As if he had heard a cue asking him to speak, Simeon Jarew started up. "Believe me, Michail, communism will wreck this country!"
"That's exactly what Proschin prophesied. He said that communist philosophy had made people unstable, deprived them of their freedom, robbed them of hope for a better future and dulled their moral sensibilities. Also, communism would eventually fail because of that."
The professor nodded, took a sip of tea and chose his words more deliberately: "I see it differently. Marxism was imported from the West. But it did not manage to adapt to the Eastern culture with its deeply rooted traditions and ways of thinking. This is one of its great weaknesses. Secondly, Marxism in this country was mainly spread by Russians. Russians almost seem like Western Europeans to a Siberian."
Mischka nodded. "I've heard that before too. Everywhere Russians are in control of the power, at the top functions of party and economy."
"Yes, and that annoys many. Although the Russians seem to do everything in the name of the state and for the good of the people, Kyrghyzes, Yakuts, Kazakhs, but also Ukrainians, Latvians and Estonians have long recognized that Marxism-Leninism is nothing more than a camouflage for the old Russian tsarism. Therefore not only the displeasure among these peoples grows, but also increasingly resistance."
Mischka nodded thoughtfully. The professor's words fit into Proschin's views like missing puzzle pieces.
"But," he threw in, "don't many look to the West again with confidence now, as if the capitalist philosophy of these countries could now bring liberation and better living conditions for the peoples of Eurasia?
"Yes, the West is just as attractive to the citizens of the USSR as the East Asian philosophies, ways of life and products are to the West. Man is seldom satisfied with what he holds in his hands at the moment. He is often even blind to the negative sides of the desired way of life. Western habits are not always advantageous if you compare them with Eastern habits. But that's not all. The politicians of the Soviet Union wanted to inspire us for our current life situation by making everything Western bad, but the years of isolation of our people and the constant condemnations of Western ways of life, views and products have only achieved the opposite. They've strengthened the appetite for the West. It's like children. What is forbidden and unattainable seems attractive. Yet people cannot even distinguish between what the West really offers and what is pure propaganda. The foreign is attractive, especially for people who are not so educated."
Anka cleared her throat as if she felt ignored in this discussion.
"I noticed," she contributed to the conversation, "that you get a lot of applause of the dissatisfied when you make fun of communism. However, I think deep down inside, people feel wounded. For many years they believed in the superiority of Marxism. That is why sarcastic criticism of Marxism is scratching her pride in her country with all its achievements, culture and traditions."
"Mmh," replied Mischka, "of course communism also has positive aspects, such as the social security of all citizens. That shouldn't be swept under the carpet."
He felt the warmth of her dark voice and looked into the girl's grey eyes, which had fascinated him so much from the beginning. Anka, embarrassed by her father's presence, avoided his gaze. A slight blush pulled over her face.
The professor continued the conversation as if he hadn't noticed anything. "For the masses, that may not be so crucial. For them, it is enough if the supply of bread and games is right, and that is precisely where the communist system will ultimately fail. In the meantime, economic conditions have reached the limits of what is bearable. Communism does not supply its subjects with goods. For many, the West is synonymous with wealth, prosperity and luxury, i.e. powerful cars, televisions, videos, refrigerators, pretty houses and full shelves in department stores and food markets. After communism took away the hope of a future paradise from people with religion, which they will experience personally, it should at least have created a balance in the here and now. What use are promises of a happy future if communism has taken over world domination? These are hopes that never reach their destination, and so they are unsatisfactory!"
Simeon Jarew leaned back comfortably in his chair and continued: "The same applies to all other ideas for world improvement that want to turn our earth into a Garden of Eden. They will always fail because of the uncertainty factor of man, because of his egoism, his immorality, his greed and his craving for power. Anyway, the past teaches us that man, every time he wants to create heaven on earth, he builds a hell."
◆◆◆
One late afternoon, they sat together in the living room over a glass of tea. The samovar hummed and chuckled, and the setting sun bathed the room in a warm light. After they had exchanged a few trivial words, Mischka asked his host why he had been banished to Siberia. The professor leaned back, looked at the ceiling as if thinking every word he wanted to say. Then he turned to Mischka again.
"I fell out of grace because I didn't want to work against humans in my research." He smiled thoughtfully. "Of course, comrades didn't see it that way. As a psychobiologist, I can be very useful to the state."
"As a psychobiologist?" Mischka interrupted him.
"Well, we psychobiologists are trying to explain the secrets of the human soul, and that's fascinating! Brain research is one of the last great challenges of our world. The human mind tries to recognize itself by exploring the brain. It asks questions that philosophers have so far mainly dealt with: Who am I? What is the world really like? How do we know what we know? What is reason and what is reasonable? How do I think and feel? What is consciousness anyway?"
Mischka nodded: "I've already thought about that. I was wondering, for example, how I see. Electromagnetic waves hit my eye and are converted into electrochemical impulses in the photoreceptor cells, which then race into my brain via the optic nerve. And then what happens? How do these nerve impulses become an image I see? In my head there is no television set in front of which me that squats like a little man to look at pictures that my eye sees!”
