Read Online The Ministry of Pain by Dubravka Ugrešić - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dubravka Ugrešić
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fancy even when I was little. It was more portfolio than book. It had black leather covers and gilt-edged pages. In the middle of the front cover there was a round metal insignia that looked like a large metal coin. It had the profile of a bearded man engraved on it. When I was a kid, I would scratch at it and try to get it off, but I never did. Inside there were some sheets of typewriter-size paper, yellow with age: documents, paintings, maps, and photographs. There weremany more illustrations than text. It looked like a badly organized comic strip .
“It’s a book about revolution,” Granddad would tell me .
“Levolution,” I repeated after him.
“It’s the book of the Great October Revolution.”
After learning to read, I would mouth the title over and over: The Life and Work of V. I. Lenin, 1870–1924 . What I liked best about the book were the portraits of the revolutionaries. The portraits always showed them with dark, brooding looks, and they were often sitting round a table arguing. Even though the book was about Lenin, Stalin was always in the foreground. Lenin usually stood behind Stalin, who was seated at the table. I liked the fact that everything in the pictures was in semidarkness. The light always came from a lamp or a window. But most of all I liked the books. There were always bookcases filled with books in the background. One painting showed Stalin visiting Lenin in his room. Lenin is standing to greet him, and there is an open book in the armchair. Another painting showed Lenin and Stalin having a chat with “delegates from the Central Asian Republics.” I remember it as if it was yesterday: “delegates from the Central Asian Republics.” The delegates were all wearing those Asian skullcaps, and in the background there was a big bookcase. You could see how impressed the delegates were by the number of books in the bookcase. I also remember a picture entitled V. I. Lenin and His Wife N. K. Krupskaya in Siberian Exile. It showed Lenin standing next to a chest of drawers engrossed in a book while N. K. Krupskaya stands next to a bookshelf.
Later I read the inscription. It was written in a fine, round hand. It said: “My very best wishes to my very best friend, Nebojša Krsti. Major Veljko Vukašinovi .”
My grandfather’s name was Nebojša Krsti .
My grandfather was a partisan. He was what they called a prvoborac , which means someone who joined the resistance early. My old man called him an udbaš , which means a member of the Secret Police, though he didn’t start calling him that until the Commies started losing ground. My old man was a shit. Then again, most people are shits. They blow hot and cold. By the way, what makes you think the Commies are so different from Sai Baba? The Commies tried to perform miracles, too. Until the lid came off, that is. And I don’t believe they read all those books.
If anybody asked me to paint a representative portrait of my family, you know what I’d put next to the old man? A Zastava 101, because he paid a lot more attention to that old jalopy than to me. And next to the old lady I’d put the plastic bag she used to carry groceries back from the market. And next to me a soccer ball. And next to Grandpa the old revolver he kept in his bedside table and never let me near. The old man and the old lady were a couple of hicks. The Commies were cool!
ANTE: INVITATION TO A BALL
I remember the tea dances we had in school when we were twelve or thirteen. They disappeared after discos came in. They never served tea at tea dances, or anything else for that matter, and I’m still not clear about why they called them tea dances. The room had chairs along two walls. Boys sat on one side, girls on the other. Every tea dance had its “matron.” The matron’s job was to make sure we didn’t drink too much of the tea they didn’t serve. Somebody else took care of the music. Those were the days when they still had record players and tape recorders.
“It’s a book about revolution,” Granddad would tell me .
“Levolution,” I repeated after him.
“It’s the book of the Great October Revolution.”
After learning to read, I would mouth the title over and over: The Life and Work of V. I. Lenin, 1870–1924 . What I liked best about the book were the portraits of the revolutionaries. The portraits always showed them with dark, brooding looks, and they were often sitting round a table arguing. Even though the book was about Lenin, Stalin was always in the foreground. Lenin usually stood behind Stalin, who was seated at the table. I liked the fact that everything in the pictures was in semidarkness. The light always came from a lamp or a window. But most of all I liked the books. There were always bookcases filled with books in the background. One painting showed Stalin visiting Lenin in his room. Lenin is standing to greet him, and there is an open book in the armchair. Another painting showed Lenin and Stalin having a chat with “delegates from the Central Asian Republics.” I remember it as if it was yesterday: “delegates from the Central Asian Republics.” The delegates were all wearing those Asian skullcaps, and in the background there was a big bookcase. You could see how impressed the delegates were by the number of books in the bookcase. I also remember a picture entitled V. I. Lenin and His Wife N. K. Krupskaya in Siberian Exile. It showed Lenin standing next to a chest of drawers engrossed in a book while N. K. Krupskaya stands next to a bookshelf.
Later I read the inscription. It was written in a fine, round hand. It said: “My very best wishes to my very best friend, Nebojša Krsti. Major Veljko Vukašinovi .”
My grandfather’s name was Nebojša Krsti .
My grandfather was a partisan. He was what they called a prvoborac , which means someone who joined the resistance early. My old man called him an udbaš , which means a member of the Secret Police, though he didn’t start calling him that until the Commies started losing ground. My old man was a shit. Then again, most people are shits. They blow hot and cold. By the way, what makes you think the Commies are so different from Sai Baba? The Commies tried to perform miracles, too. Until the lid came off, that is. And I don’t believe they read all those books.
If anybody asked me to paint a representative portrait of my family, you know what I’d put next to the old man? A Zastava 101, because he paid a lot more attention to that old jalopy than to me. And next to the old lady I’d put the plastic bag she used to carry groceries back from the market. And next to me a soccer ball. And next to Grandpa the old revolver he kept in his bedside table and never let me near. The old man and the old lady were a couple of hicks. The Commies were cool!
ANTE: INVITATION TO A BALL
I remember the tea dances we had in school when we were twelve or thirteen. They disappeared after discos came in. They never served tea at tea dances, or anything else for that matter, and I’m still not clear about why they called them tea dances. The room had chairs along two walls. Boys sat on one side, girls on the other. Every tea dance had its “matron.” The matron’s job was to make sure we didn’t drink too much of the tea they didn’t serve. Somebody else took care of the music. Those were the days when they still had record players and tape recorders.