Untrodden paths
Andrei Shkarubo


The story takes place inapsychiatric hospital 50km. eastof Moscow inthe summer of1985, at the start ofGorbachevs perestroika,and focuses on the philosophy and practice ofthe Russian political system.





Untrodden paths

or philosophy ofRussian political system

Andrei Shkarubo



Andrei Shkarubo,2016



Created with intellectual publishing system Ridero




Untrodden paths



ByAndrei Shkarubo



Dedicated tothose who, intheir quest for Truth, pass through Death


From the author: The author is inno way responsible for the politically incorrect actions and words ofthe characters inhis play: it takes place inapsychiatric hospital 50km. east ofMoscow inthe summer of1985, at the start ofGorbachevs perestroika.

Tothose who might view the plot as contrived and unrealistic, saying that people, finding themselves inapsychiatric hospital, are unlikely tospend their time debating at length the complex issues ofphilosophy, our being, and politics; thinking that inapsychiatric hospital these people are likely tobe preoccupied with their own problems and sorrows, rather than the problems ofthe whole mankind the author would like toremind those that the characters ofhis play are not normal healthy members ofsociety, but personalities whose minds are thought tobe seriously affected which is evident from their painful, obsessive, pathological drive toward some alleged Truth; indifference toward their own fate and wellbeing; and finally total disregard for authority and state.

Gentlemen, and former comrades, too, please, be patient with my characters they are sick people, besides, they are living inRussia the country where the questions whos toblame? and what todo? are inherent.




Act1





morning inthe ward Spy


Bachkov, atall, athletic, handsome male nurse inhis mid-thirties: Wake up, wake up, you loonies! Everybody here, get up, get dressed, make your beds, wash your f-f-f-asses. Voronin, stop jerking off and start the floor scrub!

Voronin, aman inhis mid- thirties: Iaint jerkin off, Im playing morning tattoo.

Imitates the sound ofabugle.

Ageneral laugh, then someone: He wont get up till his cock gets down!

Bachkov: Grab that broom and play scrubbing tattoo, instead.

Voronin, giving aloud raspberry, causing more laughter: Sorry, Captain, but scrubbing aint like jerkin off; it has tobe done inturns.

Bachkov: Whose turn is it, then?

Voronin: See this new loony, inthe corner?

Bachkov: Are you Andrei, the one police brought inyesterday evening?

Andrei, ayoung man of27:Yes.

Bachkov, giving an amused whistle: Ive just read your case story, is it rue? Theysay

Andrei: Never mind what they say, watch what theydo

Bachkov: Really? Well, frankly, its none ofmy business because Ive seen enough tomind my own. Anyway, Mr. Spy, today seems tobe your turn toscrub. Heres abucket and amop foryou.

(Sound ofscrubbing)

Sasha, ayoung man of27with aguarded look characteristic ofan ex-con, watching inexperienced scrubbing movements, asks quietly: First time here?

Andrei: Not exactly, Iwas inthe institution before, four years ago, infact.

Sasha: Whatfor?

Andrei: American embassy

Sasha: Wanted toemigrate?

Andrei: Not exactly, its along story.

Victor, ahandsome man of45with piercing shiny eyes: Thats what our gaga-houses are for: Tocut our long stories short. As Iunderstand it, once youre on the KGBs black list, your stays here are bound tobecome regular: aparty Congress, Good-Will Games, or aYouth Festival, like now, and they round up all subversive elements which might spoil theirfun.

Sasha: Yeah, man, you should have gone tosome safe place before this fucking festival began.

Andrei: Ididnt know that. Ithought infact Iwas assured that if Ilaid low and kept quiet Iwould be left alone, unnoticed and forgotten.

Victor: Boy, you must be really na?ve totrust what they say. Its not intheir interests toforgive and forget. They live bysuppression.

Andrei: Why? Is it intheir interests toincrease the number oftheir enemies?

Victor: Friends and enemies are the notions which belong tothe rosy world ofRomance. The shady world ofpolitics knows only useful and useless. And if you should happen tobe ofany use tothem, they label you as friend or enemy, depending on the way they want toexploit you. It doesnt matter for them which side youre on, as long as you play bythe rules ofthe game.

Andrei: Hows that?

Victor: Whatever team you play for theres only one goal inthis ball game.

Tupikov, aportly man inhis sixties, grinning: Victor Vasilyevich is aphilosopher, got here because ofit.

Victor: No, Im not aphilosopher. Iused topractice yoga, until my enlightenment, then Iwrote abook and here weare

Tupikov: Now psychiatrists are busy writing the review. After which, unless the author shuts up, the publisher would pay him lavish royalties, which you, Victor Vasilyevich, would be at pains toenjoy, say, inSychevka, or inKazans life ward.

Victor: Well, Nikolai Ivanovich, Ive never shied away from the graces ofour high and mighty. Besides, one can write inKazantoo.

Andrei and Sasha laugh.

Sasha: Victor, theyll give you such hell for your ravings you wont know how toread, much less write.

Victor: If Iremember correctly, Porfiriy Ivanov was able towrite his things when they locked him inKazan psychiatric prison.

Sasha: Whos that?

Victor: ARussian healer, ayogi.

Tupikov: Victor Vasilyevich, Ivanov, being ayogi and ahealer, never meddled inpolitics.

Sasha: Apal ofmine returned from Kazan recently. He says the guy who tried toshoot Brezhnev inRed

Square is still insolitary. The guys there have tried repeatedly topass him cigarettes at least, but the coppers never let them.

Andrei, surprised: Is he still there? Its been over twenty years sincehe

Sasha: What did you expect? Its alife ward

The somber mood was broken byBachkov reappearing inthe doorway: Hey, loafers, breakfast time!

With ajoyous cry Voronin leaps from his cot. Inthe doorway he receives from Bachkov akick inthe ass, so hard it might have knocked anyone else down, but Voronin just gave another loud raspberry and raced tothe dining hall, reciting on the way childrens verses Im ajolly little cloud mistaken for abear. Im ajolly little cloud, floating here and there

The rest, smiling, leave the ward slowly, leaving behind only Victor Vasilyevich and Andrei, who went on scrubbing.

Andrei: Why dont yougo?

Victor: Itake my meals only once aday.

Andrei: Oh, yes, you are ayogi. Imyself have been practicing yoga for 15years already. Ive read lots ofbooks on it, and on the occult ingeneral.

