Untrodden paths

So they transferred me to the so-called recovery ward, for the bitchiest bitches, like the deputy director of our local Schelkovo steel-mill, some department head in the Foreign Trade Ministry, the head of some big supermarket in Moscow; in short, all those bossy felons, and a couple of bosses’ sons – one was a deputy principal in a prestigious English language school. The bastard screwed half of his students, undermined his health, and therefore badly needed treatment; the other one was a young sadist killer who knifed a girl in his class, and she bled to death. What surprised me most was that this scum was allowed what they called «leave», and spent every weekend at home. On weekdays they were given vitamins and electric sleep treatment. And in their spare time they lectured me on patriotism, saying that I must love their fucking country, and defend it by serving in the army, instead of selling it out to the US imperialists. The deputy director of our local steel-mill and the pedophile principal whose daddy was said to hold some high post in the KGB were the ones who persevered the most. I don’t know how much patience I had left for listening to those bitches, but luckily, on the fifth day of my hunger-strike, when they saw I was not bowing to their persuasion, they sent me back to the observation ward. And on the seventh, they gave me the hell they had total blackout induced by injections of God knows

promised before. To tell you truth, for me it was a what junk.

Then they released me. Frankly, I still don’t know why. Apparently, they were convinced I wouldn’t last long, with active TB at that, and they simply didn’t want an extra corpse on their hands.

Victor: Yes, I see. Well, nowadays, you look quite healthy, alive and kicking I’d say. I saw you jerk this dumb-bell.

Andrei: Quite right. It may be funny to hear but it was this stint in the mental asylum which spurred my physical recovery. It helped me shed the remaining illusions about our communist pie-in-the sky, giving me such a powerful charge of hatred of our regime and a desire to fight it, that after my release I was improving with magic speed, though I was practicing the very same yoga and herbal treatment which earlier had brought me very little relief.

Victor: It’s not surprising: yoga, first and foremost, is a spiritual practice, not a physical exercise, the effect of which is indeed minute. As soon as yoga becomes a spiritual feat for its practitioner, the magic begins.

OK, never mind. I think you’ll have lots of other miracles ahead of you, now that you’ve become a true yogi. This is not crucial. What is crucial is that you now know that one has to sacrifice, to pay with one’s life for one’s spiritual freedom, integrity, for spiritual values. Now you know that sacrifice is the main law of spiritual development. Like a child, you’ve only made the first step there. You have yet to learn how to walk, acquiring on your way spiritual skill and knowledge for which one also pays with his life.

And, knowing your passionate love for communism, I feel inclined to tell you one secret: the communist pie will soon fall out of the sky.

Andrei: Damn, man, do you think it’s funny?

Victor: I’m absolutely serious. But let’s dwell on it later. The sun is such a treat today that I don’t want to spoil the enjoyment with talk of politics.

Act 2

Scene in the ward – Black marketeer

Bachkov: Wake up, wake up, you loonies! Everybody here, get up, get dressed, make your beds, wash your f-f-f-asses. Who’s scrubbing today? Victor Vasilievich? Here’s the instrument for the master. Voronin, grab your towel and clear out, quick to the observation ward!

Voronin: What for, Captain?

Bachkov: For too much eating and polluting the air.

Addressing a young man standing with his things in the doorway: Come in, this glutton will clear out soon, and you can settle in.

Voronin to the newcomer: Come in. What’s your name?

Fedorovich, a young man in his early twenties: Victor.

in the locker. What’s this you have, cheese? Can I

Voronin, offering his hand: Valery. Put your things have a little?

Fedorovich: It’s a smoked cheese, I don’t know if you’ll like it…

Voronin: Thank you, I like all cheese, especially smoked. Oh, it’s fresh. Know the story about Red Riding Hood? Well, Red Riding Hood was walking in the woods, and bumped into the Wolf…

Bachkov reappearing in the doorway: Voronin, I’ll have you tied to the bunk!

Voronin: Coming, Captain!

Singing: Among untrodden mountain paths there’s one that’s mine…

Fedorovich, sitting down on the vacant cot, taking a look around and spotting Sasha: Hey, Sasha! You’re already here?