"The question becomes even more difficult," the professor added. "If the images we see are first created in our heads, do they then correspond to reality? What does our world actually look like? What can we see of it? Is it really light and colorful around us, or are brightness and colors only produced in our brains? And that's just the beginning of the questions.
Of the wide range of electromagnetic waves, our eyes only perceive the narrow frequency range of light. So, do we really see what we see? Is it still possible today to say with conviction: 'I only believe what I see?' What would we see if we could also perceive ultrashort waves or radioactive radiation? But even your question is enough to keep a psychobiologist fully occupied until the end of his life. Who sees the images sent from the eye to the visual center and how does he see them?"
"Proschin claimed there is an immortal soul in man," interrupted Mischka, "using eyes, ears, or other organs like a machine."
"Yes, that's how many people see it. Some esotericists think that an immortal spirit uses the brain like a computer scientist uses his computer. The materialistic world view in the East and West, on the other hand, denies that there is something immortal in man. The mind is nothing other than the functioning of the brain. By the way, even my Hebrew ancestors did not believe in an immortal soul in man. This teaching only penetrated Christianity from Platonic philosophy in the 3rd century and has since strongly influenced European thought."
Mischka looked up in astonishment. "I thought the immortal soul was a central component of the Christian-Jewish faith."
Simeon Jarew shook his head and leaned back comfortably. "No, it’s just an integral part of the Christian church."
"Isn't it one and the same thing?" Mischka wanted to know.
"If you want to answer this question, you need only compare the pyres of the Inquisition with the teachings of Rabbi Jesus. But we're getting off the subject. Is the mind really nothing other than the activity of the brain, or does it us
e the brain? That was our problem."
Anka cleared her throat.
"If the spirit uses only the brain," she interjected, "and some researchers of studying how one dies claim that, then I ask myself: Why can't a blind man see, and why should he suddenly be able to perceive everything after the death of his brain and eyes? Does he have any spiritual eyes? If so, why can't he use them during his lifetime?"
"That's right," the professor agreed with his daughter. "So, the question is, if all mental and spiritual processes also function without a brain, why is a brain necessary at all, and why can alcohol, drugs or surgical interventions and diseases influence non-material processes such as consciousness, thinking and feeling at all?
"Doesn't that already border on philosophical speculation?" Mischka threw in.
Simeon Jarew nodded. "That's right. Philosophy struggles with questions to which there are initially no concrete answers. But it was precisely philosophizing that led to new sciences, after suddenly finding something tangible and verifiable. Astronomy and psychology were an integral part of philosophy in ancient times, because no concrete statements could be made about these areas at that time. Today, however, they belong to the sciences. We psychobiologists are groping in the dark on many questions of the human mind. We are constantly designing new models and will soon have to discard them again. We are philosophers and scientists in one person, but that's what helps us explore our own consciousness."
Mischka looked at his host thoughtfully.
"Actually, that applies to all sciences," he thought. "Despite all the experimental research, there is still some uncertainty for them, which they can only cover with the help of hypotheses and speculations."
The professor smiled in agreement. "That's the way it is. In every science there is a residual area of philosophy before which the scientist ultimately stands only with empty hands. If you don't want to admit it, you've got a blind spot. The astrophysicist is occupied with the Big Bang, the biologist speculates about the origin and development of life, and the psychobiologist makes observations about the human mind. But of course scientific research also predominates here. For example, I deal with the following questions: Can blind people be given sight again? Couldn't a miniature camera built into glass eyes be connected to the optic nerve via a bioelectric modem? Could brain pacemakers, which emit calming or stimulating electrical impulses, normalize mentally disturbed people again? Which unknown neurotransmitters control the nerve functions? How are they produced by the body, and how could they be produced synthetically? Would it be possible to heal depressions, neuroses and psychoses quickly and permanently with their help?"
"And you were not supported in this research?" Mischka asked incredulously.
"No, Michail. I was only supposed to develop synthetic drugs that could be used to control humans like robots. I resisted that. That's why I was banished to Siberia."
Simeon Jarew stood up and went over to the window. Silently he looked out at the autumn evening sky. Mosquitoes buzzed under the branches of a birch tree near the house. A flock of sparrows quarreled over a crust of bread.
Mischka looked at the silhouette of the professor. His shoulders seemed even more flexed than they already were. He could understand the man. His life's work had been taken from him. He had been condemned to inaction for resisting orders that violated human rights. With his research, he could perhaps have helped thousands to a meaningful and happy existence. He looked over at Anka. Tears shimmered in her eyes. She seemed to know what feelings were raging in her father's breast.
The professor turned slowly, as if he had guessed Mischka's thoughts. "I have not yet reached the end of my journey. I will resume my research. Our request to leave the country will certainly soon be granted. One day Anka and I will be free and I will continue to work on my projects. That's what I live for. That gives me the strength not to despair."
"And if you, as a scientist and bearer of secrets, are not allowed to leave?" Mischka asked gently.
"It's my hope!" Simeon Jarew replied as if to dispel his own doubts. "Someday they'll let me go."