Victor: Really? Inour country one can get these books only bysamizdat. You have achance toget such literature?

Andrei: No, Ijust happen toknow English and spend alot oftime inthe library offoreign literaturein

Moscow.

Victor: Isee: asecond language is asecond life.

Andrei: Frankly, what Iwanted tosay is that Idont know what aperson could write about yoga toland him inapsychiatric hospital.

Victor: First ofall, there are lots ofthings about yoga which the authorities would like tokeep secret from the public, mostly things which concern mind control. Thats actually why the occult department was formed inside theKGB.

Andrei: Really? Well, on the other hand, why not bearing inmind that theres no hole inthe country they wont stick their nosein.

Victor: Ofcourse, they do. How else can you explain the fact that all our underground groups inyoga, martial arts, and esoterica ingeneral are controlled bythe KGB, sometimes even guided?

Andrei: You mean they are hiding more from the public than from the authorities?

Victor: Ofcourse!

Andrei: And their goal control and modification ofconduct?

Victor: This too. You seem toknow the issue and catch on fast.

Andrei: Yes, Iread afew reports on similar CIA programs and occult sects created intheUS for those purposes. Its hard tohide such things inademocratic country with its Freedom ofInformationAct.

But what did you write about this tocause the KGB tosend you here?

Victor: Nothing yet. They sent me here for creating anew dialectics and using it inanalyzing the present political situation as well as for giving forecasts for the future that warn about the complete disintegration ofour political system which they, for some reason, call communist and for warning about the consequences which might take place if the regime, clinging topower, should resort tomethods ofcontrol and manipulation ofthe public mind.

Andrei: Isee. But how are your dialectics related toyoga? It seems tome that dialectics is part ofphilosophy.

Victor: Its directly related.

Andrei: Excuse my pestering you; it takes me awhile tounderstand things; but Istill dont understand what yoga and dialectics have incommon, and what forecasts one can give on the basis ofdialectics?

It seems tome the best thing it can helpus do is toexplain processes and phenomena post factum at that.

Whereas the things we are witnessing here and now, tosay nothing ofthe future, either have no explanation or those explanations are similar tothe claptrap ofour scientific communism: Imean its theory lacks ascientific approach, while what we have inreal life, inpractice, can be defined as neither socialism, nor communism.

Victor: Yeah, foolishness intheory is fascism inpractice. Thats why Icreated the new dialectics: the maxims ofthe old one are no longer adequate tounderstand the modern picture ofthe world. So Isignificantly extended their number, and gave them adeeper contemporary interpretation, assembling them all into asingle analytical model, methodology.

Andrei: Where did you get those missing maxims from, and the model itself?

Victor: See, thats where yoga and dialectics are linked. As you know, yoga studies not just our body, but our mind as well.

Andrei: Sure.

Victor: The whole ofour logic, all ofour theories, are based on maxims notions, concepts, judgments which toour mind seem self-evident and therefore do not require any proof.

Andrei: Yeah;so?

Victor: Its yoga which showed me inpractice that our minds can vary significantly and the picture ofour perception is rather conditional and always relative, being the function ofspeed, or frequency, ofour perception.

Andrei: Beg your pardon?

Victor: Lets say if you want tostudy the work ofthe wings ofabumble-bee hanging over aflower, your eyes would be useless there: the speed ofthe wings movements is incomparable faster than the speed ofyour perception; therefore the perceived picture is appropriately chaotic; the understanding ofthe perceived isnil.

But as soon as the speed, frequency, ofyour perception begins toapproach the speed, frequency, ofthe wings movement no matter whether its due toyogic training, or you just film it using ahigh-speed video recorder then with the growth ofthe speed ofperception, you begin tomake out ofgeneral chaos, todistinguish certain elements, episodes.

The problem at this stage, though, is that while youre detecting one thing, you cant detect any other; theres simply no time for this.

This, incidentally, is the gnostic cognitive cause ofall our conflicts: one catches aglimpse ofone thing; another, ofsomething else, its opposite, which provokes adispute, often aggravating into aconflict, inwhich, sooner or later, the truth is born: that is, athird party emerges which initially disproves, if not defeats, both, then brings them together byproducing anew integrated vision and explaining the faults ofthe old rivals. Its possible, though, only if the speed ofperception ofthis third party equals the speed ofthe process under study. The picture ofperception will be static only inthis case.

Andrei: Static?

Victor: Sure. Its as if you were driving acar and caught up with atrain going inthe same direction. At this moment youd be static relative toeach other, and the picture perceived byyou would be static and whole. That is, youd be able tosee all the elements ofthe picture at once, with all their interrelations; inother words, youd see and youd comprehend.

Andrei: Still, Idont quite follow where these additional maxims would come from.

Victor: As Isaid, they come from ahigher level ofconsciousness and, appropriately, higher speed ofperception. While prior tome the only thing they could detect was, say, that the bumble-bees wings move up-and-down, Ican make out and take into account such things as frequency oftheir movements, their amplitude, their angular and linear speed, and lots ofother factors which, if considered, could both explain and predict any maneuver whereas for an ordinary eye such maneuvers would seem just chaotic.

Andrei: The analogy is more or less plain. But the issue itself hasnt become any clearer. Besides, frequency, amplitude, speed are the notions ofphysics, not philosophy.

Victor: Quite right! Its only too natural that our material world obeys the laws ofphysics. Our social relations, too, can be modeled and calculated the way they model and calculate, say, the trajectory ofaspacecraft.

ndrei, finishing his scrubbing and wringing out mop, remarks with bitter irony: So your work is actually anew edition ofadialectical materialism, isnt it? Why did they lock you up then, for furthering

Marxism-Leninism?

Bachkov popped in: Finished? Hurry up or you may miss your breakfast.

Andrei: Its Ok, we havent finished our talkyet.

Victor, smiling: Youd better go. Astomach stuffed with oatmeal is better than ahead swollen with my ravings.

Andrei: Whyso?

Victor: With oatmeal, you only risk spending your time inthe toilet, with my ravings time inapsychiatric hospital.

Andrei: OK, Im going, just want toremind you that we are already there.




Scene inthe mess-hall amnesia


An empty mess-hall. Andrei, getting his bowl ofporridge and acup ofchocolate, sits close toSasha, whos already had his meal and is now waiting impatiently for something.

