We have no Need of thy Truth. Joseph Stalin. Threshold 52
We have no Need of thy Truth. Joseph Stalin. Threshold 52
That same house in Gori.
* * *
Present: the AG (Angel-Guardian), the AD (Angel-Destroyer).
WITNESSES: Hegel, S. Allilueva, V. Molotov, A. Avdeyenko.
* * *
'They can be called heroes, because they derived their purposes and their vocation is not simply a quiet, orderly, sanctified of the current system of things, but from a hidden source of inner spirit, not yet visible on the surface, but tearing into our world and smashing it to pieces as a shell.
(Such people were Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon).
They were practical and political leaders. But at the same time they were thinking people, acutely aware of the requirements of time, seeing that is ripe for change.
That was the truth of their age, their world.
... That's their work was to behold this nascent principle, the necessary next step in the development, which were to make their world and transform it into its purpose and to invest in its implementation of all its energy.
That's why world-historical people, heroes of his era, we must recognize insightful people, their actions, their speeches are the best for the given time...
Indeed, world history occurs at higher fields than the one in which morality takes their place, that is, that is personal, being the conscience of individuals...
It is impossible for the world-historical deeds and those who commit them, to bring moral claims, irrelevant to them. Against them should not be heard random complaints about the personal virtues: modesty, humility, love and compassion for people...
Such a great personality has to trample on other innocent flower, crush a lot along the way.'
* * *
'In the great hall, where lay his father, crowded mass of people. Unfamiliar doctors, who saw the first patient (Academician Vinogradov, many years watching my father was in jail) terribly fussed around.
They put leeches on his head and neck, removed the ECG, did chest x-ray, the nurse continually made some shots, one of the doctors continuously logs the progress of the disease.
Everything was as it should. All were busy saving the life that could not have saved.
Somewhere met the Academy of Medical Sciences, deciding what else to do. In the next small room constantly consulted some more medical advice, too, decide what to do.
An installation of artificial respiration brought from some research institutes, and with her young professionals - but they should be, no one would able to use it.
The bulky unit and stood idle, and the young doctors frantically looked around, completely suppressed with happening things...
Everyone tried to remain silent in church, no one talked about other things. Here, in the hall was done something significant, almost great; it was felt by all; and behave accordingly.
Only one person almost indecently behaved; it was Beria. He was excited to the utmost, his face, and without that hideous, constantly distorted by arching his passions. But it was passion: ambition, cruelty, cunning, power, power...
He tried so hard at this crucial moment to outwit everyone! And it was written on his forehead.
He approached the bed and stared for a long time in the patient's face; my father opened his eyes at times but apparently it was unconscious, or blurred consciousness.
Beria then watched, glaring at those misty eyes, and he wanted to be here 'the truest, most loyal', what he did his best to look to his father, and what, unfortunately, far too long thrived.
And when all was over, he first jumped into the hallway and in the silence of the hall, where stood silently around the bed of all, it was heard a loud voice, made no secret of the triumph:
'Khrustalev! The car!'
It was a great modern type of evil courtier, an embodiment of Oriental perfidy, flattery, hypocrisy, enveloped even his father whom it was actually difficult to cheat. Much of what is going on this hydra now fell a spot on his father's name.
In many respects they are guilty together, but that is largely managed cleverly to Lawrence's father, and laughed with a fist; it is certain to me. And everyone 'at the top'' understood it...
Now all his nasty inside was going out of him, he could hardly contain himself. Not I alone but many understood it. But he feared the wild, and we knew at that moment, when his father died, no one in Russia was not in the hands of a greater power and strength than that awful man.
How strange it was but in these days of illness, in the hours before me lay a body already, and his soul flew away from him, in the last days of farewell to the Hall of Columns I loved my father more and more tenderly than in my entire life.
He was very far from me, from us kids, from all its neighbors. On the walls of the rooms at his dacha in recent years, a huge increase in picture children: a boy on skis, a boy at the cherry blossoms, and five of his eight grandchildren he never bothered to see.
And yet he was loved and is loved now, the grandchildren who has never seen him.
And in those days, when it rested at last on his deathbed, and her face was beautiful and calm, I felt as if my heart was torn with grief and of love...
When the Hall of Columns, I was almost every day (I literaly stood there, because as I have neither made nor to sit down and slipped me a chair, I could not sit, I could only stand by what happened) petrified, without words, I knew that now is a kind of liberation.
