Communism, Sex and Lies

by Maria Genova

  Olga had found a large old flag somewhere and carefully cut out the images of the hammer and sickle. Everyone around us wanted to hold the flag with the hole. For the first time, we felt connected to thousands of strangers by the power of a joint belief. Now that we were actually protesting against communism, we felt the strength of comradeship, which the communists had been promoting all those years. Only we were not allowed to use the word comrade any longer, because that word had some stigma attached to it. We even had to address the teachers at school with ´Mrs.´ or ´Mr.´ instead of ´comrade´. It sounded strange at first, but people soon got used to it.

  At the end of the manifestation we walked home waving the flag. Nearly every passer-by smiled at the hole in the flag. Only a few angry old communists gave us reproachful glances, but even they didn´t dare say anything. The spirit of the times had completely turned in just a few weeks’ time. At least in the big cities. The countryside was still a bastion of communism. If we had waved the mutilated flag there, we would probably have been beaten up.

  The party made good use of the achievements of the system by placing visions of terror in their minds about a government run by the opposition. They would lose their jobs because the land would be returned to their previous landowners, they would have to pay for their healthcare and the free market economy would mean that their wages and pensions would be worth nothing. To my ears, such threats sounded like lies from the propaganda machine, but the farmers all fell for them. In the end, it was the farmers with their common senses who were closer to the truth than the city intellectuals who believed in the strength of the Western model. The worst scenarios became reality, while the opposition learned the hard way how to run a country.

  I couldn´t believe that the conversation topic of politics would weaken our strong family ties, but that was the case all over the country. Discussions led to broken friendships, violent arguments between colleagues and even divorces. My grandmother and grandfather could not understand why their granddaughter was on the side of the opposition. The fact that their son had also converted to the ´blues´ was a slap in their face. Many people who had been loyal members of the communist party voted for the opposition after the revolution.

  ´Of course I haven´t betrayed my old ideals, ´ my father said. ´My ideals have been betrayed by the party long ago, because it made promises it could not keep. ´

  ´Perhaps our leaders met so often to prepare nice plans that they just didn´t have the time to implement them, ´ I said.

  My father smiled. ´It´s a shame I´m no longer that naïve that I believe that. We were all ripped off by false history and media information. Even though I realized this after my travels to the West, it was dangerous to adjust my thoughts at a time when freedom of speech didn´t exist. I couldn´t overthrow a totalitarian system on my own. ´

  As soon as my father and other disappointed party members weakly believed that the new spirit of the time could not be put back in the bottle, they dared to give their real opinions. The euphoria erupted: we would quickly build another country. We hadn´t realized that cleaning up the mess of communism would take years. The words of the famous Russian dissident Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn sounded nearly prophetic: ‘The clock of communism has chimed its final hour. But the concrete colossus has not yet collapsed completely. Instead of freeing us, we might be crushed under the rubble.’

  In the meantime, we all turned into guinea pigs and laboratory rats for capitalist experiments. Now we really had to tighten the belt and were also introduced to a coupon system, because ordinary groceries disappeared from the stores for a long time. The income from my father’s lucrative concerts dried up, because the state no longer invested in culture. The prices rose dramatically, while the salaries remained the same.

  Instead of equality in poverty, a gap between rich and poor soon arose. While the new rich were able to build castles, and import new cars after some shifty deals, more and more beggars appeared on the streets. For someone who had only seen such images in the movies, it was an extremely shocking experience. I looked in disgust while old women would rummage through the trash bins, because they couldn’t live on their pensions. The scarcity that the planned economy had created in the past was a blessing compared to this pathetic situation.

  Market forces sounded like magic words, but they didn’t turn out to be. Closing of unprofitable factories and the introduction of more efficient production methods led to gigantic unemployment and robbed people of a meaningful existence. The propaganda machine had emphasized for years that everyone in Bulgaria had a job, while people in the West were simply discarded. Now the new government was using the same method without any qualms.

  The pressure of communism was replaced by the pressure for money. Was this an improvement? Some people thought so, others thought it was a scandalous descent into Western materialism.

  We had freedom of speech to protest, but what use was that if it didn’t help? As far as I was concerned they could take back their freedom as long as they fed the elderly. Besides, the media interpreted the new freedom incorrectly. The newspapers wrote what they wanted without any type of nuance. Criminal suspects were named and shamed, even before anything could be proved. All the news was accompanied with colourful commentary, mostly aimed at the communists. While previously the party would dismiss all facts as rumours, the media now presented all rumours as fact.

  The new future had arrived, but after less than a year many people were fed up. They were without a doubt the most surprising years in the history of (East) Europe. It was just a shame that the surprises kept on coming, when we assumed they would disappear after the Wall had come down. There was freedom of travel, but people didn’t have any money. You could finally live and work where you wanted to, but there was no work to be found. The party had turned into a living volcano that hadn’t stopped smoking. The opposition dearly wanted to govern, but they didn’t know how. It had become clear to all Bulgarians that freedom wouldn’t still the hunger. Because state subsidies stopped, the prices of some products rose more than 100 percent. A pair of shoes could cost you a month’s salary. Luxury consumer goods had become a moving target: each time you have saved the required amount, the prices rose. Where was the prosperity they promised? The great illusions were replaced with even greater disillusionment.