Andrei: Had your breakfast?

Sasha: Uh-huh.

Andrei: Wont you go toget your medicine?

Sasha: Later. The boys inthe kitchen are making chifir (astrong tea brew used as amild narcotic).

Andrei: Isee.

Nodding at Sashas forearm: Youve got abeautiful rose tattooed on your forearm. So simple and so delicate.

Sasha: Yeah, Ihad areal artist for acellmate inSmolensk.

Andrei: You were inSmolensk prison? Whatfor?

Sasha: Burglary.

Andrei: Locked inapsychiatric ward?

Sasha: They did it later. Ididnt quite get along with the administration, you know.

Andrei: Refused tosnitch?

Sasha: Yes. So they certified me, and put inaward, with agorilla for amale-nurse. He was serving his time there for rape and murder. Honest thieves wouldnt take this job, you know. So as soon as Igot there he tried touse me for his bum-boy. Iwasnt amatch for him physically, so Iknifed him twice inthe throat. The bastard survived byasheer miracle, and Igot me another eight years, this time for attempted murder.

Andrei: How old areyou?

Sasha:27.

Andrei: So amI.

Sasha: 27and half ofmy life behind the bars. Do you know how it all started? When Iwas akid, Istole aloaf ofwhite bread afucking loaf ofbread they feed it topigs here.

Andrei: Oh, now Isee why the nurse here was searching the boys leaving the mess-hall. They are rationing bread. Iguess Victor, our philosopher, is right: this regime cares more for pigs than for men; besides, the more convicts they have, the cheaper the labor force.

Sasha: Yes, though sometimes he talks such nonsense!

Voronin approaches the counter with his bowl, shouting: Iwant more porridge!

Bachkov: What you want is an extra shot ofaminazine and akick inthe ass! Lay off, you, glutton.

Voronin (sounding threatening): If you kick me inthe ass Iwont even know it. If Ikick you inthe ass, no one would be able totell your shit from this porridge.

General laughter.

Im atiger, Im atiger, living insnow-capped mountains Just mark my words, you, ha-ha-ha (low rasping sound).

(Then extremely sweet, addressing Andrei): Excuse me, could Ihave apiece ofyour bread, please?

Andrei: Sure, help yourself.

Voronin: Thank you, buddy. Know the story about asoldier and general? An orderly brings inanewly washed and pressed tunic tohis general and asks him How come you, comrade general, were so careless yesterday evening?

Sasha: Get lost, you, bastard, or Ill cram my spoon into your stupid mouth!

Voronin laughs and walks away, singing: Among untrodden mountain paths theres one thats mine

Sasha: God, that pesky loony can really drive memad.

Andrei: Well, Iwouldnt be so positive about his diagnosis. Ipassed the forensic psychiatry examination during my first term and saw enough nutty guys who, after they were certified, did the coolest things tomake abreak.

Bachkov: It doesnt matter much here whether this zany is really mad or not. Hes shot dosages that no man sane or crazy could take. Though, what really puzzles me, boys, is that it doesnt have any noticeable effect on him. The only visible change inthose three months since they brought him here is that he has gained some weight. And he has became more garrulous; his mouth wont shut for hours.

Andrei: What did they put him infor?

Bachkov: Amnesia. He was brought byapatrol, found wandering inanearby closed garrison with aNikon camera inhis attach-case and an expensive illustrated edition ofPushkin. But no identity papers whatever. According tohim, hes called Valeri Voronin, and he used tolive inPetropavlovsk.

Andrei: So whats the problem? No relatives?

Bachkov: The problem is that there are two Petropavlovsks, one is inKamchatka peninsular, the other isin

Kazakhstan. Judging byhis raving accounts, he seems toknow both, but when you start asking about his background, his ravings become too kaleidoscopic tofigure out anything. Well, inany case the local shrinks diagnosed him as afriendly, non-violent type who could be kept inour asylum. So, weve got toput up with this Winnie the Pooh.

Andrei, with alaugh: He looks like abear, all right. And Isuspect has got his strength,too.

Bachkov: Frankly, boys, its none ofmy business who the hell he is. He plays his part and Iplay mine. Ive seen enough tomind my own business, and not tonose insomebody elses.

Departing, toAndrei: Get your dosage after breakfast and you may enjoy yourself inthe garden till dinnertime.




Scene intheyard Dialectics


Sound ofchirping birds.

Out inthe yard, Andrei notices ayoung man stripped tothe waist working out with adumb-bell not far from the porch. He approaches him and asks: Twenty?

Tsvetochkin: What?

Andrei: Twenty kilos?

Tsvetochkin:Yep.

Andrei: Do they allowit?

Tsvetochkin put the dumb-bell on the ground: Ofcourse, not, well, not officially, anyway. The boys brought it so we could exercise on the sly. We hide it inthe lilac bushes afterwards. Want totry?

Andrei: Sure.

Tsvetochkin commenting on Andreis vigorous jerks: Well, boy, you are ingood shape. Unfortunately, Icant use full force, my ribs are still aching.

Andrei:Why?

Tsvetochkin: Cops broke three ofmy ribs.

Andrei: Did you get here inthe festival sweeptoo?

Tsvetochkin: No, Ihad problems with our local police inspector.

Andrei: Where are you from?

Tsvetochkin: Do you know the 37th kilometer commune?

Andrei:Yes.

Tsvetochkin proudly: Have you ever heard the name ofTsvetochkin?

Andrei: Harry Tsvetochkin?

Tsvetochkin:Yes.

Andrei: Never heard it, but Idid see it. This name is sprayed inlarge letters on awall ofashed near the railroad. Whenever Igo byinacommuter train Isee: Harry Tsvetochkin. Did you sprayit?

Tsvetochkin: No. Boys did it. You see we used towork out there with the dumb-bells. As Iproved tobe the local strongman, the boys sprayed my name inred letters on the wall.

Andrei: And what was the problem with your local inspector?

Tsvetochkin: Well, his daughter began frequenting our shed.

Andrei with alaugh: Got interested inthe sporttoo?

Tsvetochkin: Yes, if you call sex asport. Her daddy tried todisbandus acouple oftimes, and threatened totear off my head and everything beneath. Itold him tobugger off because no one was dragging his precious babe there byforce. Well, aweek later they picked me up at my work place, put inacar and drove tothe police department for what they call questioning.

