Part One – There
(Eastern Hemisphere)
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT – SRITO. A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT
The wheels of the train tapped lullingly at the joints of the rails, taking us closer and closer to the Black Sea. This song of the railway, smelling of fuel oil, the fresh wind of endless expanses and intoxicating youth led us in search of adventures, discoveries and good luck.
Six people were sitting in the train compartment – four of us and two strangers. We were unable to get a whole 4-bed compartment for our 4-people company and in return received two shelves in two neighboring compartments. Two strangers were “an old man and an old woman,” at least we perceived them so at our twenty to twenty-five years old. It was impossible to exchange seats; only Lana had a lower shelf, and Zoya, Eteri and I had the upper ones, so when exchanging, one of the passengers would lose the lower bunk – there were no fools! But the idea of “paying extra” in those stagnant years even did not occur to any of us. All evening the “old man” ate my girlfriends with his eyes in such a way that he awakened the long-dormant jealousy of the “old woman.”
“Climb onto your shelf,” she commanded, “And lie down on the side!”
And then compassionate Lana gave the “old man” the lower seat, and she herself settled on the top shelf to make it more convenient to chat with me. Alas, not appreciating her good deed, the fellow traveler began lecturing Lana about how bad it was for her to chat with a young man while not let sleep someone else who was old enough to be her father.
“Well,” said Lana, recalling his indiscreet glances, “If the only two of us were in the compartment, you would immediately explain to me how insignificant the age difference between us is.”
“Girl, you still want to arouse me!” he seethed.
“On the contrary, to calm you down!” said Lana, “Now, uncle, you will be silent until the morning,” and with these words she took off her red silk blouse. I myself became speechless, not even saying about “the uncle”. The small but beautifully shaped girl’s breasts at arm’s length made a strong impression on me. The “old man” from the bottom shelf was simply paralyzed. As Lana predicted, he remained silent until the morning, and only occasionally puffed rhythmically from under his sheet…
Our tetrad came together by a chance. I was going to Sukhumi to see the authors of an article on the influence of electric and magnetic fields on the growth of bones and soft tissues. In those years this topic was hot. The tone was set in the United States, where, with money from the Navy Department, researchers stimulated artificial fractures in rabbits and sheep, and then, after slaughtering the animals, they determined that callus formed faster and was stronger against attempt to fracture it. I have not met a single Soviet researcher, tired of searching for meat in stores, who, after experiments on skinny, shabby vivarium dogs named after Academician Pavlov, would not be sure that in America their entire laboratory, institute and even the Navy Department eat barbeques from slaughtered sheep.
At the same time, there was an opinion that science was on the verge of a great discovery. A little bit more, we will apply the correct field, electrode, magnet, current strength, etc., and the bone of a dog, rabbit, ram and Ta-Dam! (Fanfares!) – of a human, will begin to grow at the speed of at least the severed tail of a lizard.
I, a young university graduate, dreamed of how I would go out with a report to the podium, ask the faint of heart to turn away, and in front of an astonished public I would chop off my anesthetized in advance finger with a cleaver. And then, in front of the same shocked audience, I will grow it back again. Oh, how I loved imagining the sensation that had been created!
However, dreams are dreams, but good experiments were needed. First in one journal or another, articles appeared about some supposedly successful, but vague attempts to stimulate bone growth, and interested researchers tried to find out whether this was really the correct approach or a “fake” article designed to subsequently confirm involvement in the discovery.
I have already had the opportunity to travel to Kyiv, where two or three institutions produced similar works. Some of them were classified because of their relationship to “space and stimulation of astronauts,” but many assumed they were rather “simulations” to hide idleness and quackery. Two research assistants, one cosmonaut and I had lunch together in a restaurant on Khreshchatyk. The astronaut drank elderberry tincture with alcohol from a flask, claiming that it was a secret medicine that relieves the effects of cosmic radiation. The stories of the tipsy researchers sounded like the stories of no more sober fishermen and were replete many Russian short words of sexual meaning. As I was leaving the restaurant, a man approached me and whispered,
“Don’t talk about what you heard here, otherwise you’ll end up in the tallest Ukrainian building … well, from which you can see Siberia!”
During my school years, I visited Kiev twice (during a tourist trip to the hero cities and taking part at the All-Union Mathematical Olympiad) and already then I became acquainted with this popular phrase.
