Read Online PU-239 and Other Russian Fantasies by Ken Kalfus - Free Book Online
Authors: Ken Kalfus
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Midges? This is the most important moment in the history of the Jewish people in two thousand years, and you’re worried about midges? Of course there’s going to be midges. There’s going to be locusts and hailstorms too. And you’re lucky there’s any bridges! You’re lucky it’s not the damned tundra, for God’s sake. You have to build a homeland, just as you have to build communism. What did you think, they were going to give you Cornwall?”
One of the men said, “They promised us part of the Ukraine, or the Crimea.”
“Forget the Ukraine! Forget the Crimea! Not in a million years are they going to give you the Crimea. The Crimea! They’ll give the Crimea to the Zulus before they give it to you, you stupid, ungrateful kikes!”
Felder growled, “Don’t raise your voice. This fucking kitchen’s hot enough.”
“Midges. Let me tell you something. You blow this, and you blow it for all time. The Jewish people are just about at the end of their history. Count the Jews who have been forced off the land in the last ten years. Count the Jewish shopkeepers who have lost their businesses—more than a million, according to Leshchinsky! Count the Jews who have fled to Moscow and Leningrad since the Revolution! How long do you think the Russians will tolerate it? Soviet power won’t be enough to stop another round of pogroms. And then do you think we’ll ever have another opportunity like this again? Or are we supposed to wait for the Messiah?”
“Israel,” said Feirman, and sighed. “The midges bother the cattle. The Cossacks report very low milk yields. The Koreans don’t even eat dairy.”
“Good, we’ll live like the Koreans.”
“Israel.”
A swirl of brown caught his eye. The cardigan was being passed across a doorway framed by three intervening thresholds. The sweater had been borrowed, he surmised, and now it was being returned.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Israel, we can’t wait—”
“Comrades, this issue must be decided by a quorum of the full presidium.” He stopped and look back at the six gray, revolution-worn men. All had once carried guns and banners, faced bayonets and declaimed to thousands. Now their moment had passed or was passing. Israel had been the one to insist on this ad hoc meeting,
under the cover of a holiday party, hoping to hand the presidium an accomplished fact. Now he shrugged at the need to change tactics. “This is a pointless argument in any event. Comrade Stalin has offered you something. Tell me how you would quantify the possibility of refusing it.”
Israel found Larissa in the foyer on the edge of a chair, struggling with a pair of high, fashionable brown boots. They were probably borrowed too.
“We’ve hardly talked.”
“About what? Look, it’s been a long day. I made a mistake coming to this party.”
“It may have been the best mistake of your life. Allow me please to walk you home.”
She shook her head. “I live close by, in a student dormitory. Anyway, my friend Rachel is leaving with me.”
Israel hadn’t noticed the other woman, for whom I’m named, standing beside her, already dressed for the street in a luminous red coat and shawl. She smiled pleasantly, amused at Israel’s persistence.
“I’ll accompany you both ...”
Larissa said dryly, “This matter of walking a woman home: it’s a rather bourgeois manifestation.”
Israel stared at her for a moment. Only the slightest suggestion of playfulness, nearly a mirage, shimmered around her eyes. He grinned at it.
“So they’ll shoot me for walking you home. Let me find my coat.”
In fact, the dormitory was only two blocks away and Israel had just begun to explain the work of the Committee for the Rural Placement of Jewish Toilers
by the time they arrived. Thick snowflakes tumbled from the black sky. Larissa did not invite her companions into the lobby. She politely shook Israel’s hand, kissed Rachel, and then fled beyond the
One of the men said, “They promised us part of the Ukraine, or the Crimea.”
“Forget the Ukraine! Forget the Crimea! Not in a million years are they going to give you the Crimea. The Crimea! They’ll give the Crimea to the Zulus before they give it to you, you stupid, ungrateful kikes!”
Felder growled, “Don’t raise your voice. This fucking kitchen’s hot enough.”
“Midges. Let me tell you something. You blow this, and you blow it for all time. The Jewish people are just about at the end of their history. Count the Jews who have been forced off the land in the last ten years. Count the Jewish shopkeepers who have lost their businesses—more than a million, according to Leshchinsky! Count the Jews who have fled to Moscow and Leningrad since the Revolution! How long do you think the Russians will tolerate it? Soviet power won’t be enough to stop another round of pogroms. And then do you think we’ll ever have another opportunity like this again? Or are we supposed to wait for the Messiah?”
“Israel,” said Feirman, and sighed. “The midges bother the cattle. The Cossacks report very low milk yields. The Koreans don’t even eat dairy.”
“Good, we’ll live like the Koreans.”
“Israel.”
A swirl of brown caught his eye. The cardigan was being passed across a doorway framed by three intervening thresholds. The sweater had been borrowed, he surmised, and now it was being returned.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Israel, we can’t wait—”
“Comrades, this issue must be decided by a quorum of the full presidium.” He stopped and look back at the six gray, revolution-worn men. All had once carried guns and banners, faced bayonets and declaimed to thousands. Now their moment had passed or was passing. Israel had been the one to insist on this ad hoc meeting,
under the cover of a holiday party, hoping to hand the presidium an accomplished fact. Now he shrugged at the need to change tactics. “This is a pointless argument in any event. Comrade Stalin has offered you something. Tell me how you would quantify the possibility of refusing it.”
Israel found Larissa in the foyer on the edge of a chair, struggling with a pair of high, fashionable brown boots. They were probably borrowed too.
“We’ve hardly talked.”
“About what? Look, it’s been a long day. I made a mistake coming to this party.”
“It may have been the best mistake of your life. Allow me please to walk you home.”
She shook her head. “I live close by, in a student dormitory. Anyway, my friend Rachel is leaving with me.”
Israel hadn’t noticed the other woman, for whom I’m named, standing beside her, already dressed for the street in a luminous red coat and shawl. She smiled pleasantly, amused at Israel’s persistence.
“I’ll accompany you both ...”
Larissa said dryly, “This matter of walking a woman home: it’s a rather bourgeois manifestation.”
Israel stared at her for a moment. Only the slightest suggestion of playfulness, nearly a mirage, shimmered around her eyes. He grinned at it.
“So they’ll shoot me for walking you home. Let me find my coat.”
In fact, the dormitory was only two blocks away and Israel had just begun to explain the work of the Committee for the Rural Placement of Jewish Toilers
by the time they arrived. Thick snowflakes tumbled from the black sky. Larissa did not invite her companions into the lobby. She politely shook Israel’s hand, kissed Rachel, and then fled beyond the
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