  The hunger for freedom of speech decreased under the threat of real hunger. A visit to my grandmother’s sister opened my eyes for the problems at the bottom of society. It was strange talking about a bottom, when not long ago we had all been equal. Yet I couldn’t find any other word to describe the poverty I saw.

  The flat that Aunt Veneta lived in was dismal. The plasterwork had holes and cracks. The stairwell was dark, almost scary. The elevator didn’t work, because the residents could no longer afford the maintenance fees. I rang the doorbell. Aunt opened the door with a big smile and led me to the living room. The wallpaper had seen better days and was partly coming loose. She still had an old-fashioned black and white television, which only worked when it wanted to. The furniture looked like it had taken a wrong turn on the way to the dump. The truth was that Aunt has never thrown anything away. Not that she was so attached to the saggy couch and the chairs with ripped upholstery, but because she didn’t have any money to buy new ones. Her husband had died young and her daughter had contracted an incurable disease. Aunt had stopped working to care for her daughter and tried to make do on a widow’s pension. When she told me how much she had to spend per month I was shocked. I sometimes blew that in one shopping spree.

  ‘How can you live on so little money?’ I asked truly surprised.

  Aunt shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t buy anything I don’t need. And I also don’t buy the things I do need. It’s no fun counting every penny. On the other hand, money worries are the only thing that distinguishes us from animals.’

  I excused myself and quickly bought some things for lunch before Aunt could protest. I ordered everything in the neighbourhood store tha
t looked somewhat appetizing and the two saleswomen quickly filled a few large plastic bags. I paid, but then realized I could hardly carry them. Luckily, I saw a few gypsy children on the pavement. I beckoned them to come and help. They begged anyway, this way they could earn their money. Together we carried the heavy bags to the third floor and I sent them off with a tip that seemed to please them.

  Aunt ate as if she hadn’t seen food in months. It was a touching scene. At the same time, I was embarrassed that I hadn’t known that she had lived in such misery since the revolution. Only now did I realise why so many old people claimed to have been better off during communism. The prices of most of the essential groceries had not changed in years and the comfortable predictability of life meant you were never confronted with big problems, never mind with hunger.

  After lunch Aunt walked towards the only remaining cupboard in the living room and took out a box of chocolates. I recognized the packaging. I had sent her that box for Christmas a few years ago, and the contents were well over their best before date by now.

  ‘I was often tempted to open your gift and eat everything, but I managed to save it for dear guests,’ Aunt said with pride in her voice.

  Out of politeness I took an ancient chocolate, that had turned white. My Aunt ate the rest of the box, while she kept on apologizing for her greediness. I encouraged her with a smile. I had bought the box specially for her and if I wanted I could buy chocolates on a daily basis. Of course, I couldn’t say that out loud, because she couldn’t imagine such a luxury.

  It was a beautiful sight seeing someone enjoy a box of chocolates so much. I wish I could enjoy something as simple so intensely. That was my problem. My life had always gone without a hitch, I had always gotten everything I wanted and that had taken away my ability to enjoy the simple things. Of course, I had great life goals, but at that point in time I was almost certain that few things would give me more pleasure that watching Aunt devouring the chocolates.

  We were no longer surprised by the passionate debates in parliament, which were televised live and we started to trust the politicians on their word less and less. Instead the young generation discovered a new faith: God, who had always been there, but had been made invisible in the background by the communists.

  Religion wasn’t forbidden during communism, but if you were seen in a church, that could have a negative impact on your career. If you were building paradise on earth, then you didn’t need a God in heaven. The party had after all its own gods: Marx, Lenin and of course our own party leader Zjivkov.

  My parents weren’t introduced to religion, but one of my aunts would take me to the church every now and then to light a candle. I didn’t understand many of the rituals. The singing was beautiful, but the priests’ mumbling was completely incomprehensible. Sometimes they used to much incense that I had to agree with the communists: ‘religion is the opium of the people.’

  At Easter, we bent over to walk under Jesus’ coffin, which had been placed on two tables. I’m not sure that this symbolic activity meant, but I was excited each time. Just like the candle that you lit in the church and took home while it was still burning. If the candle went out on your way home, that was a bad omen. It was quite a feat to protect the candle from the wind and that made the ritual especially exciting.

  After the fall of the Wall, all kinds of Western religion and sects got a foot on the ground. I had found myself an explanation why all of Bulgaria had thrown itself to God. As long as everything was going well, we didn’t need him, but in these uncertain times the Prophet was suddenly very welcome.

  To me, such faith had a taste of hypocrisy. People who are happy, don’t often believe in God, but if their life has a dramatic change, then they start to read the Bible. If they are healthy, they don’t need the Lord, but if they are ill, old and rickety, then they bless themselves in church.

  It was actually not that strange that the non-religious Bulgarian people had suddenly stormed the churches en masse. Over the last few the years the communists had created a kind of religious mood, a feeling of obedience and admiration, which slotted perfectly into the ambience of the church. And this way all non-believing Bulgarians were converted from one day to the next.