I did not know and did not realize; what, what is expressed, but I knew it; the liberation of all for me, too, from some kind of oppression, pressing all the souls, hearts and minds of one common lump...'
* * *
'They were happy that the Climb ended!' sadly commented the AG. 'That one cannot climb over the rocks toward the heavens, tearing his hands in blood, gasping from lack of air support one another, pulling out from the abyss of suffering from pain and fatigue.
Is it possible finally to stop, look around, breathe and sit a little.
And then on the same 'fifth point' slowly start moving down. Faster and faster until you slide safely to their original positions...
A different and lower surface of the earth manages to go right in your possession, the offspring of darkness.
'The heathen are sunk down in the pit [that] they made: in the net which they hid is their own foot taken'.
Instead of the personality cult there are the cult of cash.
* * *
'Money under socialism should or should not be?
They must be destroyed.
Reduction in prices, constant wages and bread in the dining halls lay for free... they taught to it' I say.
Free this is hardly the right early. It's too dangerous to do so at the expense of the state.
We must think about the bureaucracy in the state, because if the state will bureaucratize, it will gradually decay.
We have an element of decay. Because stealing a large quantity.
They say some drawbacks. What there is some! This is the disease of capitalism, we cannot lose, but we have 'developed socialism'!
Developed is not enough for them; it is mature! What he is mature, when there money and classes!'
'I cannot understand what socialism is. We have the initial stage of socialism. I think so.'
'What mature? It's unbelievable just because the terms of capitalism. How is capitalism so well there, if mature socialism?
Because capitalism also cannot exist, that our socialism is just beginning to mature, is still immature, it is only beginning to gain momentum.
And it prevents all, all directed against both and capitalism, and the internal enemies of different types, they are still alive; all this is aimed at to expand the socialist foundation of our society...
Criticize our socialism, but there is nothing better, it cannot be now.
And socialism we have: Hungarian, Polish, Czech ones; they stay because we hold, we have the economic basis of state-owned.
We have all state, besides farms...
We have only one party is in power, it would say, you must obey. It gave the direction.'
'And if the direction is wrong?
'Even if the direction is wrong, against the party one cannot go.
Party is a great power, but it must be used correctly.'
'Then how to correct mistakes if you cannot say?'
'It's not easy. Here to learn...'
'We have no better party still. But it has drawbacks.
Most party people are unskilled. They live by ideas of socialism 20-30 years, and this is not enough.
Difficult periods are passed, but there, in my opinion, will be even harder...'
'Now There is an opinion that would be nice to us to arrange a small percentage of unemployment. Some think so, I say.'
'They exist. They are burgers, deep burgers.'
'There are a lot of loafers.'
'Measures should be taken.'
'And how to make all work under socialism?'
'That, in my opinion, is a simple task. But since we do not accept the abolition of classes, so do not rush it.
It has a corrupting influence. Theft, speculation, a lot of cheating. But this is capitalism in a different form.
In this struggle there, struggling with words.
Under capitalism this is a usual thing, and impossible under socialism. Fundamental differences do not recognize and evade the question.'
'The revolutionary spirit is very much lost.
'It did not exist,' said Molotov, 'a socialist revolutionary. It was democratic. But they did not go farther. Now, theorists have quite given up the abolition of classes'.
'They say, collective and state farms are now one and the same, all subject to the plan, the District Committee of the Party, the difference is no longer visible.'
'There is not much difference, but it has a corrupting influence this difference. This was somehow necessary to speak particularly. Though this is a very complicated question.
And if we did not think before that, let's go back to capitalism, of course.'
(Molotov - Chuyev. 1984).
* * *
'Joseph made them ascend to row against the tide, because 'the kingdom suffers violence,' - said AH, - Now, according to Svetlana, 'came a kind of liberation' ...
* * *
'His breath became more and more frequent. The last twelve hours, it was clear that oxygen deprivation increased. His face darkened, and changed his features gradually becoming unrecognizable, his lips became black...
At some point, I do not know if in fact, but it seemed so - apparently at the last minute already, he suddenly opened his eyes and looked around at them all, who stood around.
It was a terrible sight, or mad, or angry and full of dread of death, and in front of strangers doctors bent over him. This view has bypassed all at a fraction of a minute.
And then, it was incomprehensible and frightening, I still do not understand, but I cannot forget, then he suddenly lifted up his left hand (which moved) and not have it up somewhere, as if he shook all of us.
