Untrodden paths

Shkarubo Andrei

Andrei: Of course I remember. Their choice of freedom at the cost of their lives served as an example to all of us who were enslaved for wanting to be free.

Victor: Well, not only to them. It was this summer that I attained enlightenment: the very same freedom at the price of one’s own life.

Andrei: Excuse me, but I don’t understand this paradox or yours. If I can believe my eyes, you are more alive than dead, though maybe not quite free.

Victor: The problem is that your eyes can see no further than the outward form. Outwardly, I, indeed, am alive, though not free. Inwardly, it’s quite the contrary. Such are the dialectics.

Andrei: I didn’t get you just the same.

Victor: Never mind, you’ll learn. So what wrong did they do to you by transferring you from the observation ward to the ward for the privileged?

Andrei: I was one of their own in the observation ward. The guys who suffered a lot from the commies hated their guts – and here they send a guy who dared to go to the US embassy, well, the general attitude was understandable.

Solidarity in general was the norm in the ward, something absolutely alien to this pack of bitches called

«socialist society». I remember an incident in our canteen when I was called a traitor and a CIA agent by some bastard who either wanted to show his patriotism to win favors, or was just trying to provoke me to a fight – I don’t know. Anyway, his reward was not long in coming: his first toilet sortie after that incident proved most unfortunate – he slipped and badly smashed his head on the toilet bowl. Yeah, after this none of those bitches dared to show us their fucking patriotism.

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?

Sasha: Hi, Vitya! Come over here for a chat.

To Andrei lying on the next bunk: A good guy, Vitya Fedorovich, we live near each other. To Fedorovich, sitting down on his cot: How come you’re here?