Somebody had stolen the wheels off somebodys car, so they said it was me, and punched me inthe teeth tofacilitate, as they put it, aGorbachevs consensus tomake me confess, Imean. Icountered the bastard who hit me with my right, inthe teeth too. He went down like alog, hitting the keys with the back ofhis head, they had the keys stuck intheir safe. Well, inshort, he got his head fractured and the whole mob went mad and started punching and kicking me, breaking three ofmy ribs, then they threw me insolitary where Ideveloped lung edema, and the pleura became detached from the beating.

Well, they got scared Iwould die on their hands, so they offered me money: Take it, they said, and keep your mouth shut, or else; well take you toahospital as amugging victim we picked up inthe street.

Andrei: So what did youdo?

Tsvetochkin: Refused, ofcourse. Iwont look at this scum, much less make deals with them. Too bad Ididnt kill that bastard.

Andrei: Well, Im afraid youre too harsh on them. They didnt cheat you with the hospital, anyway. They mistook emergency for psychiatry, though; but you cant expect police toknow who treats heads and who treats, say, asses.

Tsvetochkin smiles: How can they, indeed, if you cant tell their heads from their asses?

Andrei: How did you survive, incidentally? Lung edema is aserious thing. Did they treat you here?

Tsvetochkin: They did, with aminazine, just like everyone here. Isurvived because Iheal easily like adog.

Andrei: Isee; Im pretty much asurvivor too. Where shall Iput this dumb-bell?

Tsvetochkin: Over there, inthe bushes behind the bench. Would you like toplay chess or dominos?

Andrei: Naah, any brain use is strictly proscribed for me bythe authorities. Id much rather sun-bathe inthe bushes.

Tsvetochkin: OK, then.

Andrei, approaching abench among lilac bushes on which Victor Vasilyevich, stripped tothe waist, is sunbathing: MayI?

Victor: Sure, enjoy yourself, if labor therapy is not foryou.

Andrei: Im not inclined towork for the communists, besides they wont risk letting me out. Frankly, Im surprised they let me out inthe garden.

Victor: They let everyone out inthe garden here. Unless you are strapped toyour bunk, ofcourse.

Andrei: Well, thats acomfort. Bythe way, Ive thought ofyour new and the Hegelian old dialectics. How do they exactly differ? Youve said you just added maxims there

Victor: Caught aphilosophic fever inthe nuthouse?

Andrei: No, Iwas just wondering: If you really created auniversal methodology, it would actually mean arevolution ofour minds, because methodology is akind ofauniversal key used for deciphering, the key which could change our whole outlook. Isnt thatso?

Victor: Yes, though Id compare it toagrammar, asyntax: If you do not know its rules, you wont understand the language, even if you know the meaning ofevery word. Thats one thing; the other is that, more importantly, having changed our world outlook, this methodology will change out attitude toward the world.

As for differences, it differs from the old one not so much byagreater number ofnew notions and maxims as byanewer and more detailed interpretation ofthe old ones, ranging from conditionality and relativity ofall notions and maxims, like: the unity and struggle ofthe opposites; ashift ofquantity into quality and negation ofnegation all this may be true under certain conditions with certain points ofreference, and not true inothers.

The old dialectics has none ofthis, nor has it auniversal measure for various processes and phenomena.

Andrei: Wait aminute, how can there be auniversal measure inthis extremely diverse material world?

Victor: There can be and is! We are simply attracted and confused bythe superficial visible diversity ofthe world, the variety ofits forms. Prying into its content, its essence, is boring and unattractive. Nonetheless, this world has one feature incommon which serves both as areference point and auniversal measure:its

Time.

Andrei: Time?

Victor: Sure. As you know, everything inthis world changes, everything flows. Therefore, the only universal measure there can possibly be is Time.

The fact that the old dialectics explain the developments and processes bythe struggle ofopposites which have acommon root; the fact that this struggle is perceived, first, as aquantitative change, growth, then as aqualitative shift; that during this struggle anegation ofnegation takes place, and contradictions are eliminated all this shows that we are dealing not with amethodology, but auniversal description, because there is no universal measure init.

Appropriately, the practical value ofsuch description is rather limited, actually close tonil. Because the world description is nothing but asketch, adiagram, whereas methodology is amap which has its scale, points ofreference, or cardinal points, and its set ofsigns.

With such amap inyour hand, you can find your position inspace byaligning the cardinal points and finding amatch between the signs on the map and the actual objects inthe field. The ability totake measurements means that you can answer the crucial questions: not just what direction do we go in, but where exactly do we go? What do we have yet topass, and when? What obstacles do we have toovercome, and how long will it takeus? No draft, no universal description, would answer those questions.

Andrei: Well, Iunderstand your analogy. But it applies tospace, its hard tocomprehend how Time can be the universal measure insuch acase.

Victor: Dont we measure cosmic space bylight years?

Andrei: Well, thats the Cosmos

Victor: Dont we measure the distance toanearby bus-stop or akiosk byhow many minutes it takesus towalk there?

Andrei: Sure, but we imply an average distance that we cover inaminute. Besides, one can compare only things ofthe same quality. Space and Time are totally different entities which, as far as Iknow, have not even been precisely defined.

Victor: Quite right! Its this absence ofprecise definition, or rather understanding ofthe nature ofthese things which inour minds makes them qualitatively different, incomparable. But these differences are relative

As Ive already said, the character ofones perception depends on the speed, frequency ofperception. Depending on its speed, the picture ofthe perceived thing can range from chaotic todynamic or static.

If our perception ofathing or aprocess produces apicture ofchaos, it means that inthe multitude ofthe pictures elements our mind failed tofind anything familiar, repetitive.

If our mind begins tosingle out and recognize as recurring these or those periodically appearing and disappearing elements, adynamic picture will emerge. Astable periodicity ofsuch repetitions is generally considered as Time.

Naturally, this stable repetitive element must be vital tothe observer. Imean whatever gadgets we might invent tomeasure time: mechanical, electronic, or atomic clocks the Sun and the Moon will remain as the defining measure ofall our life cycles.

If we are togive abrief scientific definition, then Time is aresult ofajuxtaposition oftwo frequencies, with the received fraction being periodical.

Andrei: What, again frequencies-amplitudes, again physics?

Victor: Yes, what Ive done, ineffect, is pure physics, where Space and Time are simply ways ofarranging, interpreting information, aset ofstereotypes.