Nevertheless, upon returning home, I shared what I had heard with Academician A. himself. You can’t deny his intelligence, as well as his business qualities. He thought about what he had heard and made me an offer.
“You are a single man,” said the academician, “You will live in Kyiv. We will send you… to an internship. As soon as a serious result appears, report it immediately. An article will be published right away in the next issue of the republican magazine. It will be signed by me, the deputy minister, well, and by whoever needs to sign it. We’ll include you, of course! In short, the State Prize is in our pocket!”
My tongue is my enemy! I couldn’t resist and asked,
“And will you pay me as to a spy-agent?”
The academician was not at all offended, or, like a professional boxer, he handled the blows well. He laughed and remarked,
“We will pay you with Karbovanets… when the Ukrainians separate!”
So I didn’t go to Kyiv. And now I was heading to Sukhumi. Also not on a business trip, but simply was released from work for a few days on the eve of the holidays. And thanks even for that! It was like a paid vacation without any reports or documents. But it would be more fun to travel in company, and I began to actively look for companions. In unexplained ways, I found three fellow travelers – all three were girls from the physics department, which I graduated from. During my student years, there was a saying in the University,
“In the philology (literature) department, no matter where you spit, there’s a pretty girl, but in the physics department, on the contrary, for every girl, you just spit!”
Nothing like this! All three of my companions were very pretty – a Russian beauty with a high forehead and a slightly upturned nose – blonde Svetlana, we called her Lana; the Armenian beauty – black-haired Zoya, with the eyes of a shy doe, and the Georgian beauty – Eteri with peach skin, thick chestnut curls and huge eyelashes. Zoya and Eteri were going to visit relatives for the holidays, and Lana was going to see two her groupmates. One of them, Kolya, wrote his diploma thesis at the Institute of Academician Lapin, and the other, Vova, at the Institute of Physics. For me, the most significant thing was that Vova’s family lived in Sukhumi. I was just going to stay with them.
I liked Vova very much. Firstly, he was witty, and together we composed successful miniatures for student skits. Secondly, he was an intelligent – I liked those kind of people – educated, polite, and thoughtful. I was once amazed to learn that his father is occupying a high position in the government of Abkhazia. At that time, it seemed to me that “Dad’s” affiliation with the government left a negative imprint on family members. But Vova refuted this opinion not only with his personal tact, but also with the behavior of the entire family. They cordially received Vova’s friends of a rather “simple” origin, were not afraid to make critical remarks about the central government, and even praised my comic song about the changed words of the USSR anthem (“Let’s not worry about the anthem, guys, because life will come up with new anthems; let’s build communism as soon as possible!”)
Vova was delighted to learn that I was going to visit him for the holidays,
“My parents are just leaving, I am left alone with my younger brother and can easily accommodate several people, not just you alone!”
His words turned out to be prophetic: a detachment of three Amazons and one junior researcher landed directly from the station into a huge government apartment in the center of the resort city. The owner Vova and his brother were confused, but cordially gave us their room, a guest room and a dining-living room with a huge sofa, and they themselves got ready to retreat to their parents’ bedroom, but it was a joke from our side. Only I had to be accommodated. Zoya and Eteri settled with relatives, and Lana with Kolya. However, everyone dined at Vova’s. These dinners are worthy of a separate story.
Firstly, we lived the “governmental” life. In the morning, Vova called the Central Committee canteen and said the magic words,
“Lunch for seven people in so-and-so’s apartment!”
At four o’clock the phone rang,
“Dinner has been delivered, can we bring it in?”
A couple of minutes later, a tall messenger, who looked like a circus weightlifter, was carrying into the apartment in his outstretched arms large cylindrical cans, similar to containers of ice cream. One – with the soup and second – with the main course. A driver trotted behind him with two smaller cylinders – an appetizer and a dessert. They took all this to the kitchen and delicately left.
Secondly, the girls played “high life”. Yes, you heard right, not the Soviet one, but, namely, the secular one. They set the table as if for the reception of the Queen of England. From the sideboard and cabinet came Saxon porcelain, Bohemian crystal and God knows what antiques. All this, according to royal etiquette, was placed on the table, and the cobalt and gold Japanese tea set was temporarily placed on a separate table for serving dessert. Christofle’s silver cutlery, Meissen decanters with drinks and starched napkins with monograms completed the picture. I don’t think that such “nationalization” would have pleased Vova’s parents. But in their absence, the “people’s freemen” ruled the roost. Vova only proposed,
“Let’s put some paper napkins, just in case!”
