The Messiah Who Might Have Been

Mama continues to be depressed, drawing meaningless circles on her paper. It’s best not to disturb her. Let her get used to the thought that there are two of us, and that we are a unified whole, an indissoluble bond: mother and son. I turn over – I’m not content lying on one side for too long – and like a true man, I assume a comfortable position. Now I can invite her into the conversation.

„Mama, talk to me,“ I ask affectionately, calculating that the brief pause has gone on for too long.

She seems to hear me, and she places her hands on her stomach; I feel the warmth of her hands and gratefully cling to the wall of my pool, enjoying the new sensations. I am in ecstasy; I have never felt so good before. „Mommy, I love you!“ I whisper enthusiastically, reveling in the heavenly pleasure.

The telephone rings shrilly. Mama jerks back her hand, grabs the receiver and raps out her words in a mechanical voice: „Editorial office.“

„Lyudmila Dominicovna, come to the party committee office.“

Mama grows cold, hearing the stern voice of the party committee leader; she has grown accustomed to recognizing his mood immediately. She grabs her keys and rushes up to the third floor. I hold tightly to my cord, afraid of being hurt; she is running down the hall at such a breakneck speed that anything can happen. I don’t need any pre-birth trauma that could turn me into an invalid for life.

„Be careful!“ I yell in fright.

It is too late! Mama misjudges a step, stumbles and nearly falls down the stairs. Fortunately, a helpful bystander catches her. Mama thanks her rescuer and slows down.

„Please watch where you’re going,“ I beg, but Mama isn’t in the mood for a conversation with me. As she runs, she is mentally going over the last issue of Energy, trying to guess what went wrong.

„I don’t think there were any errors,“ she thinks, determined not to lose her nerve. Her intuition tells her that the committee leader is dissatisfied. Mama is stressed out to the limit. I feel uncomfortable and cold.

„Don’t worry,“ I beg her, rolling up into a ball. „Don’t panic too early.“

Mama approaches the party committee leader’s office, stands in front of the door, counts to five, takes a breath and rouses herself with this cheerful farewell: „Hang in there, Mila! We’ll get through this!“

Encouraged, she opens the door a little and sticks her head into the office.

„Come in, Lyudmila Dominicovna,“ says the party committee leader in a thundering voice. „Come in. Don’t hide behind the door like a mouse in a hole.“

Mama enters and carefully closes the door behind her.

„Sit down,“ Aleksey Ivanovich instructs her.

Mama obediently sits on the edge of the chair and puts her hands on her knees like an exemplary student.

„There’s been an emergency with your artist, an emergency,“ Mama’s boss says reproachfully.

„What happened, Aleksey Ivanovich?“ Mama asks fearfully.

„During the seminar class on Scientific Communism, that doodler of yours…“ Aleksey Ivanovich stammered and asked with disgust. „What’s his name?“

„Schwartz.“

„Yes, Schwartz. He called Trotsky a comrade. And when Associate Professor Yukhatov reprimanded him, he insolently declared that he was talking about the time when Lenin himself called Trotsky his comrade. That’s what happened! We’ll recommend not allowing him to take the State Examination in Scientific Communism and expelling him from the University. Of course you realize he can’t be permitted to work in the editorial office.“

„Aleksey Ivanovich, could it be that he misspoke?“ Mama asks ingratiatingly. „All kinds of things can happen. Sometimes I blurt out things like that too,“ she tried to think of an excuse, „and them I regret it. I have to apologize a hundred times.“ She waves her left hand, as if rejecting the nonsense she has spoken by accident.

The party committee leader is implacable and does not respond to her guileless tricks.

„This is political immaturity. Scoundrels like him turn into ‘dissdents.’“

This is a new word for me, „dissdents,“ and although I feel a nervous chuckle running through Mama’s stomach, she remains impenetrable on the outside; not one muscle moves in her face.

„Aleksey Ivanovich,“ Mama fawns, contorting her suffering face and pressing her arms against her chest, „His father died recently. The fellow is twenty years old… I’m sure he didn’t mean to…“

„Age is no excuse for committing anti-Soviet activities! When I was his age, I was defending the Motherland. This is provocation. Most likely premeditated. Think, Kotlova – think about whom you are sheltering!“

Every word the party committee leader speaks sounds like a hammer blow and conceals a threat. I am in shock. What does he think he’s doing? Is it conceivable that one could treat a pregnant woman in such a rough and callous manner? Mama should reveal her news immediately and tell him about the pregnancy. She must defend herself! However, I don’t recognize her – she stiffens herself and continues her resistance. She is presently silent and humbly listening to his insults.

„You need to find someone more suitable for the editorial office. So far, you’ve managed to attract all sorts of riff-raff. Where did you find him? In the gutter? On a trash heap? You seem to have an amazing instinct for finding this kind of crap. It must be pathological…“

Stiffened and grown limp, Mama listens without objection to the insults that are pouring down on her like peas, one after the other.

„Kotlova, I hope this incident will teach you something. Choosing the staff for ideological agencies is a very serious matter. And what do you do? Everywhere you look, there’s this rabble of Schwartzes, Krugmans…“

The party committee leader becomes silent. I hear the rustle of a newspaper. Mama calmly waits for a pause, then figures that the dressing down is over, and it’s time to „make tracks.“ She stands up and heads dejectedly towards the door.

„Kotlova!“

Mama turns around at the shout.

„I’m not done with you! What kind of verses have you published in the newspaper?“

„Verses by our students, members of the literary association,“ Mama answers timidly.

„Have you even read them?“

„I have, and so has the editor. Is something wrong?“ Mama sits down without objection on the last chair, the closest to the door.

„I’ll say!“ snorts Aleksey Ivanovich, and begins to read:

Disarmament. Not waiting
For a bomb in an envelope, or a mine concealed within its lines,
Not summoning or invoking those things
That are hidden in a flask of gin.

Not being blown to pieces
By the sound of a falling line,
And not taking the dots you have written down
To arrange them in rows.

He throws the newspaper onto the table and yells:

„What do you think this is?!“

Mama trembles from the sharp cry, and without understanding the question being asked, she answers cautiously.

„Verses. About love.“

„You’re so shortsighted! And you’re a member of the Communist party!“