Andrei: Isnt your work yet another stereotype?

Victor: It is, but more precise, detailed and therefore ofgreater practical value.

Andrei: Its funny todiscuss the stereotype ofTime inthe institution where even possession ofinstruments for measuring it is strictly prohibited.

Victor: You mean watches?

Andrei: Well, maybe not just them. Iguess Imean there must be some missing link inyour logical chain, or toput it plainly, you must have gone astray somewhere somehow. Anyway thats the conclusion all my knowledge and personal experience would rather lead to, unless my knowledge and personal experience are patently insufficient tounderstand your point. If Ifollow your logic correctly, the pattern, the path ofour development is not determined bythe resulting sum ofinternal and external forces, but byTime?

Victor: Quite right. Its Time which determines these things, both the array offorces, and the pattern, the path ofdevelopment ofboth animate and inanimate worlds. As for your reservation that my statements contradict your knowledge and experience, Im afraid one has toconclude that you, my friend, have not yet acquired even the humblest ofknowledge and experience which Ecclesiastes used tohave, toobserve that everything happens inits good time; that theres time for birth and time for death, time for killing and time for healing.

Andrei: Time for sorrow and time for joy. Yes, that was aclever move toput me down, consideringthat

Ecclesiastes is the only author inthe Old Testament Ihave any regard for. But, totell you the truth, Ive always regarded him as agreat lyricist and viewed this passage as lyrics, not as physics. You seem tohave aphysicists point ofview on everything, resorting here and there tophysical terms, did you study physics?

Victor: On the contrary, the education Ireceived two decades ago graduating from aconservatory is rather ofalyrics than aphysics nature. Until my enlightenment Iused tobe amusician and played withthe

Moscow philharmonic orchestra.

Andrei: Why did you quit? Amusician inaphilharmonic orchestra is an excellentjob.

Victor: Because no one lights alamp and puts inunder abushel; instead he puts it on the lampstand, where it gives light for everyone inthe house.

Well, concerning my choice ofphysical terms, Imust stress that if you seek toexplain something, you should choose the language which can offerus its most succinct description. And physics can offerus the most precise picture ofour present-day reality. Ofcourse, this language should be comprehensible tothe audience you address. But you seem familiar with physics basics?

Andrei: Yes, quite. Isimply cannot understand how amusician

Victor: could grasp the language ofphysics? Its the result oflengthy practice ofyoga, ofwork with ones own body and mind. You see, neither our body nor mind differs inany way from the rest ofphysical instruments, except that they are more complex. Its only natural that Iinmy work come tothe same conclusions which physics make, thats why Iuse their language.

Andrei: Funny thing: yoga has always been regarded as an idealistic, religious teaching, while you are proving tobe arabid physical materialist.

Victor: Im neither. Idealism materialism are simply points ofview, instruments, say, kind ofglasses we use tolook at the world, some glasses we select are good for reading newspapers; others are good for watching TV. Religion starts where knowledge inits impotence gives way tofaith, reason tomorals and ethics; the borderline between them is always relative and conditional.

Bachkov, approaching: Sunbathing?

Andrei: What else is there todo? Iguess well have tospend the rest ofthe holiday season here.

Bachkov: Well, its not up tome todecide who or what time is spent here, but Im sure they wont release you until the festival ends and its foreign guests leave the country.

Dandelion, an old man about 80, addressing Bachkov: Anatoli Sergeevich, could you please give me the keys. Iwant toweed this flowerbed with dahlias, time permitting.

Andrei: Time is no problem here.

Dandelion looks peevishly at Andrei, without saying anything.

Bachkov: Here they are, Evgeniy Pavlovich. Watch out for the sun: they say it will be hot today.

Andrei: How did this Dandelion come tobe here?

Bachkov, taking aseat: His sisters handed him over. He has two sisters inMoscow, and he lived with them

Andrei: Is he single?

Bachkov: Heis.

Andrei: Well, whats the story?

Bachkov: The story is the usual one: either he got on their nerves, or their children wanted more living space

Andrei: Well, he seems mentally quite sound.

Bachkov: Youd better ask Miroshkin, the late head ofthe hospital.

Andrei: Which Miroshkin? Do you mean Professor Miroshkin?

Bachkov: Yes, professor Miroshkin, our former head ofthe hospital. Did you knowhim?

Andrei: Isurely did. He was my forensic expert, diagnosed me as schizophrenic and certified me as non compos mentis, inshort, signed and sealed everything the KGB used toframeme.

Bachkov: Well, it was either him or somebody else: you wouldnt have avoided it anyway.

Andrei: Maybe. Ill only say that prior toMiroshkin they took me toSerbskiy Institute and asked their academician todiagnose and certify me. And he refused

So, you say the old bastard has kicked the bucket?

Bachkov: He died four yearsago.

Andrei: And what did he send the Old Dandelion herefor?

Bachkov: Idont know. Maybe for abribe, or maybe he just did afavor. Anyway, during his termthe

Dandelion received sanatorium-like treatment, and had free toaccess toMiroshkin. The present head ofthe hospital treats him well too. After all, hes harmless, poses no problem tous, and he likes flowers. This garden is the result ofhis work here: those gorgeous flowerbeds under the windows, and these lilac bushes. Incidentally, Iput my nose into his case file just tofind out something about his background. Well, inhis early twenties he graduated from Moscow University, after which theres not asingle record ofhis work, or anything.

Andrei: Oh, so the Old Dandelion is aveteran loafer? Why didnt they try him for parasitism? The first frame they tried toput on me when the authorities decided toput me away was alittle charge ofparasitism.

Bachkov: Idont know. He doesnt have any criminal record either. Just no record ofanything which could tell what his life was. Ofcourse, its not as if it were my business. But, its curious.

Andrei: Yeah, if this regime survives after all, my prospects seem as bleak as those ofold Dandelion: either take up arms, or live and die outlawed, behind barbed wire.

Bachkov: Whats wrong with barbed wire? As far as Iknow, youve been living inyour Star City behind barbed wire all your life, without any objections.

Andrei: How do you know? Did you read it inmy case files?

Bachkov: Iwas taken on aguided tour toyour Cosmonauts Training Center. Iused tobe on the all-Russia boxing team, and as achampion was given achance tosee how you live there. Imust say lots ofpeople would envy the life behind barbed wire you have!