◆◆◆
In the next days Mischka prepared his hike to the west. He checked his equipment and assembled supplies. Meanwhile, Anka changed her father's clothes to fit Mischka. He could no longer walk around as a hunter and trapper, but had to adapt to civilization if he didn't want to attract attention.
Every free minute Mischka and Anka spent together. They knew they belonged together. Their relationship had become deeper and they had the impression that they had known each other for years. Of course, they also knew that their love was in danger. But if only one of them should reach the West, he wanted to fight politically for the other's exit permit.
At the end of the week, Simeon Jarew decided to provide Mischka with his canoe. It was not far from the house in a brook tied to a jetty. With it Mischka could paddle comfortably over the Ob to Salechard to cross the Urals from there. There he could tie the canoe to the jetty of an old friend of the Jarews.
Mischka was grateful to his hosts and decided to hunt some animals for them so that they had meat supplies for the winter. But before that, he loaded the canoe with food, clothes and two blankets. So, he was able to continue his escape immediately on water in case of danger.
No one had seen him before, although he had often walked with Anka between woods and meadows. But the longer he stayed, the more likely he was to have been discovered. Then unpleasant questions could be asked. The longer he stayed, the more he put Anka and her father in danger.
The next day, he went hunting. When he said goodbye to Anka, it was as if it should be forever, although he only wanted to be in the forest for a few hours. He knew he loved her. He'd always love her, no matter what.
"I hope you will soon receive confirmation from Moscow that you may leave." He shook Simeon Jarew's hand. "Anyway, I'll be waiting for you in Hamburg if I cross the border sooner."
The professor smiled warmly. "We'd love that. But we can talk about that again tonight."
Both of them waved Mischka for a long time as he walked down the path to the forest.
When Mischka returned from his hunting trip, the house seemed strangely quiet to him. His sharpened senses instinctively felt the danger. Silently he left his weapons at the front door and listened motionless. Nothing was heard! It was as if the house seemed deserted. Anka and her father would certainly not have left without telling him beforehand. Something had happened in the meantime.
Like a shadow Mischka slipped through the open living room door and looked over to the desk. The armchair was turned to the window. An elbow looked out behind the backrest.
"Professor," Mischka asked in a low voice, "are you all right?"
"The professor is not well. He's in a lot of trouble right now," said a familiar voice.
The armchair swung around, and Mischka looked into Lieutenant Litschenko's face.
"His daughter isn't well either," it sounded behind the door. The door swung back into the lock. Mischka looked into the muzzle of Karatajew's pistol.
"What did you do to them?" Mischka came out. A lump strangled him in his throat. "What did you pigs do to them?"
"Now calm down, boy," Jossif reassured him. "Nothing's happened to them yet. At first we only took them into custody. So far we couldn't accuse them of anything except that a blond young man lives with them. This is not a crime if this guest is not a wanted criminal or enemy of the people. To determine that, we had to put them in protective custody."
Mischka had the feeling that the floor under him was opening up. It had always been about him. But now the people he loved were threatened. Anka would not survive the hard life in a penal colony any more than her father would.
"They've done nothing wrong!" he exclaimed. "They didn't know who I really was. You can't hold them accountable!"
"Whether they knew anything or not, the KGB officer will find out," Mischka heard Lieutenant Ivan Litschenko say. "If they're innocent, they'll be
let go."
"What do you mean, if they're innocent? What right have they violated by giving hospitality to a stranger? Where do you even get the right to dictate, hunt, imprison or kill others?" Mischka gave them a challenging look.
"The rulers of the past received it from the gods," Litschenko replied. "I am Tsar by the grace of God," claimed the Russian monarch. As everyone now knows, that was a lie. We're more honest. We openly admit that we have simply taken this power from ourselves since God is dead."
Mischka shook his head. "No tyrant has received the right to exercise power from the gods, nor can he simply take it. No, the power is given to them by the oppressed themselves, and they can only hold on to it because there are thousands of henchmen, informers, believers, submissive creepers and willing tools. Without people like you, the tyrants would be powerless, neurotic cartoon characters, tragic figures you just can't take seriously. But your blind obedience, your fear, your sycophancy gives them power."
Fascinated, Ivan Litschenko followed Mischka's words. What the young man said was basically an expression of his own still unclear thoughts. The fear of Lieutenant Colonel Juri Wdowetschenko and his henchman Chrapow had driven him forward himself on Michail Wulff's track. Wdowetschenko, on the other hand, was afraid of the major of the KGB, who in turn was afraid of the anger of a superior. At the top sat the really powerful and kicked all the others in the dust.
"It is not the tyrants who drive a people into ruin," Mischka continued, "but their obedient henchmen, who try to outdo their masters in malice to secure their favor and small freedoms. They are all who watch in silence when justice is trampled underfoot. It is all who obediently bend their necks, even if they must despise themselves for it. If the oppressed stood up like one man, they could sweep the tyrants from their thrones!"
Karatajew pushed his pistol back into the holster, applauded briefly and took the gun back into his hand. Mischka turned to him and looked directly into his eyes.
The Trace of the Wolf Page 29