Breaking Stalin's Nose (4 page)

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Authors: Eugene Yelchin

BOOK: Breaking Stalin's Nose
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“Not another word out of you, Sobakin, or you will be on your way to the principal, as well. Our Zaichik is an example of dedication. He is the son of a hero. Nothing like you.”
She walks up to me, puts her hands on my shoulders, and looks me straight in the eye. “I have submitted a request to select you as a banner-bearer at today's Pioneers rally, Zaichik. Imagine how proud your father will be, seeing you carrying our red banner into the main hall.” Then she makes a sad face and sighs. “Of course, I may have to withdraw my request. We don't allow those who vote against the majority to handle the sacred banner. You're a smart boy, Zaichik; you understand.”
Hands still raised, everyone stares at me.
“What will it be, Sasha?” she says quietly. “For or against?”
I raise my hand.
THE STORAGE ROOM is in the basement. I knock on the door, but it doesn't open, so I knock again. Matveich, the janitor, is half deaf, and I bet he's sleeping now. Some people are just ignorant; they slow down our march toward Communism. I knock louder. I'll knock for as long as it takes—Nina Petrovna sent me here to get the banner, so I'm not leaving without it.
Finally, Matveich opens the door a crack and looks out at me suspiciously. He never allows anybody into the storage room. I wonder what he's
hiding in there. I hand him the teacher's request and he stares at it, moving his lips.
“Who signed this?” he says.
“Nina Petrovna.”
“Doesn't look it. Where's the stamp?”
“What stamp?”
“The chief's stamp, what else? Anybody can just show up here. The rules say, no stamp—no drums, no bugles, and no banner. This is serious business. It's state property we're talking about.”
I'm changing my mind about Matveich. He's not all bad. He's vigilant. I take the request back from him and fly upstairs to the principal's office. I have to hurry. Nina Petrovna has already started practicing for the rally. The carrying of the banner is the most important part.
Outside the principal's office sits Four-Eyes, still waiting. The worst thing is, he smiles at me.
“Sorry about your glasses,” I say.
He shrugs. “Why does Vovka call you
Amerikanetz
?”
I shouldn't tell him. “My mom was American. Don't tell anyone.”
He squints at me. “And she was arrested and shot?”
“What do you mean? Of course not. She came from America to help us build Communism.”
He nods. “They think all foreigners are spies.”
“She wasn't a spy! She was a real Communist.”
“My mom and dad are real Communists, too,” Four-Eyes says. “They are in Lubyanka prison now—enemies of the people.”
I look away. Lubyanka prison is on the bottom floor of the State Security building. My dad's office sits above it.
“My aunt took me there last week,” says Four-Eyes. “We stood in line for two days, but when we got to the door, they wouldn't let us see them. No visitation rights, they said. My aunt tells me they always say this when the prisoners have been shot already, but I know she's lying. They're alive and I'm going to see them.” He leans in, grabs my arm, and whispers fast. “You can get inside. Your dad works there. All I need is somebody to distract the guards. What do you say, Zaichik? I'd do it for you if your dad were locked up.”
I pull my arm away so fast, he tumbles to the floor. When I try to help him, he pushes me away. He gets up on the bench, leans back, and squints at me, smiling. “It's all right. I'll get in by myself.”
Four-Eyes is crazy.
MATVEICH SQUEEZES the banner through the crack in the door and says, “Keep it wrapped.”
I didn't know the banner would be this heavy, but the weight makes it even more important. I heave it onto my shoulder, climb two sets of stairs, and enter the main hall. The hall is deserted now; everyone's in class. I know I shouldn't, but I untie the cord and turn the pole until the heavy cloth, decked in gold fringe, unfurls. The banner is beautiful. Comrade Stalin's profile, embroidered in gold thread against the color of blood shed for the cause of the Communist Party, shines under the curved Pioneers motto, Always Ready.
At the end of the hall, a plaster statue of Comrade Stalin is set between two windows. Not a full statue, just chest and head, no arms even. But it looks real; I feel like Stalin himself is looking at me. I lift up the banner and, swirling the pole so that the cloth whooshes above my head, march toward him.
As I march, I imagine the parade on May Day, my favorite day of the year. I hear the crashing brass of a marching band and I see crowds of people applauding and waving red flags and shouting, “Long live Comrade Stalin!” Under my feet, the ground rumbles as the mighty Red Army tanks roll onto Red Square, and up above, a formation of fighter planes, flying in a cloudless sky, shapes six giant letters: S-T-A-L-I-N.
I wish my dad could see me now; he'd be so proud. Already a Pioneer, I'm riding atop a parade float all decked in crimson and gold. I hold the banner as high as I can and I stare straight ahead, and what I see is our radiant Communist future. I can't describe it, but I believe it's there. Believing is the most important part. If you really believe in something, it will come true.