Andrei: Oh, really? So what did you find so tempting there? Sausage or foreign-made garb inour shops?

Bachkov: Well, if so, whats wrong withit?

Andrei: Good question. Ihope you, as asportsman, should know that no one gets such things free: some pay for them with their health, some with their lives, and there are some who would readily sell their souls for those comforts. When our commanding fathers decided tolock me up, and ordered criminal charges brought against me, the investigator from our special prosecutors office, arare species ofabastard, told me frankly: You know Idont have anything personal against you, but you see, I, too, have health problems. Ihave gastritis and Ineed aspecial dietary country cheese, which Ican buy only inStar City, you understand? Itold him sympathetically that oatmeal boiled inwater is quite good for the stomach, and he said Ok, wise guy, Ill see that you have plenty ofit, and for along time.

Bachkov: Id rather move under the shed and play dominoes with the boys, its getting too hot here.

Exits.

Andrei, grinning: Iguess its the topic which got too hot forhim.

Victor: Hes the most decent male-nurse we have here. He studies at amedical college, incidentally. There are also two drunkards from the nearby alcoholic ward; as for the third one, Ihave no idea who he is, but he has the manners ofacriminal, and he associates with Sashas sort.

Andrei: Totell you the truth, ofthe three types youve mentioned its the decent type Itrust least. When Igot inapsychiatric hospital for the first time and they certified me as non compos mentis, Iwent on ahunger-strike, demanding acourt trial. On its seventh day, the hospital administration ordered me force-fed. And there were two male-nurses on duty that day: adecent one, as you say, incidentally, acollege student too, and the other, an ex-convict, with two prison terms for burglary. And it was this guy who refused totake part inmy force-feeding. So they asked for volunteers among the patients about two thirds ofour ward were criminals, brought either for forensic examination or transferred from psychiatric prisons. Well, none ofthem volunteered. The two who did came from adecent background. So your thesis that morals and ethics begin when scheming ends, Ican confirm bymy own past experience.

Victor: Well, what Isaid was that the human mind cannot foresee all the consequences ofhuman acts, which is why it resorts tosuch safety rules as morals and ethics. But taking into account that the human mind, as it becomes increasingly ego-centered, quickly turns toscheming, rather than reasoning, Ithink your way ofputting it is quite correct. Moreover, it may be painful for you tohear, but your interpretation is closeto

Lenins. He, too, was rather skeptical ofthe intellectuals worth, remarking that they are not the nations brain, but rather its bran, or excrement.

Andrei: Idont know what he said on that score. Anyway Im not going toreplace Christs commandments with class morals, the way he and his gangdid.

Victor: Never say never, because tosome extent he was right on that score too. Ofcourse, the morals ofasocial class are apoor substitute for Christs commandments, or rather the moral-ethical norms ofthe

Cosmos

Andrei: So, why was Lenin right, then?

Victor: He was right toapoint because the degree ofhuman receptiveness toChrists commandments, incidentally, based on love that is, the capability ofcompassion and sacrifice this receptiveness, indeed, depends on class consciousness: the more oppressed it is, the greater its capacity for compassion and sacrifice. Its not so much our being, as our beatings, which determine our consciousness. Christ himself stressed that idea, remarking that its easier for acamel topass through the needles eye than for arich man toenter the Kingdom ofHeaven.

Andrei: Its no use arguing withyou.

Victor: Why not? Its indispute that truth is discovered. Though our cellmates with criminal records,like

Sasha, would say that He who argues isnt worth shit.

Andrei: Im afraid they are more correct under the present conditions.

Victor smiling: Isee you are already learning the principle ofrelativity and condition. Incidentally, if Igot you right, you live inStar City?

Andrei:Yes.

Victor: And what did they try toprosecute youfor?

Andrei: Easy question which is hard toanswer. You see when the KGB tries toframe you, the formal charges they bring against you quite often have nothing todo with the actual cause for which you are being prosecuted. Inmy case the actual reason was so foul that they even were not unanimous on their formal charges and tried everything that might stick, from low parasitism tohigh treason, but finally decided on evasion ofmilitary service.

Victor: Isee. ARussian continuation ofYaroslav Gasheks story ofthe brave soldier Sweik: aspy, alunatic and adeserter all rolled intoone.

Andrei: Yes,sir.

Victor: So what did you do tothem that they have such agrudge againstyou?

Andrei: Nothing. And thats the grudge. As Isaid its along story which started 1517years back when they began pressing me tosnitch on my schoolmates, and my mother toinform on the cosmonauts, because, as they put, some ofthem allowed themselves too much.

We refused and were subjected torabid harassment, which is easy inaclosed garrison. Inshort, Iwas vaccinated against TB, although this vaccination was strictly proscribed tome on health grounds, and against which mother repeatedly warned the doctors. After their vaccination Ideveloped problems with my lungs.

Victor: And they did their best toconceal its cause, leaving you without adiagnosis, but offering treatment inexchange for cooperation, right?

Andrei: Yes, thats about how it actually was. How do you know?

Victor: Its an old, sure way ofrecruitment. They use it mostly inthe labor camps, though. So, what happened next?

Andrei: The next ten years my mother spent trying toget tothe truth, inendless appeals tonumerous authorities, from the bottom level tothe top all invain: no diagnosis no treatment. So Iwas forced totake up herbal medicine and yoga.

Victor: Did they help you cure theTB?

Andrei: No, they didnt. But they helped me not todie from it; at least, not immediately. Well, after Ifinished school, Ientered acollege and was tostudy applied mathematics, but after six months Ihad todrop out for health reasons.

After which they were legally bound todraft me. Ithought it was my chance tomake them diagnose me, so Ilodged an appeal with the head ofthe draft office, demanding judicial inquiry into my case, as well as amedical forensic examination; after which the draft office, apparently under pressure from our top brass and special department, ignored the problem ofmy draft for five years inthe hope that the problem would disappear ofnatural causes. But it didnt. Then in1981they summoned me toour special prosecutors office, and the prosecutor gave me an ultimatum: either Ienlist inthe army, and receive the necessary treatment there, or they prosecute me for parasitism. Isaid Ok, if forensic medical experts were tofind me healthy, Id go toprison.

Victor: Its strange: Knowing how these thugs hate legal scandals and disclosures, it would have been easier for them tokill you rather then start criminal procedures.

