SERGEI DOVLATOV
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general, this isn't a zone, it's a Palace of Culture. Soldiers address
you in the polite form. And the rations are quite handsome . Is it
really possible there are escapes here?"
"There are escapes," Khuriev replied.
"To get in, or to get out?"
"To get out," the P.1. answered without smiling.
"And I thought, maybe they come running to this cooler from
the outside . Or right from the capitalist jungles."
"You made your joke, now that's enough," Khuriev said.
Just then, Lebedyeva appeared in a cloud of cheap cosmetics,
her hair in a six-month permanent. She was a civilian, but she
behaved like the inmates and spoke their slang. Generally, admin–
istration office workers started resembling the zeks after a month.
Even contracted engineers fell into using camp argot. Not to speak
of the soldiers. . . .
"Let's get down to it," the P.1. said.
The actors took creased sheets of paper out of their pockets.
"Your roles must be learned by Wednesday." Then Khuriev
raised his hand. "I will now present the basic idea. The central line
of the play is the struggle between feeling and duty. Comrade Dzer–
zhinsky , scorning illness, gives all of himself to the Revolution.
Comrade Lenin insistently recommends that he take a leave. Dzer–
zhinsky categorically refuses. Parallel to this, the story line of Timo–
fey develops. Animal lust for Polina temporarily blocks him from
world revolution. Polina is a typical representative of the petit
bourgeois mind -"
"The black-marketeer type?" Lebedyeva asked loudly.
"Don't interrupt. Her ideal is petit bourgeois well-being. Timo–
fey experiences a conflict between feeling and duty. The personal ex–
ample of Dzerzhinsky has a strong moral effect on the youth. As a
result, his sense of duty triumphs . . .. I hope everything is clear?
Let's begin. So then, we see Dzerzhinsky at work. Tsurikov, sit
there , stage left. ... Enter Vladimir Ilych. In his hand he holds a
suitcase. We haven't got the suitcase yet, we'll use an accordian case
for now. Take it .... So then, enter Lenin . Begin!"
Gurin grinned and said with spirit, "How are you, Felix Ed–
mundovich!" (He said this, burring his "r's" like Lenin, "How ag
you. ")
Tsurikov scratched his neck and answered gloomily, "Hello."
"More respect," Khuriev said.
