by Sam Moffie
The others in the room (except for the woman) all took a swig from the big bottle of vodka before it ended up in the hands of the captain, who poured a small amount in a glass to give to Ivan. As the men all looked at the dead Stalin on the floor, Ivan pondered what was going on.
Uncle Joe Stalin, the leader of the Communist world, is dead and lying on the floor near me, while I lay on in his bed. How will this night end for me? And if it’s true, it sure is the revenge of Trotsky One through Six! Poor Trotsky Number Seven; scalped and dead and will never know that Stalin died right after him. There is no justice, Ivan thought.
Further thoughts were interrupted when the captain tilted back Ivan’s head and threw the shot of vodka down.
Ivan started to gag.
“Better?” the four men all asked in unison and then broke out into a hearty laughter.
“Bastards!” shouted the lone woman, who was a dead-ringer for Marlene Dietrich.
“Listen bitch,” the other man who had brought the movie screen said, as he grabbed her by her throat in one rapid movement. Ivan noticed that the man’s hand was so big and strong looking, and the woman’s throat so little and weak looking, that one flick of the man’s pinky finger would snap her head right off her neck.
“Leave the woman alone,” the captain said to the man who was holding the girl by the throat.
That man turned and snarled at the captain as he tightened his grip around the woman’s neck. “Your day in power is long gone captain.”
In one swift motion, the captain took the butt of his machine pistol which had been slung around his shoulder, and hit the man on top of his head. The man crumpled to the floor and the Marlene Dietrich look-a-like regained her breath. The other man who had helped set up the movie screen had made a move in the captain’s direction, but he soon felt the cold steel of the man now without two wooden spoons, who was now the man holding a pistol under this man’s chin.
“Better than a movie, eh comrade Viznapu?” the man now without two wooden spoons but with a pistol inquired of Ivan.
“The only thing missing is some popcorn,” the captain piped in with.
“Thank you,” the girl said to the captain.
“Quite all right. I hate men who abuse women,” the captain replied.
“Comrade let’s sit down and discuss our futures,” the man now without two wooden spoons said to the man who he was holding a gun to.
“Yes,” agreed the captain, as he stripped the man lying at his feet of three weapons.
“Let the woman go; clean up, and leave,” the man now without two wooden spoons said.
Everyone agreed, and she left.
Ivan wished he could have gone with her.
“What about the projectionist?” the man who had a gun still being held to his face asked of both the captain and the man now without two wooden spoons.
“He’s with us. He’s okay,” the captain said.
The man now without two wooden spoons put his gun away very slowly and motioned for the man who had helped bring the movie screen in earlier to find a seat.
The man did as he was motioned to and sat down.
“Ivan, tell this man what you saw,” the man now without two wooden spoons told Ivan.
“Don’t lie about anything,” cautioned the captain.
“Before I do comrades, can someone tell me what happened to Trotsky Number Seven? I mean, he was scalped, but there is no body let alone a mess,” Ivan asked of the men in the room with him.
“That fall really messed him up,” the man with a pistol to his chin said.
“Comrade Viznapu, Trotsky Number Seven was never in this room. Just Stalin, the girl and you in the projection closet,” the captain said.
“Surely that scream I heard was that of someone being scalped,” Ivan asked weakly.
At that, all the conscious men in the room started to laugh out loud.
And, after learning about the fate of Trotsky Number Seven, Ivan told the three men everything without omitting anything and without creating any lies.
“So our now-dead fearless leader died in the saddle?” the man now without two wooden spoons asked sarcastically.
“Like his heroes — cowboys!” the captain added. “However the cowboys and Indians were not known for anal penetration.”
“Comrades, are you sure that the man lying dead on the floor is Stalin?” asked the man who had helped bring in the movie screen.
“Who else could it be!?” screamed Ivan. “I believe my own eyes and they saw Stalin humping the woman who looked like Marlene Dietrich, but really wasn’t Dietrich, who I thought screamed because she saw Trotsky Number Seven being scalped by Stalin, but was really screaming because Stalin was dying while having anal penetration — whatever that means — with her.”
“Comrade Viznapu, there are only two reasons for a scream like you heard to happen,” the man now without two wooden spoons said to Ivan.
“Fear and/or anal penetration,” the captain said.
“Maybe both at the same time,” the man now without two wooden spoons added.
“No comrade, there is a third way,” the man who had helped bring in the movie screen said. “Viznapu was right — someone getting scalped would scream like we all heard it.”
“Okay comrades, where is Trotsky Number Seven?” Ivan asked.
“Wow,” replied the captain “Ivan is getting bold.”
“He’s on his way home,” said the man now without two wooden spoons.
“So I now know about Trotsky Number Seven, but I know nothing of anal penetration,” Ivan said.
“Do you mean, comrade, that you have never heard of anal penetration?” the captain asked. The man now without two wooden spoons nodded his head in agreement with the captain’s question.
Ivan nodded yes.
“Didn’t you ever show pornographic movies?” the captain asked.
“Just once. I didn’t see anything, because I kept my eyes covered,” said Ivan.
Everyone but Ivan laughed at that answer.
