Part One – There
(Eastern Hemisphere)
CHAPTER NINETEEN – ARENA OF LIFE
(Dedicated to the memory of friends of the pioneer years)
Darkness. And silence. A woman’s whisper is barely audible. This is Zhenya calling an ambulance, probably shouting into the phone, and then, “Misha! Misha!”
Is this my departure? They described that everything is visible as if from above. I don’t see anything. And it’s like I’m falling somewhere…
It’s a pity I hadn’t wait for my grandchildren. I wanted so much to take them to my homeland, to the mountains. Ride to my childhood.
Oh what are they doing to me?! 360 Joules!
Glares… of the sea? Of the sun?
1
The last time I met Levan was at a conference on particles accelerator technology and electron-positron scattering in Genoa. We wandered the crooked streets of the old town. The salty sea wind friendly ruffled our hair.
“You still didn’t make up your mind about leaving the country, did you?” I asked.
“Yes, Misha, I still didn’t. But I am not making up my mind, I rather deciding. The family insists, everybody has been there for a long time, but I’m stuck and can’t quit experiments.”
“Levan, who says quit? Do you think the experiments at Caltech will turn out worse than at Budker?”
“Equal. But at home everything around is our own, and everyone is your own. Even though we are paupers, or maybe just because of this, we have to invent tricky things. We solve complex problems with small means.”
I didn’t want to argue. Levan had conducted unique experiments, but did they depend on the poverty of the institute, and not on the talent of the researcher?
“You know, our people are everywhere now. And if you work for a year or two abroad, you will feel for yourself: all physicists are citizens of one country – fantasy. And they have one currency.”
“Yes, ideas! Maybe you are right. I do discuss this with my brothers every week. Apparently, I will soon give up… at the mercy of the winner. Do you remember?” my friend smiled shyly.
I put my hand on Levan’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly. Of course I had remembered. Out teenager story had a strong influence on us.
2
“Levanchik, do you have an outfit for the carnival?”
“I have a tone for the body. I’ll put on make-up as a moor, cover my body with a sheet and be Othello.”
“Dark skin will suit your curls, but a costume without a performance will not be appreciated very much. You need Desdemona!”
“No, I won’t strangle anyone. Do you have a suit with its presentation, Misha?”
“I have a costume of a gladiator, I made it for six months, but I’m just looking for a partner for the act. Your Moor, if made him into an arena fighter, suits me well,” and I explained my plan, “It is clear that everyone loves gladiators, but it is necessary to show their courage and prowess in battle in such a way that the pioneer lads rejoice. And the jury will appreciate it together with them.”
And I shared with Levan my dream – to stage a gladiator fight, from which Giovagnoli’s Spartacus begins. I raved about this idea for a long time and I began to implement it during the school year, long before the summer holidays. My mother made me a white and red tunic from an old kitchen curtain, and I made cardboard armor and stitched it in a shoemaker’s shop.
“Are you going to war?” asked me an old one-legged Yezidi shoemaker, “Believe me, there is nothing good in it, isn’t that right, Comrade Stalin?” and he winked at the portrait of the Generalissimo on the wall of his booth, “O.K. kurri ware (give it here, boy).”
Then I cut a short Gallic sword out of aircraft plywood. It took two painful months to create a papier-mâché helmet decorated with a fish. By the beginning of the camp season, I covered all the weapons with silver and bronze, purchased from the dyer of the cemetery fences.
I confess that although the authenticity of the Gallic weapons was doubtful, the costume was a success, so that many spectators and jury members could, albeit unfairly, consider it made to order. In addition, from the experience of previous pioneer years, I knew that not just a colorful costume wins at the carnival, but the bright spectacular presentation of it. So I started looking for a partner, and Levanchik with his “outfit” was perfect for this. I briefed a friend on the details of the plan that had been developed, and we began preparations together.
First, we got the missing props. As you remember, the retiarius, that Levan was going to play, was armed with a trident and a net. The battered mop of our detachment easily turned into a trident, and the net … Well, it’s easy to find it. We borrowed a torn volleyball net from a physical education teacher, uncle Tolya, and began to rehearse.
It just seems that staging a fight between two gladiators is simple. Try it yourself. Think it’s easy to throw a volleyball net the way Giovagnoli imagined it? But I turned out to be a ruthless director, and soon Levan learned to send the net where it needed to be, that is, not to throw the net to the head of the Gaul. Exactly as described in the novel, the Gaul pursued the enemy around the entire circumference of the arena, which was represented by our pioneer gathering ground.
Grabbing the net again, the retiarius successfully threw it on the opponent’s legs and tried to hit him with a trident. Here arose the second somersault of our scene. It was necessary to deftly put the sword between the teeth of the trident and spin it. Thanks to the huge shoulder, the moment of force pulled the trident out of the boyish hands, and the main task was to hold the sword in the hands. Then, according to the scenario, the Gaul overtook the fallen retiary and left the outcome of the duel at the mercy of the audience. And since the audience was all of ours – pioneers, I, at least, had no doubt that the slave-gladiator would be pardoned and set free. Levan did not quite share my optimism.