The float rolls by the marble mausoleum from where Stalin, our great Leader and Teacher, watches the parade with his generals. He waves at me, his eyes twinkling kindly. “This is what we are fighting for, comrades. This Young Pioneer is our Communist future. What is your name, son?”
“My name is Sasha Zaichik, Comrade Stalin,” I shout from my float. “You awarded my dad the order of the Red Banner and called him ‘an iron broom purging the vermin from our midst.'”
“Ah, Zaichik.” Stalin nods, smiling. “I know him well, a hero and a devoted Communist.”
“A terrible mistake has been made, Comrade Stalin,” I yell. “My dad has been arrested!”
What comes next has never happened on any May Day before. The parade starts moving backward. Not just moving. People are running, trying to get away from Comrade Stalin's powerful voice thundering across Red Square. “Spies! Traitors! Enemies of the people! Who made this mistake? Who's responsible? Arrest them! Arrest them all!”
The float vanishes from under my feet. I tumble into the crowd. A stampede of panicked citizens sweeps me away and soon I lose sight of the mausoleum. I clutch the banner to my chest, but then—I don't know how—I'm not at Red Square anymore. I'm back in my school's main hall, running headlong into the statue of Stalin. The banner shoots out of my hands and its pointy metal tip knocks Stalin's plaster nose clean off his face.
THE PLASTER DUST sparkles in the muted window light before landing on the floor around the nose. I look at the broken nose. I look at the banner, spread nearby. Then I look up at Stalin, now without a nose. It doesn't take much to know what will happen next.
First, I will never become a Pioneer. Second, the principal will telephone the State Security to report an act of terrorism in his school. Third, everybody will find out who did it. Next, the guards will arrive to arrest me. It won't be a mistake like with my dad;
I should be arrested. Son of a hero and a Communist, I have become an enemy of the people, a wrecker. I have damaged our precious Soviet property. No, more than that. I have defaced a sacred statue of Stalin. Not on purpose, of course; it was an accident—I lost hold of the banner. It could have happened to anyone. But who's going to believe me? Nobody saw how it happened.
Just then, a shadow passes over the nose. The sound of footsteps. I turn around, but no one is there. At that moment, the school bell explodes. In a second, the classroom doors will burst open and kids will run out and see what I've done. I leap up, grab the banner, and sprint for the closest door—the boys' toilets.
THE STALLS DON'T have doors, but I still dash into the farthest one to stay out of view. I stand next to the toilet, making sure the banner isn't touching the wet floor. My heart's pounding. Everyone's already in the main hall, the laughing and shrieking and stomping so loud, the floor trembles. Or is it my knees?
This is the last recess before the rally in which I was to become a Pioneer. I feel the Pioneers scarf my dad gave me folded neatly in my chest pocket, right over my heart. The scarf is the only thing I took from the apartment. I close my eyes and say
in my head,
Dear Comrade Stalin, I'm very sorry I broke your nose. You know how much I love you. You know how much I want to be a Pioneer. Please make it so I can become one. Please. I'll be your best Pioneer, I promise.
Just as I say that, the noise outside stops. Someone giggles, then stifles the giggle. Someone runs up the stairs. The door bangs, and suddenly it is Nina Petrovna's voice. “Step back, children! Step back! Immediately return to your classrooms!”
The decision comes instantly. This is what I'm going to do: follow Nina Petrovna's order. She sent me to get the banner. I got it. What happened on the way back, I can't change. I will answer for that when the time comes. For now, I'm taking the banner back into the classroom. I try to wrap the banner, but my hands are shaking. I keep at it and in the end it wraps perfectly, tight and smooth, not a crease. I take a deep breath, heave the banner over my shoulder, and reach for the door, when it bursts
open. Vovka Sobakin, who else? He grabs the banner out of my hands and jabs it around like a rifle with a bayonet attached. It's a drill we learned in our war-preparedness class.
“So immature, Sobakin,” I say, trying to sound calm. “Hand it back.”
He jabs me in the stomach, but I'm not letting him provoke me. The Pioneers rules are clear on this: no fights. Next he starts jabbing at the walls.
“Sobakin, I'm warning you. This banner is state property. You'll damage it.”
He doesn't care. He drops the sacred Pioneers banner right down on the wet floor and looks at me with eyes so scary, I step back.
“Destruction or damage of state property shall be punishable by the supreme measure of social defense—proclaiming the guilty an enemy of the people and shooting by the firing squad,” he says. “Criminal Code of the Soviet Union, Article 58.”
“What?”
“Are you stupid or just pretending? You think you're not going to pay for this?” he says. “Forget about the Pioneers,
Amerikanetz
. I saw you.” He pulls Stalin's plaster nose out of his pocket.

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