the closest confidants of the "Father of the Nation", revealed that at this time the universal patriarch was in the habit of disappearing for about a month from his place in the Kremlin, heading for one of his secret haunts where he would indulge in his favorite form of recreation. Needless to say, the "People" were entirely unaware of this; as far as they were concerned it was business as usual, and in the Kremlin, Moustache Man was taking care of their interests, "as one cares for a beloved woman" as the poet expressed it.
In the wake of this story an idea occurred to me, which one of our greatest actors described as "pure unadulterated lunacy". To me the plan seemed quite logical and absolutely sane, compared with our lives in the camp, our activities there and the rules we were expected to conform to. Anyway, since I am endowed with unrivalled powers of persuasion, that very night the distinguished actor changed his opinion from one extreme to the other, calling my idea "ingenious", and the morning after he knelt at my feet, promised me all his support and cooperation in its implementation and swore an oath to me, pledging his good faith "until the Father of the Nations goes to his revolutionary heaven," an oath devised by one of the most celebrated revolutionary poets.
To implement the plan which was indeed ingenious, and convert theory into practice – we needed an appropriate mask, suitable uniform and some additional realizable assets. In other words – the full cooperation of a few more artists and retired generals. And again I brought into play my celebrated powers of persuasion, and by the next day the group was well organized, focused and ready for action. And then the issue of the special mask arose. We had no cardboard boxes or old newspapers or any other material from which a mask could be made. And we almost despaired, and sweet and desperate Russian grief was descending on the hearts of the conspirators, when that elderly actor, rich in experience and guile, focused his gleaming eyes, hollowed by hunger and fruitless dreams, on a certain point above my head, and something like a spirit of optimism came alive in him.
I followed his glance and saw that his eyes were fixed on the camel-hide valise which in the current circumstances was serving me alternately as a pillow and as a footstool.
Immediately I picked up the specific train of thought of that distinguished actor, and without hesitation I took the valise, approached him and handed it over with an expression of gratitude and feelings of respect.
He glowed with happiness, and without uttering an extraneous syllable from between his bluing lips, beckoned to one of the painters and also to an eminent zoologist who understood the special properties of the skins of different animals. The three of them crouched over the case and set to work on it with great vigor and in silence, and some two hours later all that remained of it was the antique brass frame, as naked as the day it was born.
FATHER OF ALL NATIONS
The next day, at a fine hour of the morning, with the Siberian sun invading the snowy wastes and subjugating them length-wise and width-wise, though quite incapable of melting the white covering – across the expanse of the camp a small group of men came marching, uniformed and bemedalled in the best Russian tradition, headed by an extraordinary figure, dressed in a tightly fitting, resplendent uniform, pacing calmly and confidently and looking neither to right nor left but straight ahead, in a brazen fashion, it could be said, directly towards the huts where the soldiers of the guard were, apparently, still asleep.
When the exceptional figure, and the three following closely behind him, likewise immaculately dressed and accoutred, approached to within a hundred paces of these huts, one of the sentries woke up in his wooden tower, rose and grabbed his rifle, and he was on the point of aiming at the figure walking towards him, and no doubt, nailing him with a bronze bullet (this was standard issue ammunition in the Red Army at that time, ever since a bronze foundry in the Urals was forced into bankruptcy, and some clever economists found a use for the mountains of bronze stockpiled in the precincts of the foundry and turned them into bullets), and as we have noted the soldier had no thought in mind other than to propel those few grams of frozen bronze into the heart of the figure, approaching him without showing a trace of fear, with ostentatious confidence and, as previously noted, something akin to bare-faced cheek. And when the soldier got a closer look at the figure
and imagined that he recognized him, he was flabbergasted, threw down his rifle and, manic fear setting his heart dancing and convulsing all his limbs, abandoned his post and ran to his commanding officer, shouting directly into his ear:
"Batyushka! Batyushka! The father! The father!" And he added, feverishly and barely coherently:
"The father of all nations is marching towards the camp!"
The soldier’s panic infected his commanding officer too and spread rapidly, like fire in haystacks, throughout the camp. Within a few moments they were all awake and on parade, fully dressed and kitted out, bodies twitching and eyes open wide, in the grip of terror. The commandant of the camp, a brigadier, hurried towards the "father of all nations" to offer him an appropriate welcome.
It is possible that among the brigadier’s officers and men, there was someone with doubt of one kind or another creeping into his heart, but if so, he would be quick to nip it in the bud, knowing full well the price to be paid for such doubt: a bullet of bronze or brass or good old lead, in the back of the skeptic's neck. Much better all round to clear the mind of doubts and stand with both feet on the ground, and not them fill your mouth with Siberian soil, however rich and fecund it may be.
