SERGEI DOVLATOV
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found out I was part Jewish. And of course my association with Busch
did little for my reputation. Furthermore, there were some political dis–
turbances in Tallinn at the time. A group of dissidents had approached
Waldheim with petitions demanding democratization and self-determi–
nation. Meleshko, head of housekeeping, said of the editors: "They
should look to their own bosses. One of them up there is a Hymie."
I was an excellent choice for repression. So they fired me. At the
same time, production of my almost-ready collection of stories was
halted at the printer's and the copies destroyed. All of this just to be able
to report to the Kremlin bosses that "measures have been taken"!
Estonian liberalism, such as it was, was coming to an end. I was relieved
of full-time status. They recommended I leave for "personal reasons."
They advised me to become a "worker-reporter." I refused.
It
was time
for me to go to Leningrad. I was packing my things at the apartment on
Tompi Street, when suddenly the phone rang. I recognized Busch's
voice right away. "Wait for me, old man. I'm coming right over. That
is, I'm walking, don't have a kopeck. But I'm bringing you a valuable
gift. "
I went out for wine. In about forty minutes Busch showed up. He
looked better than he had six months earlier. I asked me how things
were gomg.
"So-so," he replied. He said they were keeping him on the register
at the psychiatric hospital. They also took him regularly to the KGB.
Then he brightened up and, lowering his voice, said, "Here's a souvenir
to remember me by."
He unbuttoned his jacket and took from inside his shirt a piece of
paper folded in four. He handed it to me with a smile of self-satisfaction.
"What's this?" I asked.
"A wall newspaper."
"Where from?"
"Local KGB headquarters. Look at the name of it -
Shield and
Sword.
There's tons of interesting stuff in it. Some sergeant is being de–
nounced for drunkenness . There's an article on money dealers. And
here's some poetry about hooligans: A young stilyaga/ Took a bottle/
To an army vet.! Took it to his head,! That is - and now the vet/ Has
bled to death. What do you think?"
Then he told me how he'd managed to get hold of it.
"That subnormal Sorokin called me in. He starts up with his idiotic
talk. I refute all of his arguments with quotations from Marx. Sorokin
goes out, leaving me alone in his pederastic office. I think to myself -
what should I steal for Seryoga, for old times' sake? I see the news sheet
on a closet door. I grab it and stick it under my shirt. I bestow it on