“This man is funny,” the man now without two wooden spoons said.
“I didn’t think watching a woman having sex with a horse was sex at all. It was disgusting and revolting at the same time,” Ivan said. “It bothered me that the audience loved the film, and after I complained to my superiors it was easy for me not to have to worry about being picked to be a projectionist when a porno movie was being shown.”
“What did you do, threaten to quit?” the man who had helped bring in the movie screen asked Ivan sarcastically.
“No, I just whined so much, they made an addition via a subtraction when they let me have my way,” Ivan said.
“Ivan wouldn’t find anal sex pleasurable,” the man who had helped bring in the screen said.
“And you do?” the captain asked him.
“It’s the ultimate form of sex for me. Total power over your partner,” the man said.
“Is he your partner?” the captain said pointing to the man who he had knocked out.
“I like it with women, not men,” the man replied.
“Know what I have to say about anal sex?” the man now without two wooden spoons said.
Everyone shook their heads no.
“Rectum, it almost killed him!”
“Great pun,” the captain said.
“Pun, as in punishment,” the man who had helped bring in the screen said.
“I just learned about puns from our now-dead fearless leader,” Ivan said.
“Tell us one, Ivan,” urged the captain.
“He came around for dinner. We ate and drank for 20 minutes and then he passed out again,” Ivan said.
“That stinks,” the captain said as he held his nose with his right thumb and index finger.
“I have one,” chimed in the man now without two wooden spoons.
“Can’t we go back to anal penetration?” the man who liked anal penetration asked.
“You talk, we’ll listen,” the c
aptain said.
“I’d rather swap puns,” Ivan said.
“The reason you don’t want to talk about it comrade, is because you view it as taboo,” the man said to Ivan.
“There are a lot of things that are considered taboo in our society, comrade,” the man now without two wooden spoons added.
“That’s my point. Practicing a religion is a taboo and one would get caught and be sent to the mines. But enjoying anal sex doesn’t get you sent to the mines, comrades,” the man said with a huge grin.
“But women can’t enjoy that act. I’m sorry comrade, I don’t buy into your philosophy,” the captain said.
“Have you ever heard of a clitoris with legs?” the man then asked the others.
“Sounds like a dish my friend without his two wooden spoons would conjure up,” the captain said.
“Just sounds awful,” Ivan said. “I am glad I am asexual.”
“I know what a clitoris is, but I never heard of one with legs,” the man now without two wooden spoons said.
“The clit is what makes sex enjoyable for women. Obviously, it is located near the vagina. But a clit with legs extends to the woman’s anus… whereby anal penetration by me awaits the chosen one!” the man who enjoyed anal penetration exclaimed.
“How do you find who is ‘chosen’? Do you have a crystal ball? Maybe you are psychic? Maybe you have x-ray vision? Possibly, you are a former doctor of medical research?” the captain asked.
“None of the above. I just force my way with the women. Once I penetrate their anus, I know if their clit has legs or is legless,” the man said matter-of-factly.
“You must be a real fun partner,” the man now without two wooden spoons responded.
“Doesn’t it cause health problems?” Ivan asked.
“It can if you don’t use proper lubrication. Otherwise the rectal mucous-membranes and the sphincter muscles will be hurt,” the man replied.
“Maybe he is a doctor!” the captain stated.
“Comrades, look at what was in the bowls that were brought in earlier,” the man said.
Ivan, the captain and the man now without two wooden spoons walked over and checked out the bowls. Sure enough, each held either a liquid or gel-like substance.
“Now I know why she was licking her fingers!” Ivan yelled out. “But that stuff must taste terrible if it is used for anal penetration.”
And the captain and the man without two wooden spoons groaned.
“Can we get off these subjects of anal penetration and puns and go back to talking about body doubles?” the captain suddenly said.
Just as the man who liked anal penetration was about to answer, his partner started to groan.
“Should I hit him again?” the captain asked everyone.
“There is no need to. Please get him some vodka to dull his pain,” his partner said.
The man now without two wooden spoons gave the man a bottle of vodka and they all watched that man finish off a half-empty bottle with one long gulp.
“Feel better?” the captain asked the man who he had earlier conked on the head. That man nodded and crawled next to his partner.
The man now without two wooden spoons asked the man that earlier had a gun being held under his chin (and enjoyed anal penetration), “Why should we be worried that the man lying dead on the floor may not be Uncle Joe Stalin?”
“Because people as powerful as our leader always use doubles.”
That struck a nerve with the captain and the man now without two wooden spoons. They knew it wasn’t uncommon for men like Stalin, who had real and imaginary enemies, to use doubles. Ivan didn’t have a clue as to what having a double meant.
“I don’t believe that Stalin would have allowed his double to fornicate with this version of Marlene Dietrich,” the captain said.
“It’s not like the guy on the floor was reviewing a military parade,” the man now without two wooden spoons added.
“There is only one way to find out,” the man who claimed to know about Stalin’s use of doubles replied.
“What are you going to do… call Stalin himself? How do we know that the Stalin you bring in isn’t the double and that the Stalin lying on the floor is the real Stalin, but dead?” questioned the captain.