In the conditions of communist abundance, the true character of man was revealed – the girls looked after the four boys with maternal care! It should be noted that, to the credit of those gathered, no one broke anything, spilled anything, or even stained the tablecloth during the three or four days of Lucullus’ feasts that lasted. Vova and I later wrote a humorous story – “The Big Guzzle” about this universal glutton.
My meeting with the authors of the article made a sad, but partly expected impression. They knew nothing about electrical stimulation, did not keep any protocols, had eaten the experimental rabbits, and in my heart I doubted that any experiments were carried out at all. Nevertheless, being nice people, the “researchers” received me cordially, talked about the difficulties of the last sixty years of Soviet life and treated me, although not homemade, but to rabbit stew (!) with white wine sauce. It was impossible to refuse food, despite my dislike for white meat. This meant that I despised them and did not appreciate the fact that they recognized me as “one of their own” and openly expressed their attitude towards Soviet skinny rabbits, Soviet science and the Soviet government as different forms of the same shit. Therefore, eating rabbit together with the Abkhazians was more of a ritual nature, such as smoking a peace pipe with the Iroquois.
At four o’clock I was already taking part in another feast – at home, enjoying the excellent company of like-minded people and the glorious “Central Committee” cuisine. Having laughed at the unfortunate experimenters, the guys suggested that I visited the Lapin Institute. It was one of three USSR centers, along with Riga and Pushchino that collaborated with America in the study of cancer in primates. The result was the presence of very nice chimpanzees and gorgeous American laboratory glassware. The institute also kept herds of various monkeys, on which higher nervous activity, behavior and ethology (innate behavior or instincts) were studied. Part of the nursery, like a zoo, was shown to the public and thereby brought additional income to the institute. The plan of my visit was as follows: in the morning I visit the nursery, open to the public, then Kolya picks me up and introduces me to their laboratory, and then takes me to the Soviet ethologist, Professor Anna Stepanovna, a friend of Vova’s mother, who, in turn, headed the human resources department of the institute.
The morning started at the nursery. Certain breeds of monkeys were represented by individuals frolicking in large, clean and well-equipped cages. The Mingrelian guide with a strong accent, contrasting with the monotony of his speech, was revealing short information about them,
“Gorilla. Lives in Africa. Weigh two hundred kilos. Eats bananas. Have questions?”
“Excuse me, but is this a man or a woman?” asked the woman excursionist.
“Male! And this one is an Orangutan. Lives in Africa. Eats bananas. A one and a half centners weigh. Have questions?”
“Excuse me, but is this a man or a woman?” the same visitor insisted.
“Male! And this one is a Chimpanzee. Lives in Africa. Weigh a hundred kilo. Eats bananas.”
“Excuse me, but is this a man or a woman?” the inquisitive one did not calm down.
“Male! Uh-uh! The man is the one who earns the money! Everybody else is male!”
The most interesting thing was to observe from special observation platforms the life of a herd of monkeys in the wild. In a vast territory simulating natural habitat conditions, dozens of animals ran, ate, played and had sex. People watched their actions, especially those of an intimate nature, with obvious pleasure, and commented on them diligently. A large male, apparently the leader, imposingly approached the monkey, picking up some food from the ground, grabbed her red butt and with a deft movement, like a hunter raising his gun, inserted a long, red carrot into her body. The audience laughed. The monkey, not paying attention to the “attack,” continued to feed from the ground.
“She doesn’t care about your carrot,” said the rosy-cheeked worker, “Exactly like my Lyusia after the night shift!”
Everyone laughed again. But the leader stubbornly continued to shake the monkey, and gradually she began to squeal and move its pelvis in response.
“His Lyusia woke up!” the collective farmer remarked, “Where should she rush? They have real communism!”
“Mom, mom,” said a girl about seven years old, “The uncle-monkey has a longer pee-pee than the Dady!”
Peals of laughter were heard.
“But thinner!”
Now all the remarks were drowned in Homeric laughter, which ended the excursion.
It was over for tourists, but for me it was just a begun. Kolya was already waiting to take me inside. The laboratory amazed the imagination of a person who had never been abroad with the abundance of beautiful and convenient equipment, and its employees amazed with their habitual attitude to “luxury”. In the trash cans – elegant multi-colored containers – lay the envy of any person who cares about office supplies. Coffee and milk flowed like a river from an unprecedented machine into large earthenware mugs with beautiful pharmaceutical emblems. There was a feeling that you were gradually turning from a monkey into a human, or maybe vice versa.