The gesture was incomprehensible, but threatening, and who knows to whom and to which it belonged...
The next moment, his soul, making one last effort, broke away from his body.
his soul flew away. His body was calm, his face was pale and his took its familiar shape after a few moments it became calm, serene and beautiful.
Everyone stood around, petrified, in silence, a few minutes, I do not know how much time, it seems that it was long...
Household servants and guards came to say farewell.
That was where the true feeling of sincere sorrow. Cooks, drivers, dispatchers on duty from the guard, waitress, gardeners; they all were quiet, silently approached the bed, and all were crying. They wiped tears as children, by hands, arms, scarves.
Many wept bitterly, and my sister gave them to valerian itself crying...
Valentina Istomina came to say farewell. Valya, as everyone called her, the housekeeper who worked at his my father's dacha for about eighteen years.
She crashed to her knees beside the couch, her head on his chest and started crying in the dead man's voice, as in the countryside.
For a long time she could not stop, and no one bothered her.
All these people who served with his father, loved him.
He was not picky at home, on the contrary, he was unassuming, simple and friendly with the maid. And if he scolded someone, it was only 'bosses', generals of the guard, generals and commanders.
The servants could not complain either to tyranny or cruelty on, on the contrary, he was often asked to help in anything and never got out.
And Valya, like all of them, over the past few years knew about him and saw a lot more than I, who lived far away and distant. And at this big table, where she always waited for large feasts, she has seen people from all over the world.
A lot of interesting things she had seen, of course, in its outlook, but tells me now that we see each other, very lively, bright, with humor.
And all the servants, until the last of his days, it is satisfied that there was no man on earth is better than my father.
And you never and nowhere can convince them all...
It was five o'clock in the morning. I went into the kitchen.
In the corridor, he heard loud sobs, 'a nurse who developed a cardiogram here in the bathroom, cried in a loud voice.
She cried so, as if once lost her entire family.
'She has locked and am crying for long time already,' I was told.
Somehow unconsciously waited, sitting in the dining room, one thing soon, at six o'clock in the morning on the radio announced the news of what we already knew. But we all need to hear it, as if without it we could not believe it.
And then, finally, six hours.
And slow, slow voice of the newscaster Levitan, or someone else like a Levita, a voice that has always informed something important.
And then everyone realized, yes, it was true, it happened. And again started crying: men, women, everyone...
I wept, and I was happy that I was not alone. And all these people understand what happened, and weep with me.
Everything was genuine and sincere, and no one to no one showed neither his sorrow nor his loyalty. Everyone knew each other for many years.
Everyone knew me and what I have been a bad daughter, and that my father was a bad father. And the fact that his father still loved me, and I loved it.
Nobody here thought he was neither a god nor a superman, nor genius, nor a villain; he was loved and respected for the most ordinary human qualities, which the servants always judge correctly...
I looked into his handsome face, calm, and even sad, mournful music listening (old Georgian lullaby, folk songs with expressive, sad melody) and I was all torn apart by grief.
I felt that I was useless daughter that I do not help this lonely soul, this old, sick, lonely and reject all on his Olympus a man who did my father.
Who loved me as best I could and as best I could and to whom I owe no one only evil, but good...'
* * *
THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS LATER.
'The house went to shake.
From the bar appeared from nowhere whiskey and champagne were given in a paper cups. At the banquet and at the same time politbyuro's table in the living room littered with empty bottles of beer, under unimaginable in these walls of rock'n'roll rhythms merry youth danced.
Someone gently kissed in a corner, someone was lying across the corridor, someone broke into his couch, where he made his latest rattle and a balcony room on the second floor of someone dragged hidden bottles and packed them for tomorrow's hangover.
And there was unflappable Robert Duvall who played Stalin, already in make-up in a red pullover with a natural Order of Lenin on his chest.
Then he gave hamburgers, air pieces of cake, rolled into a huge cake of ice cream, in my opinion, with the inscription 'Stalin' and I think with his head.
Lacked only 112 candles, and along with broom, horns and hooves befitting the occasion.
(A. Avdeyenko witnesses of the work of the crew of Ivan Passer with an American company HBO.
* * *
'Where once the strings of his lyre resounded
The mob has set a vial filled with poison
Before the hounded man,
Crying "Drink, accursed one, such is
Thy lot, the reward for thy songs.
We have no need of thy truth'.
(Young Soso Dzhugashvili (Stalin))