morning in the ward – «Spy»
Bachkov, a tall, athletic, handsome male nurse in his mid-thirties: Wake up, wake up, you loonies! Everybody here, get up, get dressed, make your beds, wash your f-f-f-asses. Voronin, stop jerking off and start the floor scrub!
Voronin, a man in his mid- thirties: I ain’t jerkin’ off, I’m playing morning tattoo.
Imitates the sound of a bugle.
A general laugh, then someone: He won’t get up till his cock gets down!
Bachkov: Grab that broom and play scrubbing tattoo, instead.
Voronin, giving a loud raspberry, causing more laughter: Sorry, Captain, but scrubbing ain’t like jerkin’ off; it has to be done in turns.
Bachkov: Whose turn is it, then?
Voronin: See this new loony, in the corner?
Bachkov: Are you Andrei, the one police brought in yesterday evening?
Andrei, a young man of 27: Yes.
Bachkov, giving an amused whistle: I‘ve just read your case story, is it rue? They say…
Andrei: Never mind what they say, watch what they do…
Bachkov: Really? Well, frankly, it’s none of my business because I’ve seen enough to mind my own. Anyway, Mr. Spy, today seems to be your turn to scrub. Here’s a bucket and a mop for you.
(Sound of scrubbing)
Sasha, a young man of 27 with a guarded look characteristic of an ex-con, watching inexperienced scrubbing movements, asks quietly: First time here?
Andrei: Not exactly, I was in the institution before, four years ago, in fact.
Sasha: What for?
Andrei: American embassy…
Sasha: Wanted to emigrate?
Andrei: Not exactly, it’s a long story….
Victor, a handsome man of 45 with piercing shiny eyes: That’s what our gaga-houses are for: To cut our long stories short. As I understand it, once you’re on the KGB’s black list, your stays here are bound to become regular: a party Congress, Good-Will Games, or a Youth Festival, like now, and they round up all subversive elements which might spoil their fun.
Sasha: Yeah, man, you should have gone to some safe place before this fucking festival began.
Andrei: I didn’t know that. I thought – in fact I was assured – that if I laid low and kept quiet I would be left alone, unnoticed and forgotten.
Victor: Boy, you must be really naïve to trust what they say. It’s not in their interests to forgive and forget. They live by suppression.