“I don’t want to leave! In such conditions, you can work until your strength runs out.”
“That’s how it was intended. The working day is not limited, experiments go on around the clock, and you come and leave when it suits you. And the counter shows that everyone, including management, works not eight, but twelve to sixteen hours a day.”
“And may I ask for political asylum in your laboratory?”
“You may,” said Kolya, “but only as a monkey. All human positions are reserved until the end of the century.”
I sighed and went to present myself to Anna Stepanovna. The department of higher nervous activity and behavior of primates resembled ordinary good rooms of academic institutes and libraries. They read, wrote and thought a lot here. Somewhere on the lower floors there were technicians and electronic engineers in laboratories creating the necessary equipment for the planned experiments. And in the office of the department’s head and adjacent rooms, there was a think tank where they figured out how to correctly ask nature a question in order to get a meaningful answer to it.
“You can’t imagine, young man,” said Anna Stepanovna, “How many amateurs want to make a scientific discovery. Many people send their manuscripts to our institute, and, according to tradition, they are transferred to our department. The Directorate classifies their “works” as “the behavior of primates,” and the analysis of these works as “higher nervous activity.” I must say that most of the authors are mentally ill people, but you are supposed to read the manuscript and respond to it. Here, take a look,” and she handed me a tome of five hundred pages, bound with artificial leather.
The text made a depressing impression. The author tried to suggest that you can get benefit out of nothing and refuted the law of conservation of energy. The delirium was felt in the incoherence of the provisions and conclusions from them.
“Have you recognized well known incoherence?” asked Anna Stepanovna, “There is elderberry …”
“… In the garden and there is an uncle in Kyiv!” I picked up, remembering by association my recent trip to Kyiv, where the cosmonaut was “stimulated” with elderberry tincture in alcohol, and the “uncle” promised me a “walk”, which was designated not only for alive people …”
“Such incoherence is the main sign of the correspondent’s mental illness. Well, let me better tell you about our work. Vova spoke so high of you that I want to show you, the young scientist, how “higher” activity, perhaps nervous, is correcting scientific articles of completely healthy, and not mentally ill, authors.
And the elderly woman told me a story worthy of being published in a free country. The department studied the occurrence of heart attacks, naturally, in a monkey model. It was obvious that stress leads to a heart attack, but it was not possible to bring the monkeys to a heart attack, no matter how bad they were tormented or frightened. Either they were not smart enough to understand how unhappy they were, or they had more natural cheerfulness than a humans. And then the idea of an experiment was born. A pair of monkeys and a lone male were placed in two adjacent cages. The couple was kept clean and warm and fed ripe fruit. Happy monkeys frolicked and had sex for their own pleasure. All this – in front of the eyes of a lonely male. But if only this! He was caned and shocked, doused with cold water, fed scraps from a nearby cage, and punished for masturbation. All this – in front of the eyes of the couple chosen by the monkey god. Animals sometimes got scared and screamed piteously, but more often they turned away and found peace in food or love and never growled in defense of their oppressed fellow, much less shared food with him. After a month of such abuse, males were suddenly exchanged: a male from a well-groomed pair was placed in the place of a lonely oppressed male and vice versa. And – voila! – Over the next twenty-four hours, often even before the executions began, the former chosen one of fate suffered a myocardial infarction!
The conclusions from the experiments were not just scientific, but also had political overtones. The article was sent from the editorial office of an academic journal to the party control commission, from where a murderous order came.
“To classify the results of the experiment! To submit a corrected version of the article to the journal!
The resilient scientists did just that, ending the description of the experiment with the words,
“In eighty-seven percent of cases, the male lost his “human” face and “brutally masturbated.”
The article was still not published, explaining that the editors had a large number of more relevant works that did not contain “false guidelines for young researchers.”
“Well, our young guest, have you got any false guidelines?” asked Anna Stepanovna.
“I guess so,” I said, “I want to tell everyone about the experiment, and not only that,” and I shared my impressions of scientific experiments with the experienced professor.
“Well,” she summed up, “Tell them. But do it with no stress, otherwise, see, I’m suddenly retiring today…”
And since then I have been telling this story to everyone. And now that I myself have become a “professor,” I understand that there are moments in everyone’s life when they have to choose between a heart attack and masturbation…
So, what do you choose?
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