Andrei: Isuspect thats exactly what they tried todo. Acouple ofdays after my summons tothe prosecutors office, inthe early afternoon hours, when Iwas at home alone and my parents at work, Ifelt astrange pleasant whiff ofsome perfume present inmy room. Ilearned later that it was the scent ofalmond.

Victor: Or cyanide.

Andrei: Exactly. Well, soon Ideveloped symptoms ofcardiac arrest, and Istarted panting. Imust admit that despite my chronic TB and periodic coughing ofblood, Ihad never faced the prospect ofimminent death. Inshort, dying is difficult if its the first time youve experienced it. Panicking, Igulped ahuge amount ofeleutherococcus extract, you know aplant ofthe ginseng family. They give it as astimulant tocosmonauts or sportsmen. May be its this stuff that saved me; Idont know.

Victor: Idoubt it. Iguess it just wasnt your time todie.

Andrei: Iguess youre right. Anyway, dashing around the apartment, I, on the one hand, knew that it was death, and Iwas dying; on the other, Ifelt some force which wouldnt let me die. This experience oftwo opposite forces clashing within me, tearing my body apart, was rather terrible.Yes.

Later that day my parents came and called the emergency. Iwas taken byour garrison ambulance tothe district hospital, where the only thing they gave me was some sedative, for neither the colonel whod brought me, nor the hospitals civilian staff, could figure out what the problemwas.

Next morning Ireturned home as if nothing had happened, but later inthe day some red rash appeared and began spreading rapidly so that byevening my whole body had become red, with afever ofover 40. Again, the doctors were at aloss for the diagnosis: It didnt look like measles or anything else they knew.

Victor: It was the poison burning down inyour body.

Andrei: Yeah, Iguess so. Icant say how long Ihad this high fever, nor would Ilike togo through it again, recollecting all this. Anyway, Isurvived, much tothe confusion and chagrin ofthis gang.

So they had no option but totake me once again tothe prosecutors office and give me the same ultimatum: either the army or alabor camp this time on charges ofevasion ofmilitary service.

Okay, Isaid, Iopt for the labor camp, but first, you have toconduct the medical check.

They did it, and again the prosecutor offered me tochoose: either the army or apsychiatric asylum for criminals. Isaid how about the five years inalabor camp you promised last time? No, he said; we cannot send you toalabor camp: the medical check shows you have an active form ofTB.

After that Ihad no option but totry, before they did lock me up, toappeal for help totheUS Embassy.

Thats what Iand my mother were institutionalizedfor.

Victor: Did you go tothe Embassy together?

Andrei: Yes. Luckily, they didnt keep her there long.

Andrei: Inthe psychiatric hospital they continued with their threats, promising me atrial byatribunal for treason and espionage, unless Ishowed repentance for what Id done. Isaid Id rather plead guilty and surrender the whole ofthe spy-ring: meeting places, addresses, names and what names,too.

Toforestall such ascandalous possibility, the KGB reported that inaddition tothe American embassy, there were two or three other western embassies Ihad tried toget into; inshort, that Ihad an obsession for appealing toforeign embassies, after which they diagnosed me as schizophrenic, and therefore non-composmentis; that is, mentally unable tostand trial for the committed crime evasion ofmilitary service.

Victor: If Iget it right, it means that you are adeserter, but they didnt try you because you happen tobe aloony,too.

Andrei: Yes, sir. And they rounded me up for this youth festival period because Im also asuspected spy as well.

Victor: Small wonder, inlight ofthe fact that you know English and can freely communicate with the enemy intheir own language, an ability often beyond their own mental grasp. How long did they keep you then?

Andrei: Icant say for sure. About three months.

Victor: Just three months? They keep people locked for years insuch cases.

Andrei: Thats what they had actually planned, but my hunger-strike must have spoiled everything. They did their best topersuade me not toraise aracket: sit quiet for ayear or so, they said, and we wont give you any injections, only pills, which you can spit or swallow nobody cares. Inayear the scandal dies down, and we let youout.

Iwouldnt listen totheir propositions, though. Bythat time Id seen enough toknow better. Besides, being inamental hospital and communicating with ordinary guys, like Sasha, Isaw that what theyd done tome wasnt an isolated incident, but atypical example ofhow this system works. Isaw that there were lots ofordinary people actually getting amuch harsher deal from this gang than Iwas. Inother words, Iunderstood that dealing with the commies no quarters should be asked, nor given; that they were simply destroyingus under various guises, because, Ibecame convinced, sooner or later wed destroy them. Theres no other option,no.

Inshort, bythat time Ihated those bastards so much Iwouldnt talk with them anyway. Besides, they overdid their persuasions: tomake me more pliable, they transferred me from the observation ward where ordinary criminals were kept tothe ward for the privileged. Apparently they thought aguy from Star City would feel greater kinship for high-ranking thieves rather than the common rabble which was so overflooding their labor camps that they were forced tosend some ofthem topsychiatric hospitals.

Imust say that some ofthe boys were sent there for taking part inmass protests either bycutting their wrists, or going on ahunger-strike there was alot ofunrest inprisons and labor camps at the time.

Victor: The Sun was rather active that year, spurring mankind tofight for freedom, not just inour country, but all over the planet. Remember the workers revolution inPoland, the tragic hunger-strike ofthe IRA prisoners inNorthern Ireland? They are good examples ofthis.

Andrei: Ofcourse Iremember. Their choice offreedom at the cost oftheir lives served as an example toall ofus who were enslaved for wanting tobe free.

Victor: Well, not only tothem. It was this summer that Iattained enlightenment: the very same freedom at the price ofones own life.

Andrei: Excuse me, but Idont understand this paradox or yours. If Ican 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, its quite the contrary. Such are the dialectics.

Andrei: Ididnt get you just the same.

Victor: Never mind, youll learn. So what wrong did they do toyou bytransferring you from the observation ward tothe ward for the privileged?

Andrei: Iwas one oftheir own inthe observation ward. The guys who suffered alot from the commies hated their guts and here they send aguy who dared togo totheUS embassy, well, the general attitude was understandable.

Solidarity ingeneral was the norm inthe ward, something absolutely alien tothis pack ofbitches called socialist society. Iremember an incident inour canteen when Iwas called atraitor and aCIA agent bysome bastard who either wanted toshow his patriotism towin favors, or was just trying toprovoke me toafight Idont know. Anyway, his reward was not long incoming: 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 ofthose bitches dared toshowus their fucking patriotism.