“Better than that. I’m calling in our direct boss and the man responsible for the safety of the Communist way of life — Mr. Zavert,” said the man who claimed to know about body doubles.
That name made the captain and the man now without two wooden spoons shudder.
All the men in the room (except for Ivan) worked for different branches of Mr. Zavert’s secret state police agency.
Mr. Zavert’s department was in charge of protecting Stalin from all internal and external threats, which gave Mr. Zavert and his troops unlimited powers and access. Mr. Zavert was so good at his job, that Stalin found himself relying on Mr. Zavert for more and more things.
Mr. Zavert was ruthless, cunning, brilliant, brave, and loyal to his bosses.
The two men, who had brought the movie screen in earlier were considered two of his best men. But in reality, they were perpetual gophers and body guards for Stalin when film festivals were held.
It was Mr. Zavert who had the captain and his troops act as uniformed escorts for the big-shots and their friends that came to be, or become, part of the entertainment. It was Mr. Zavert who installed the man with, and now without, two wooden spoons as the chef and under-cover agent to keep another pair of eyes on the film festival’s festivities and the men who were supposed to guard Stalin. Of course it helped that the man with, and now without, two wooden spoons was the best cook in the Kremlin, something the man with, and now without, two wooden spoons had made his goal a long time ago. Furthermore, since Mr. Zavert was always weary of Stalin being poisoned, it made perfect sense to have his own man preparing the many foods that were required.
Mr. Zavert didn’t believe in exile. He believed in death to anyone who betrayed Stalin or Communism. No one knew that better than the four men in the room. Ivan only ‘knew’ of Mr. Zavert’s reputation from hearsay. However, like in any closed society, the hearsay that accompanied the secret police was very credible.
The captain, who knew he outranked the others, spoke up first. “Comrade, it is your duty to call Mr. Zavert.”
Unlike others in the hierarchy of power, Mr. Zavert was known as ‘Mr.’ Even the all-inclusive word ‘comrade’ wasn’t used that much when it came to him. No one in the room had ever heard Mr. Zavert called anything but ‘Mr. Zavert.’
The man who hadn’t been conked by the captain left to contact Mr. Zavert. The captain helped Ivan make himself more presentable. He helped the man whom earlier he had cold-cocked get to his feet, and assisted him in getting cleaned up. The man now without two wooden spoons left to check on the Marlene Dietrich look-a-like and came back and announced that she had indeed been escorted home by the captain’s men.
The captain then found another bottle of vodka on a dresser and took a swig from it. He handed it to Ivan. Ivan took a very little taste from it and handed it off.
The man that went to call Mr. Zavert returned and informed them that Mr. Zavert would be there very soon.
The five men waited in silence, but passed the bottle of vodka around. Comrades in drinking, while they waited for the big boss.
It didn’t take long for the silence to be broken, because Mr. Zavert was there very quickly.
And when Mr. Zavert entered a room, even if that room was the bedroom of Stalin, everyone in the room knew he had arrived.
Mr. Zavert’s presence alone commanded instant respect. When he entered a room—no matter what else was going on and who else was there—all heads turned to catch a glimpse of him, even when Stalin was in the same room!
But all were careful not to make lengthy eye contact.
“If Mr. Zavert were an American, he would make a great politician because of the charisma factor,” Stalin had once said of his trusted confident.
“Lucky for Mother Russia, we have you,” one of Stalin’s toadies responded.
Who had more charisma wasn’t important at this moment. If Stalin were dead, the most important thing was going to be who would be his replacement?
Of course Mr. Zavert was a possibility. But would he want the job?
Men like Mr. Zavert love power. But, they also loved it when they could use their power from the secrecy of the shadows.
“Sunshine tends to wilt power,” Mr. Zavert had once told the captain.
“Is that why you always wear such dark clothes and sunglasses, Mr. Zavert?” the captain asked his boss.
“No. Dark clothes flatter my figure.” (He never addressed why he wore sunglasses.)
The captain never brought up sunshine with Mr. Zavert again.
But that didn’t stop the man with, and now without, two wooden spoons. After the captain told him about Mr. Zavert’s sunshine comment, the man with, and now without, two wooden spoons had a lot of pictures of the sun hung up in the kitchen and other rooms where Mr. Zavert would see them.
“Little victories like that help to keep me sane,” the man with, and now without, two wooden spoons had told the captain.
“Comrade, you have big balls,” the captain told his associate.
“Better big balls than a big mouth… considering what we see.”
“Especially in our line of work,” the captain added with emphasis.
And with what everyone was experiencing in the bedroom right now, while they awaited Mr. Zavert to speak, all the men except for Ivan knew that how they handled the next few minutes would determine their own fates.
Everyone was quiet. No one wanted to be the first to speak. When Mr. Zavert entered and then walked around the room, he seemed to be looking at everyone and everything. None of the men knew for sure, because of how dark his sunglasses were. After a few minutes, Mr. Zavert went over to the body that was either a dead Stalin or a dead double. He spent another few minutes examining the entire body and then pronounced his judgment.