Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Judeophile

yet. “Too bad... If I were able to get this book out and abroad, I would feel myself freer...” “Got a hankering to join the dissidents on Senate Square,” I said sarcastically. Feeling like an old man, I had begun over-reacting to “finer aspirations” and all that other “youthful spirit” crap. He said: “Yes. I can’t bear sitting here confined within these four walls any more, looking on at this senescent idiocy... You have to understand, this is sheer stupidity: to inflame the East against the West, hoping to lead this muddy deluge, it will only inundate ourselves first, the Muslims have always been and will always remain the main threat to Russia, and Israel is an outpost of civilization at the edge of the wilderness... So yes, I do want to organize a demonstration...” “What demonstration?!” I was aghast. “The usual kind. I will go out in front of the Mausoleum in my ceremonial uniform and unfurl a banner.” “What banner!” I totally lost it. “Well, here it is.” He had already constructed a banner: he had strung a two by one-and-a-half-meter bed sheet onto two sticks; written by hand on it in black paint was: “Hands off Israel!” “Have you gone mad, Pyotr Naumovich?!” I lashed out, surprised at my own disrespect. He looked at me bleakly: “If you don’t want to help me, that’s your choice. I’ll find someone who can help, myself. Take care.” I tried to explain something to him and got all worked up, but he dryly and decisively let me understand that we have nothing else to talk about. I resolved to take a dubious action: I denounced Pyotr

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