１３．In the spring Moscow wakes up from its nightmares and comes back to life. Just as in the past clean, well-taken-care-of children were playing in sandboxes in parks lit by the bright May sun. In the evenings young people walked past apartment buildings, shoulder to shoulder, loudly singing songs.

This year the end of the winter brought hope and a strange feeling of calm in the midst of troubled times. Television, which had earlier joined in the battle for freedom, now supported the president completely. The price of gas had doubled, yet there were just as many cars on the road as ever, and top bureaucrats and company directors entertained themselves on sun-filled tennis courts from mid-afternoon on.

Nothing seemed to have changed in the past ten years. Or had it?

The coming of spring also awakened political passions. Boom, boom, boom—from somewhere in the distance a drumbeat sounded. A band of pensioners was marching down the street.

“Holiday of Spring and Labor,” “Workers’ International Solidarity Day.” What is this? Ah, yes, it’s our dear, old May Day demonstration. Respectable citizens marched behind the band, arm in arm, surrounded by small children who were consumed with curiosity. What a holiday!

“We protest the dissolution of the Communist Party!” “Down with economic reforms!” Holding aloft signs of various colors, the column of elderly people proceeded, singing in unison to the blaring of trumpets, whose sounds seemed to fill the whole spring sky. The old songs reawakened the memories of youth. Our youth, they thought, our memories… Tears clouded their eyes. It was an animated and at the same time pathetic procession of people who had lost their past.

A series of political statements were broadcast over loudspeakers.

“We strongly condemn the distorted presentation of the heroic events of our glorious history! We shall not allow political speculators to present our beloved fatherland in black colors only, to label it ‘evil empire’ and ‘empire of violence.’ It’s a lie, a malicious lie!”

“We must restore a respectful attitude to the accomplishments of our ancestors. We must return history to the path of truth!”

“Down with Yeltsin and his clique of imbecile patsies—the servants of American imperialists.”

On a platform, haughtily smiling to the crowd stood Ampkin, the bald, round-faced leader of the party, and his advisors, who hid their looks of cold ridicule behind dark sunglasses. In a strong, deep voice Academician Volkhov’s daughter, Anastasiya, was addressing the crowd from the platform.

“From the very earliest times it has not been possible to rule this enormous Eurasian continent without using force. Ever since Ivan the Terrible routed the million-strong Tatar hordes and proclaimed himself Khan of Kazan and Astrakhan, this continent has belonged to us Russians. Morality and force are the means by which we have ruled this continent. But today, manipulated by the CIA, the leaders of our country are renouncing this mission. They are trying to hand over the future of Eurasia and our Russia to America, Germany, and even China.

“Comrades! In 1914 there were 150 million Russians in the world. According to scholarly estimates, under normal conditions there would be 300 million of us now. But today we remain only 150 million. What has happened to the other 150 million Russians?

“They were killed. By famine and civil and other wars. The imperialists and Zionists could not allow the Russians to become the largest ethnic group of the white race in the entire world. The most real holocaust was carried out against us Russians.

“Today there is again a policy aimed at our destruction. The Chinese are infiltrating our Far East, looking with their slit eyes for a suitable moment to push back our compatriots beyond the Urals; Russian women are being sold to the West; our young men are sent to fight in Yugoslavia.

“Comrades! Our time demands a strong leader. And there is such a leader. Long live Comrade Ampkin!

“Down with the gang of patsies who are getting fat off the fruit of our labor. They have brought famine to our country.”

The political advisors lifted their hands to urge the public to applaud. The crowd quickly began to shout slogans in support. In response, Ampkin waved both of his raised hands. As Anastasiya intently watched the crowd in the square, her voice became even stronger.

“And now let us together repeat the words of our resolute leader.

“First—an absolute authority may issue any order and may implement it without being held responsible before anyone. Hurrah!

“Second—nobody can give instructions to the head of state. His authority goes even beyond the frame of the nation’s interests. Hurrah!

“Third—the head of state may issue orders not only relating to problems serving the nation’s interests, but also relating to any problem he considers necessary to solve. Hurrah!”

Emotions on the square intensified. The crowd sang the party anthem, stretching out their arms and raising them up toward the cloudless, blue sky.

“Long live our leader, our party leader Ampkin! Hurrah! Hurrah!”

It was a time of passions and madness. Ambition, ignorance, shamelessness, anger and jealousy, hatred and cruelty, love and hope… Emotions were churning into a whirlwind and depriving innocent people of their lives.

And through this storm, at the behest of the time, marched Colossus with a firm step. It was God’s will. With a majestic look, he gazed at the horizon, and then firmly followed the path laid out for him.

“Oh Lord, our God, why, why are we such people?”

There was no answer. The voices of those who asked were lost in the cosmic depths. Only their echo returned.
Copyright ©Akio KAWATO