The father of the nations, utterly convincing, complete with moustache and face speaking eloquently of irresistible authority, issued a few commands, in a quiet voice but in the manner of one who expects to be obeyed, and somebody might have noticed that the Russian he spoke sounded a little strange, a Georgian accent perhaps, but since none of the guards had ever heard the father of nations at such close quarters, the thing was taken as self-explanatory…
Accompanied by his select entourage, the father of nations made a thorough inspection of the residential buildings and the stores, and tasted the food offered to the soldier and to the prisoner (no difference between the two, officially at least) and prescribed new rations – for the prisoner and the soldier alike. Then he senten
ced two notorious bullies, known for their cruel treatment of prisoners, to detention for a term of forty days apiece. Then turning to the main compound of the camp, where the guards stood tensely to attention, he climbed up onto the stage and made a short speech, leavened with curses, oaths and threats (one young soldier, for whom this was the first day in the camp, wetted his trousers in response to the thunder and lightning falling on his head), commandeered the camp commandant’s car along with his personal driver and drove to the nearest railway station. At the station he appropriated an entire passenger train and carried on his way, accompanied by his retinue and that driver who became his batman, cooking his food and polishing his boots.
The rumor took wing and every station on the route of the commandeered train was packed with crowds of people, cheering in his honor, waving flags and handkerchiefs, saluting him with raised hand, and he returning the compliment.
After a week of continuous travel the train stopped in the railway terminal of the capital, where the father of all nations was greeted by a military band and contingents of horsemen, a reminder of his rustic origins, all of them mustachioed like him, well-trained horses spurred on by their arthritic feet, and curved swords unsheathed in his honor. Thousands of hoarse and parched voices cried out to the great leader in tearful reverence, calling his name.
I responded to the acclamation (I am sure by now you have realized it was I all along, wearing a mask that was an artifact of true genius, fashioned on my behalf by the camp inmates from the stiffened camel-hide of my valise) and, as an afterthought, shot a characteristically morose glance at those older men who happened to be too tall for my liking (although I myself was not as diminutive as people remembered me, something which was observed by many with wonderment, but like the soldiers in the camp they preferred to dispel all negative thoughts and any hint of doubt from their minds).
In the evening there was a banquet in my honor, and I was impressed by the scale of my double’s tolerance to alcohol, judging by the quantity of vodka served to me, which I poured with lightning-speed into the boots of my neighbors at the table, who pursed their lips and said nothing. The neighbor to my right actually took this as a personal compliment and a unique expression of trust, and he smiled a sycophantic smile at me and pledged his unswerving willingness to serve me always
– as a convenient repository for the disposal not only of vodka but also of any other substance of my choosing.
After the banquet I dismissed all the generals from my presence with a tirade of abuse (which I had learned was the right way to do it) and they accepted this with equanimity. I heard somebody whisper: "He’s not only grown taller, he’s come back in a better frame of mind!" And at the same time I knew I had act quickly while there was still time, in other words – before word reached that socialist hideaway where my alter ego was cavorting, far from public gaze.
I took into my service a pilot who seemed to me a straightforward type and ordered that a military aircraft be made ready for my use, suitably reinforced and fitted with reserve fuel-tanks. The loyal members of my entourage, those retired generals from the camp, I supplied with valid passports and sent across the border. The three of them thanked me tearfully and in accordance with old Russian tradition, kissed my hand, like kissing the hand of a Messiah and Redeemer.
And then I summoned my secretaries and began dictating:
Directive Number 1.
As of tomorrow, 0500 hours – the gates of all prisons, all camps, all detention cells for political prisoners are to be opened, and all inmates, without exception, are to be set at liberty. Signed: the Father of Nations.
Directive Number 2.
As of tomorrow, 0500 hours – the enlightened constitution of our homeland is to be implemented in full. Freedom of the individual should be the guiding principle for all persons in authority. Imprisonment on charges of political offences is expressly forbidden, and anyone wishing to cross the borders of the state will be issued within twenty-four hours with a passport valid for all points on the frontier. The requirement for an exit permit is abolished. No hindrance is to be applied to any citizen wishing to leave the state for whatever reason. Such a person is entitled to leave with all his personal property intact. Signed: the Father of Nations.
Directive Number 3.
