SERGEI DOVLATOV
189
Khuriev was issuing his final directions. He was surrounded by
Tsurikov, Gesha, and Tamara. I also drew near them .
Khuriev said,
"If
everything ends well, I will give each of you a
week off. Besides that, a visiting performance is being planned for
Ropcha."
"Where's that?" Lebedyeva asked with interest.
"In Switzerland," Gurin answered.
At six-thirty, the barn doors were thrown open . The prisoners
noisily took places on the wooden benches. Three guards carried in
chairs for members of the presidium. The highest officials moved in
a stately line down the aisle toward the stage.
The hall became quiet. Someone clapped uncertainly. Others
joined him.
Khuriev rose before the microphone. The P.I. smiled, showing
his trusty silver crowns . Then he glanced at a piece of paper and be–
gan , "It is already three-score years...."
As usual, the microphone wasn't working. Khuriev raised his
voice. "It is already three-score years.... Do you hear me?"
Instead of answering, someone called from the audience, "For
sixty years we haven't seen freedom!"
Captain Tokar rose slightly, to remember the transgressor.
Khuriev now spoke even louder. He listed the main accom–
plishments of Soviet power. Recalled the victory over Germany.
Threw light on the current political situation. Fleetingly touched on
the problem of the all-out building of Communism.
After him, a major from Syktyvkara spoke. His speech was
about escapes and camp discipline. The major spoke softly; no one
listened .
Then Lieutenant Rodichev came out on stage. He began his
speech like this: "Among the people, a document was born...."
What followed was something like a list of socialist resolutions. One
phrase stuck in my mind: " ... to reduce the number of camp mur-
ders by twenty-six percent .. .."
Close to an hour had gone by . Prisoners were conversing qui–
etly, smoking. In the back rows they were already playing cards.
Guards moved along the walls noiselessly.
Then Khuriev announced, "The concert!"
First on was a zek I didn't know, who read two of Krylov's
fables. To portray the dragonfly, he rolled open a paper fan. Switch–
ing over to the ant, he dug and swung an imaginary shovel.
Then Tarasyuk, manager of the bathhouse, juggled electric