“You know, Misha, we can imagine everything in different ways,” he said, “The only thing that matters is what happens during the experiment. I am not at all afraid of getting hurt in a fight, but I think with horror how the people can sentence me to death.”
“What are you, Levanchik?” I objected, “Pioneers are our friends. They don’t betray gladiators!”
3
People were always crowded in the pub near the “glassy” – a regional grocery store that smelled sour from a bit rotten vegetables. The proximity of food, the opportunity to earn extra money unloading goods or loading up garbage tracks, and watching women scurrying around in search of food, attracted beer drinkers from all over the neighborhood.
Tall, lanky Klim, who somehow imperceptibly switched from light drunkard to a degrading alcoholic, looked around in the hope of meeting understanding in someone’s eyes and willingness to pour him some beer. From childhood, he was taught that “he who seeks will always find”, and this principle sometimes worked.
In the corner of the room, he noticed a stocky man with graying crew cut hair, wearing a military vest under a faded spotted jacket with shabby green buttons. “He doesn’t look like a drunkard, he doesn’t look like a hard worker either. He wears remains of the uniform of the Airborne Forces. If things were really his own… he might splash some beer. I have to take a risk.”
Approaching the stranger, Klim leaned slightly towards him and said softly,
“I see, buttons on your cammie are combat.”
“Did you yourself was in army operation?” man responded briskly.
“It happened,” Klim nodded, “We drink beer, but remember village Konjac.”
The gray-haired, as if having received a password from the dushmans’ world, silently poured half of his beer into the guest’s mug:
“Out of employment?”
“I am working hourly, when they take it. And you?”
“I’m on my way to the capital, it’s dead end here.”
“Do you have a civil profession?”
“I can be a carpenter.”
“Wow! Then you’re lucky. One man here dumps to the States. He was looking for a master – to build him boxes.”
“A bourgeois? From new ones?”
“He is a professor at the Budker’s – the Budker Institute of Nuclear Physics. Either a Georgian, or a Kike: Levan Yosifovich. But he has dollars.”
“Then his nationality doesn’t matter. Where are the dollars from? Gossips, ah?”
“No, it is true. Galka, my wife, cleans up at his place. She herself heard the conversation on the phone. “Yes, I’m not worried,” said the professor, “my safe is full of currency.”
“Do you know the address?”
4
The buzz of voices on the benches around the pioneer ground did not stop. Now this ground has been turned into the arena. One side of it, gently sloping down to the flat part, formed an amphitheater filled with spectators. Most of them were dressed up in homemade carnival costumes, so the pioneers in white shirts with red ties looked against this painted brethren like patricians among the plebs.
To the music, a crowd of mummers made two circles around the arena in full view of the “patricians” and the jury, headed by the director of the pioneer camp. Then all participants of the procession sat around the arena and prepared to present their costumes with amateur performances.
As usual, princesses sang, musketeers played guitars, pirates demonstrated young muscles and acrobatic pyramids, animals danced, a noise band performed marches, evil spirits competed in magic and tricks, and clowns performed with humorous reprises. And finally, our turn had come.
The whole concert, Levan and I stood at the flagpole on the arena, right in front of the stands and the jury table. This place allowed spectators to get a good look at our costumes and prevented warlike musketeers and pirates from trying out our weapons and armor openly, in full view of everyone.
The senior pioneer leader announced that a gladiator fight would take place: a Gaul warrior in national armor against a retiary – a gladiator, armed with a trident and a net. The bugler blew the muster signal, and we, tearing ourselves away from our places at the flagpole, menacingly shaking our weapons, ran in opposite directions on a circle, towards our meeting and fate. The cheers of the fans were supporting our spirit.
“Wow!”
The thrown net fell at my feet with the whistling sound.
“Shit!” the amphitheater echoed, but I was already chasing the retiarius in a circle, brandishing with my sword.
“Come on! Come on! Come on!” moaned the audience, craving hand-to-hand combat, until Levanchik ran to the net and threw it again.
Great! It seemed to entangle the legs of the Gaul, who was stretched out in the arena.
“Hit him!” the boys squealed in the ecstasy of the fight.
But the blow of the trident fell on the counter sword. A turn, and the former mop flew off to the side. Another second, and I sat astride the opponent, defeated according to the scenario, who looked at me anxiously, and for some reason, blinking often, whispered,
“Don’t listen to them! Don’t listen to them!”
And then it dawned on me that the people in the stands were frantically chanting,
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!” and shook their fists with thumbs down.
“What are you guys? Levanchik is ours!” I almost cried, feverishly thinking how to get out of this situation.
And then I raised my sword high and dismounted from the retiary. The screams subsided.
“Honorable jury, quirites, patricians!”
“Don’t fuckrici us!” shouted a joker from the crowd.
Everyone laughed, but continued to listen intently.
“The majority of citizens vote for… the life to the slave!”