So they transferred me tothe so-called recovery ward, for the bitchiest bitches, like the deputy director ofour local Schelkovo steel-mill, some department head inthe Foreign Trade Ministry, the head ofsome big supermarket inMoscow; inshort, all those bossy felons, and acouple ofbosses sons one was adeputy principal inaprestigious English language school. The bastard screwed half ofhis students, undermined his health, and therefore badly needed treatment; the other one was ayoung sadist killer who knifed agirl inhis class, and she bled todeath. 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 intheir spare time they lectured me on patriotism, saying that Imust love their fucking country, and defend it byserving inthe army, instead ofselling it out totheUS imperialists. The deputy director ofour local steel-mill and the pedophile principal whose daddy was said tohold some high post inthe KGB were the ones who persevered the most. Idont know how much patience Ihad left for listening tothose bitches, but luckily, on the fifth day ofmy hunger-strike, when they saw Iwas not bowing totheir persuasion, they sent me back tothe observation ward. And on the seventh, they gave me the hell they had total blackout induced byinjections ofGod knows

promised before. Totell you truth, for me it was awhat junk.

Then they released me. Frankly, Istill dont know why. Apparently, they were convinced Iwouldnt last long, with active TB at that, and they simply didnt want an extra corpse on their hands.

Victor: Yes, Isee. Well, nowadays, you look quite healthy, alive and kicking Id say. Isaw you jerk this dumb-bell.

Andrei: Quite right. It may be funny tohear but it was this stint inthe mental asylum which spurred my physical recovery. It helped me shed the remaining illusions about our communist pie-in-the sky, giving me such apowerful charge ofhatred ofour regime and adesire tofight it, that after my release Iwas improving with magic speed, though Iwas practicing the very same yoga and herbal treatment which earlier had brought me very little relief.

Victor: Its not surprising: yoga, first and foremost, is aspiritual practice, not aphysical exercise, the effect ofwhich is indeed minute. As soon as yoga becomes aspiritual feat for its practitioner, the magic begins.

OK, never mind. Ithink youll have lots ofother miracles ahead ofyou, now that youve become atrue yogi. This is not crucial. What is crucial is that you now know that one has tosacrifice, topay with ones life for ones spiritual freedom, integrity, for spiritual values. Now you know that sacrifice is the main law ofspiritual development. Like achild, youve only made the first step there. You have yet tolearn how towalk, acquiring on your way spiritual skill and knowledge for which one also pays with his life.

And, knowing your passionate love for communism, Ifeel inclined totell you one secret: the communist pie will soon fall out ofthesky.

Andrei: Damn, man, do you think its funny?

Victor: Im absolutely serious. But lets dwell on it later. The sun is such atreat today that Idont want tospoil the enjoyment with talk ofpolitics.




Act2





Scene inthe 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. Whos scrubbing today? Victor Vasilievich? Heres the instrument for the master. Voronin, grab your towel and clear out, quick tothe observation ward!

Voronin: What for, Captain?

Bachkov: For too much eating and polluting theair.

Addressing ayoung man standing with his things inthe doorway: Come in, this glutton will clear out soon, and you can settlein.

Voronin tothe newcomer: Come in. Whats your name?

Fedorovich, ayoung man inhis early twenties: Victor.

inthe locker. Whats this you have, cheese? CanI

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

Fedorovich: Its asmoked cheese, Idont know if youll likeit

Voronin: Thank you, Ilike all cheese, especially smoked. Oh, its fresh. Know the story about Red Riding Hood? Well, Red Riding Hood was walking inthe woods, and bumped into the Wolf

Bachkov reappearing inthe doorway: Voronin, Ill have you tied tothe bunk!

Voronin: Coming, Captain!

Singing: Among untrodden mountain paths theres one thats mine

Fedorovich, sitting down on the vacant cot, taking alook around and spotting Sasha: Hey, Sasha! Youre already here?

Sasha: Hi, Vitya! Come over here for achat.

ToAndrei lying on the next bunk: Agood guy, Vitya Fedorovich, we live near each other. ToFedorovich, sitting down on his cot: How come youre here?

Fedorovich showed his bandaged left forearm.

Sasha: Slashed your wrist?Why?

Fedorovich: Had to, got into afix Lets go out and have asmoke.

Sasha: Go ahead. Shoot, these guys are OK. Anyway, our toilet is teeming with snitches.

Fedorovich: Theres little tosay. Iwas just trying tobuy alittle gold, so Iwent toapawn-shop inMoscow tosee whos bringing inwhat, and tried tooffer my own price. Iwas arrested there and then.

Sasha: Jeez! Are you really mad? Todo such acrazy thing toget this serious rap? There are always undercover cops slouching about such places, besides the guys who want toengage ingold and hard currency speculation first make sure they have reliable suppliers and buyers, then they take the risks. You, instead, did such childishly stupid thing as togo straight toapawn-shop!

Fedorovich: Ijust wanted togive it atry. You know people take tothe pawn-shops lots ofprecious things, and the state buys them up, paying byweight asheer pittance. So Ithought ofgiving it atry: tomake alittle money and do people agood turn, too, because what they get paid bythe state is nothing but legalized robbery inbroad daylight.

Sasha: Well, you are adamned fool, Vitya.

Fedorovich: Not just I, Alex the Afghan was with metoo.

Sasha: God, what fools! You aggravated your case byconspiracy and group felony, agood prospect of15years! Who arrestedyou?

Fedorovich: MoscowsCID.

Sasha: Toobad.

Andrei:Why?

Fedorovich: They treat you Gestapo style there. Alex tried tokeep silent at his first interrogation, so they took him back tothe cell, and gave him such awhaling that I, returning from my own questioning toour cell, almost peed inmy pants: it was all smeared inblood.

Andrei: Did they beat you uptoo?

Fedorovich: No, Iwas more lucky. When they told me they would beat the shit out ofme unless Iconfessed, Iwarned them Ihad aheart problem, that my father has adegree incardiology and works at aMoscow regional clinic where Iundergo regular examinations. This actually saved me from being killed or crippled.

Sasha: Yes, its nice tohave afather with adegree incardiology. How come you are here?

Fedorovich: The CID knew better than toget involved with me, so they passed me toSchelkovo Police




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