As of tomorrow, 0500 hours – any citizen of a foreign state is permitted to visit our country and appreciate the achievements of socialism without any need for an entry permit. A valid passport will suffice…
And so on and so forth. Among other things I banned the incarceration of dissidents in mental asylums, and dismissal from employment on grounds of opinion or belief. I ordered the full disbandment of all secret services, and insisted on meticulous respect for freedom of speech, freedom of movement, freedom of viewpoint, freedom of choice…
The ancient palace of the Kremlin was in a ferment. At first, chaos and confusion reigned there. Flustered messengers were sent to the radio and telegraph offices to report and relay the new orders, and these needed to be repeated a million times since the recipients refused to believe what their eyes were reading and ears hearing. For everyone who cautiously expressed the opinion that I had gone out of my mind and was in urgent need of psychiatric treatment – there was another who took an opposite view: I had come to my senses and a golden age was in store for this long-suffering country of ours.
The morning of the next day was clear, suffused with the bright light of a young sun… and very gradually, as if something had been awakened at the four extremities of the great central square at the feet of the Kremlin and in all corners of the ancient capital, in every remote hole in the tormented realm – people came out in their hordes, wave upon wave, thousands upon thousands, many millions, in a prodigious spontaneous demonstration, the first such in centuries, a demonstration of gratitude and joy overflowing, and hope that was being fulfilled, so it seemed, before the eyes that saw and the ears that heard.
Like a mighty ocean of jubilation, the like of which the universe has not witnessed since the day it was born, the palace was swamped by the people who until the day before yesterday had been the downtrodden and were now free and exuberant. They knelt beside the high wall, waved their hands and uttered limpid and liberated cries: "Hurrah!", "Long live!", and "Thankyou!" and children waved flags in a riot of colors. The massed crowds sang whatever songs came into their heads and wept and hugged, danced and laughed, in a way they could not in their wildest dreams have imagined themselves laughing and rejoicing, and because I had forbidden the wearing of any kind of uniform, except in the case of soldiers on duty – the crowd was like a seething mass of fresh flowers of all conceivable hues, an unbounded expanse redolent of the peace and freedom which people yearn for so much, and which they are so adept, through their ineffable frivolity and folly, at throwing away.
The secretaries came, the ministers came, bodyguards and chairmen came, and in low, polite voices, struggling to disguise their utter bemusement at the turn of events, reported that the socialist masses were running riot and demanding a speech.
Without hesitating for even a moment, I went out to the balcony and delivered a fiery and incisive sermon, of which every sentence, every word, every syllable, would be engraved in the hearts of my hearers forever.
I spoke about justice and about love, and about equality and truth; I spoke of the divine light which shines in the heart of every creature and of the poetry that is in freedom; I spoke in praise of the new age coming into being, of which we enjoyed the privilege of witnessing its first day, the most glorious of all days since the human race came of age; I set out one unequivocal ordinance before them and stressed it time and again – telling them their destiny was in their hands and whatever they wished to do – they should do…
And the people raised a great cheer, and then another, from millions of throats, drunk with joy and elation, enough to shake heaven and earth, and another cheer – and another… and they would not disperse but demanded another sermo
n, and another, and another…refusing to believe what their ears were hearing and eyes seeing…
And here it should be pointed out that, where eyesight was concerned, some of those who happened to be close to me had good reason to be skeptical, and in particular that innocent young man (so at least he seemed to me), a pilot by profession… he approached me furtively and dropped me a broad hint, holding up a finger and anxiously touching the edges of his face, repeating this gesture several times as fear mounted in his innocent blue eyes and turned to almost hysterical terror.
And then I noticed that the glue of the mask, despite its superior quality (manufactured from the boiled bones of the Siberian mammoth), was beginning to melt in the rising sun, and the vigorous movements of my facial muscles in the course of my sermon had weakened the hold of the mask… With a barely perceptible gesture I touched the connecting line between jaw and cheek and realized that at least half of the mask was no longer in place… With no loss of nerve and wasting no time – I dragged the young pilot along with me and the two of us hurried down one of the labyrinthine corridors of the ancient palace, as looks of confusion, panic, deep sorrow, cynicism, schadenfreude, and vengefulness – accompanied us on our way.
In a dark corner I pulled the mask from my face and was revealed in the full splendor of my authentic image before that boy who was still trailing behind me… "Baron Munchausen!" he cried with sudden animation, and saw fit to explain: "As a child I read an old book about your adventures – a banned book, actually!" he added, embarrassed.
There was no time for verbal pleasantries. Time was more precious than water to a man dying of thirst. We sped to the exit, commandeered an armor-plated car waiting there to pick up some V.I.P. and ordered the driver to take us to the airport with all possible speed. He obeyed, without a single backward glance.
