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up her furs and diamonds without a fight? Fuck off with you! This is why
they don't want communism to come tomorrow, and that's all there is to
it. And that is why an historical period is invented. Did you ever read
Lenin? When did he promise us communism? In ten to fifteen years!
Wasn't that so? And Stalin? Also in ten to fifteen years, though
sometimes it was even twenty. And Nikita Sergeyevich*? In twenty
years, and the whole Party swore to the people that this time there would
be no deception. Do you really believe that in the year 1980 communism
will finally come? Not bloody likely: and do you think anybody will ask
the Party to explain this lie? No, there will not be a single questioning
voice.
'And did you ever reflect my dear tankman, on why all our rulers
mention ten to fifteen years? It's to give them time for their own "dolce
vita" and yet still not destroy other people's hopes. And, incidentally, also
time for all those promises to be long forgotten. Who remembers now
what Lenin promised, once upon a time? And when 1980 does arrive,
precisely no one will recall that the promised year has, at last, arrived. It
is certainly about time for an answer. The time is almost ripe for the Party
to give an account of itself.'
'Are you really a communist at all?'
'I am not a communist, but I am a Party member and it's about time you
saw the difference!'
He became silent, and we did not speak any more until the evening.
Towards evening, we had finally succeeded in cleaning out the pit to its
very bottom. We had scooped out everything when there suddenly
*Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev, the Soviet Party leader subsequently deposed by
Brezhnev.
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appeared on the path a skinny, wrinkled woman, wearing an ermine fur
coat and accompanied by the lance-corporal, whose face had by now lost
its lordly expression and was wearing that of a country yokel instead.
'Now look,' warned the artilleryman, 'if Saltychikha sentences us to
extra days in the glasshouse - don't you go kicking up a fuss. She's only a
mere woman but she'll have you up in front of the tribunal, quick as look
at you, if you don't watch out.'
The lance-corporal inspected the cesspool and the garden, and reported
in oily tones, 'They have done it all. I kept them at it all day.'
She smiled faintly, approached the cesspool and looked down into its
depths.
'They did not work badly, all day I. . .' the lance-corporal continued
unctuously.
'But they dirtied the path and covered up the dirt with snow,' observed
our escort.
The lance-corporal cast a stealthy look of utter hatred at the escort.
'Which path was that?' enquired the skinny woman almost tenderly.
'Well, just let's go over here, let's go and I'll show you,' and he began to
stride off along the path with the skinny woman tripping along behind
him.
Night was falling and it was getting frosty and the escort had some
difficulty in kicking away the lump of frozen show which covered the
dirty spot.
'Here it is, they covered it with snow and thought I wouldn't notice it.
But I see everything!'
'Who is responsible?' shrieked the old hag.
'Those two there . . . they thought they would get away with it and pass
unnoticed . . . But we notice everything
'Five days . . . each,' hissed the old hag. 'As for you, Fedor ... as for you
. . .' and, her face distorted by rage and without even finishing the
sentence, she wrapped her fur coat more tightly around her and swept off
in the direction of the fairy-tale small town. The lance-corporal's face
twisted in a grimace and he turned towards our escort who, apparently,
had not yet realised that he had accidentally dropped the all-powerful
Fedor right in it.
'Take your rabble away then! I won't let you forget this, you bastard!'
The puzzled escort looked at the lance-corporal:
'I was only doing my best . . .'
'Get out of here, you scum. I'll get even with you one day!'
We stamped off past the wonderful little town, which in the darkness
managed to become still more entrancing. Children splashed about in a
pool, separated from the frost only by a greenish, transparent wall. A
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tall woman, in a severe blue frock and white apron, busied herself with
them.
First Lieutenant Kirichek, the Deputy Chief of the Kiev Garrison
glasshouse, had already been informed of the 'extra rations' handed out to
us as he awaited our return from communism. The first lieutenant opened
a thick ledger.
'Five days each. So ... we write down . . . Five . . . days . . . arrest. . .
From the Commander of the Military District . . . for . . . bre . . . ach of
military discipline ... - Oh, hell,' he exclaimed suddenly, 'the Commander
has flown to Moscow for a Party congress. How can I . . .?' He looked at
the book, and then, on second thoughts, inserted the word 'Deputy' before
the word 'Commander.' Now everything was in order. 'So, Suvorov, your
first five days were given to you by the Deputy Commander and so were
the second five days. Now, let's see who'll give you the third lot.' Amused
by his own joke, he gave a sort of neighing laugh.
'Escort!'
'Yes, comrade First Lieutenant!'
'Put these two pigeons in 26. Let them sit there for one or two hours to
learn that extra rations is not just extra time to serve, but something with
rather more bite.'
Ward 26 in the Kiev glasshouse is known by the title of 'Revolution-
ary', because once, before the Revolution, a famous petty criminal called
Grigoriy Kotovskiy, on trial for rape, had escaped from it. Later, in 1918,
Kotovskiy and his gang joined the Bolsheviks and, for invaluable
services of a criminal nature, were later officially renamed
revolutionaries instead of pickpockets on the personal instructions of
Lenin himself. But the experience gained from this famous revolution-
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