  Religion had become so cool that if I got lost in the city, I daren’t ask my way any longer. In no time a number of people would show me the right way. To the Redeemer, to be clear. I could not explain that I hadn’t lost my way in life, but just my way on the map. After we had said goodbye to dictatorship, none of the maps made sense. All the street names that sounded communist in some way had been changed. Sometimes three times in a row, because some new names had stigma attached to them.

  Some of my peers had become so religious that I couldn’t hold a normal conversation with them. They constantly pointed me to God, because they could always solve their problems in a chat with him. I thought it would be a wonderful idea to be able to do that also. No more worries, no unanswered questions and if you did something wrong, you blamed God for not protecting you from doing it.

  I tried my hardest to become religious: I visited different churches, sang Psalms and read the Bible. But I remained doubtful. If there was an Almighty God, then this meant he was inside me and made mistakes with me.

  Perhaps I didn’t need to worry about his existence, because eventually he would forgive me my sins. After all, that was his job. Apparently, my unbelieving brain needed a more robust approach. Via a friend, I came to a church that would exorcise the devil out of me. The faithful made a circle and placed me in the middle, together with a few other strangers who had not yet seen the light. A little while later we were forcefully swung back and forth. The shouted out incomprehensible words that sounded like magical spells. I thought it was both funny and frightening at the same time. I didn’t think about the light, but about the bruises I would be left with.

  After the session, the faithful asked me straight away if I had seen the light. Sure. I was finally certain: I’m no longer going to search for God. If he wants me, let him give a sign. For someone who is almighty, that shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, they say it’s never too late to believe in God. In that case I was going to wait a while longer and intensify my search for a knight in shining armour. I thought the least God could do was arrange this for me, seeing as I had tried too hard to believe in him.

  And God sent Anton. I could hardly believe that my old friend had turned to religion, just like that. He was totally changed and was just as intriguing and secretive as a Chinese hieroglyph. I still recognised his charming behaviour and his intellect, but our conversations were now focused on God, because he had become a true emissary of the Lord.

  The fact that Anton didn’t want to surrender himself so easily, sharpened all my senses. I usually didn’t dream about men, but for him I made an exception. In my dream, he was a priest in a pretty church. There was no one else there and I went to confess my sins to him. I told him that I recklessly flirted with men and that I regretted it. He pulled me into his strong arms and offered me consolation. Then he pressed his face in my hair and whispered softly: ‘Perhaps you haven’t met the right man. Let it come to you. The Lord will send him to you.’

  Those were prophetic words. Under his fine robe, I felt his warm muscular body. His passionate kiss was like a bomb with a delay mechanism. I didn’t know if he had set the timer, but I was certain the bomb would explode quickly. Anton moved his hands kneading and caressing over my upper body. His touch felt like the gateway to paradise. He kneeled in front of me, slid his tongue along my thighs and upwards and grabbed a piece of skin between his lips. I shook like an aspen leaf. My thighs were separated like they were begging him to discover their warmth and arousal. I felt like an opened packet of fireworks, in which someone had accidentally thrown in a sparkler. An explosion spread at the speed of light through my body and contracted all my muscles.

  Daylight poured into the room. I was alone in bed. Reality was a downer after this super sensual experience, I thoug
ht to myself. Nice dreams can be deceiving. When you wake up, you are confronted with reality straight away, which puts your nice dream in a different perspective. In this regard, it might have been better to wake up from a nightmare. Then you appreciated reality all the more, because it did not resemble your nightmare in any way.

  ´Mer, I´ve seldom caught you with an optimistic thought, ´ Olga said when I told her about my dream and my suspicions. ´Sometime reality can be much better than the nicest dream. ´

  I wanted to see it before I could believe it, just like God. It took nearly two weeks to make a hole in the wall surrounding Anton´s controlled sexuality. One night when we were alone in his house, he suddenly started to explore my body with the nervous hands of a novice sculptor. I felt Anton´s wet mouth close around my nipple. I shivered on the edge of discharging and secretly hoped that our bodies would find the point where time stood still. We hadn´t even fully unclothed when he reached that point alone.

  It seems a dream was better than reality.

  While the uncertain existence of God tormented my mind, societal development followed quickly one after the other. Reality was just like a kaleidoscope: each time you looked at it from a different point of view, you saw something different. For me the worst thing about the post-communist era was the resulting division. The party leaders had always hidden their riches from the eyes of the people with high fences, but the new rich didn’t do that. They actually showed off their Rolexes, their villa’s and their expensive cars.

  Under the reign of the communist party, which had given itself the new name ‘socialist’, Bulgaria embraced the worst sort of capitalism that existed. The entire social support system fell away to make place for a Darwinist survival principle. It was an unmistakable paradox: during communism, most people had enough money, but could hardly buy anything with it, now the stores were full of Western products, but most people had no money. Prices had risen so much that the Bulgarian currency, the Lev, had become worthless. My grandmother had been saving her whole life assuming that I could buy myself a washing machine or other expensive appliance. The extortionate inflation meant that all savings disappeared like snow melting in the sun. It had been deposited in a bank account, but yet it had disappeared. The only thing I could buy was a toaster.