I extended my hand to Levan, who immediately grabbed it, jumped to his feet, and we bowed ceremoniously.
Spectators hooted and whistled all around. A hail of all sort of rubbish rained down on the arena. The frustrated patricians, probably for the first time in their short pioneer life, faced the problem of counting votes…
5
The door was opened by a youthful man with Pushkin-black curls, dressed in American jeans and sneakers. Massive horn-rimmed spectacles sat slightly lowered on a large nose.
“I’m from Galya, who cleans your apartment,” the stranger told him, “I can make any custom boxes for customs if you still need it…”
The owner of the glasses smiled affably, “I love precise wording. Yes, I still need wooden boxes for books.”
“Books are heavy and require strong containers. What volume?”
“Come in, since you’re here. Measure the books for now, figure it out, and we’ll discuss the price.”
A man in a camouflage jacket stepped into the apartment. He did not like what he saw: the furnishings were sparse, there were books everywhere and no visible signs of luxury. In appearance – a bachelor’s apartment without traces of a woman. But if he trusted the serene landscapes of the banks of Kabul and Terek, he would not be standing here alive now. Disguise! Everything is sold, the currency is in the safe, and the safe… He took a sharp step towards the door to the adjoining room and opened it by pressing the handle through the sleeve of his jacket.
“Where are you going?” exclaimed the owner, “There are no books in the bedroom!”
There really were no books, and most importantly, no people. “Why is the owner worried then? For the safe? For his dollars?” thought the man.
For the success of the operation, decisive action had to be taken.
“Sit down, Levan!”
With these words, the stranger picked up a small hatchet from the floor and cut the telephone cord with it.
“I’m from the ABF. We have learned that you are preparing to illegally take a large amount of currency out of the country. Sit!”
Intruder dropped on the floor the mobile phone from the table, hit it with the heel of a heavy boot and added it with a tourist hatchet.
“Most importantly, do not panic and do not perform heroic actions, Levan!”
The pale professor almost fell into his chair.
“I’m not panicking, but you got the wrong address in your AB…C.”
He tried to smile, but the smile didn’t work.
“I’m not a businessman, I’m a scientist, and I don’t have any currency,” he added, blinking frequently.
“Lie!”
“I meant illegal money, not a couple of hundred dollars required for leaving.”
“And what about the safe?”
“I don’t know anything about any safe.”
“Bad, Levan. You lie bad!”
“Besides, I’m also a liar? Have you come to rob me? Then do your job! You can take whatever you like, whatever you can carry. I’m even not going to report it!”
In excitement, Levan jumped to his feet and, gesticulating, moved towards the blackmailer.
“And I won’t take my books with me now! Why the hell do I need Dostoevsky when the living Raskolnikov is standing in front of me and waving with my own hatchet! Cattle, damned cattle was and is!”
“And you are saying it to me!” the paratrooper’s face turned purple, “I shed blood, while talkers like you pissed away the whole country! Don’t come! And now they themselves are running off! Times are returning – the unfinished bourgeois are drinking people’s blood. They put everyone who resisted against the wall in the revolution! Correct! There is no other way! Stop, I said! Either you will devour us, or we will… exterminate you!”
Levan did not hear the last word. His body with a broken skull fell to the floor.
6
The pioneer camp’s accordionist was stretching the bellows of his instrument with all his might. To the sounds of the finale march from the movie “Circus”, the winners of the carnival costume contest were called to the arena.
“The first place for the best costumes and the best amateur presentation is awarded to the gladiators!”
Levanchik and I entered the arena and bowed to the applause and whistling of the audience.
“Diplomas for the first place are received by both gladiators, but the black slave, as a representative of the oppressed peoples of Africa and in solidarity with the national liberation movement has an additional prize – a package of chocolates!”
The accordionist had performed a flourish. It was a punch in the gut! I spent so much efforts on making armor, on staging the battle, on saving the friend from “death”, and this idiot director humiliated my hero, and along with him, me. And then there was Levan with a beaming face, as if in mockery, shook a paper bag with chocolates in front of me.
Offended with his gesture, I snapped back, “Eat your sweets for oppressed people!”
“Am I to blame? Choke on these slave sweets,” Levan sobbed and, throwing the package at my feet, ran away into the deepening darkness.
I felt remorse. Indeed, why is Levanchik to blame? And I rushed to catch up and console my miserable friend.
Half an hour later, an idyllic picture opened up to the pioneers and leaders of the summer camp: two boys were sitting in an embrace under a pine tree. Did they have any reason to be offended by each other? Because of the candy? We’ll eat them together! Alas, the package was no longer in place. But then, how well they fought and how well they outmaneuvered all these politicians… sorry, patricians in the stands along with the director of their camp!
“I’ll tell this story the classmates at school!”
“I’m going to tell it to my children!”
“And I even tell it to my grandchildren! I’ll bring them here, to the mountains, and tell them.”
Strong pine scent filled the cool mountain air. More and more lights appeared above the camp in the black velvet of the sky, as in a starry arena…
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