Memoir of a Russian Punk

by Edward Limonov

  Sanya, Cat, and Lyova, the last limping, pick up the cobblestones thrown by the soldiers and hurl them back at them. Eddie-baby follows their example. Without much success. As in a slow-motion film, Eddie-baby sees the frenzied faces of the soldiers coming dangerously closer.

  As if to give Eddie-baby a better look at what is happening, a previously inaudible trolley car rolls up and comes to an enforced halt, furiously ringing all its bells. It can’t go any farther, since some of the soldiers are running across the trolley line and several large cobblestones are lying on top of the tracks.

  The soldiers are now less than ten meters from the militia officer and the kids, who have all taken cover behind a pile of telephone poles. Stepan’s trembling fingers move to the vicinity of his holster.

  “Shoot, you asshole, or they’ll bash our heads in! Shoot!” shouts Sanya.

  Cat grabs Stepan by the arm and tries to take the pistol away from him.

  Stepan wrenches himself free and holds the pistol at arm’s length. The pistol shakes in his hand. Stepan is terrified.

  “Shoot!” shouts Sanya.

  “Shoot, you pussy!” shouts Lyova in a fury.

  “Shoot at their legs!” yells Cat.

  “Shoot!” shouts Eddie-baby.

  Accompanied by the ceaseless chiming of the trolley’s bells, the militia sergeant finally squeezes the trigger several times in succession. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Four shots ring out in the night air, and four times the invisible bullets strike sparks on the cobbled roadway under and between the feet of the advancing horde, bringing it to a sudden halt.

  Clustered behind Stepan, the kids see the soldiers running back into the darkness to take cover behind their barricade. In a shower of sparks, a second trolley car, also ringing its bells, rolls up behind the first. Its doors are closed, and its passengers’ faces are pressed against the windows.

  Stepan fires several more times and then changes the magazine.

  The soldiers have taken cover behind the barricade, but not all of them. One large figure stops, as if changing his mind, then utters a desperate roar – “A-a-a-h!” – and sets out again toward Stepan and the kids.

  “The ringleader!” Stepan says hoarsely, “the sergeant!” and steps back.

  “That’s the one we want,” Sanya says. “Distract his attention, Stepan, tease him, while Cat and I sneak around along the fence and grab him from behind. He’s in such a fucked-up state he won’t notice.”

  Cat and Sanya drop down on all fours and creep toward the fence, staying close to the ground.

  The sergeant is no longer running but advancing ponderously toward the retreating Stepan, Lyova, and Eddie-baby, who has stayed with them.

  “Shoot, you motherfucker!” shouts the sergeant. “Shoot, you goddamn prick! Go on, shoot a Russian soldier, you goddamn militia bastard!”

  “Give up, you asshole, or you’ll be sorry!” Lyova shouts to the sergeant. All three, including Eddie-baby, retreat before the advancing hulk of the sergeant, waiting for the moment when Sanya and Cat will drop on him from behind.

  Suddenly the trolley driver switches on his headlights, and the whole scene is bathed in yellow light. The sergeant is no longer a dark, massive figure but can now be clearly seen. He walks toward them, pulling open his uniform tunic with both hands so as to bare his chest, and despite the November temperature, drops of sweat are visible on his forehead. Unlike the soldiers, whose heads are shaved, his reddish hair is in a crew cut. He comes closer and closer. Stepan cautiously waves his TT, once more holding it out at arm’s length.

  “You asshole! Don’t do it!” Lyova shouts at the sergeant.

  “Don’t do what, or do it to whom?” Eddie-baby wonders, failing to understand. Suddenly, looking at Stepan, who is bent almost double with the TT pointed straight ahead, he realizes that Stepan doesn’t actually know how to shoot. “Was he at the front during the war?” Eddie-baby wonders for some reason.

  “Shoot me in the chest, you bastard! Shoot a Russian soldier!” the sergeant keeps shouting in a senseless, brutal way, and bending down, he picks up a cobblestone lying in his path and lifts it over his head.

  “I’ll kill you-u-u!” he shouts in a savage voice, and lunges forward, only to crash to the ground along with the stone under the weight of Cat and Sanya, who have hurled themselves on him from behind.

  The soldiers, who turn out to be closer than anyone expected, silently dash out from behind their fortification to assist their leader and superior officer, but Stepan fires at their feet and legs again, this time more coolly, once again striking beautiful yellow sparks on the pavement.

  Almost at that very moment the scene is enlivened by the sudden arrival of three militia cars and the militia officers who leap out of them. Under Stepan’s leadership, they attempt to catch the soldiers. Both trolley drivers simultaneously open their doors, and crowds of slightly drunk, festively dressed men tumble out, trying to find out what’s going on.

  Eddie-baby hears his name: “Hey, Ed!” Sanya is calling him, and has obviously been calling him for a long time, since his voice sounds angry.

  “Goddamn it, Ed, where the fuck are you?! Come here!” Eddie-baby runs toward the voice.

  Sanya and Cat have the defeated Russian Samson pinned to the ground. The Samson is wheezing and trying to move. Despite Sanya’s hundred kilograms and Cat’s trained muscles, it’s no easy matter for them to keep the sergeant immobile.

  “Ed, where the fuck have you been?” Sanya says in a friendlier tone. “Pull the belt out of the stallion’s pants!”

  Eddie-baby cautiously pulls the sergeant’s tunic up and unbuckles the belt on his pants.

  “Get your hands off me, you little fuck, or I’ll break your neck!” the sergeant wheezes through his bloodstained mouth.

  “Shut up, stallion!” Sanya says to the sergeant in an affectionate tone while punching him in the face from above as though with a hammer. Sanya’s blow is a heavy one; his hand is hard. He constantly toughens it by striking its edge against hard surfaces. He can easily break a good-sized piece of wood in two. The sergeant falls silent.

  Sanya and Cat turn the sergeant over onto his stomach and tie his hands together with his belt as tightly as they can.

  “We’ll go take a look around while you stand guard over this criminal, Ed,” Cat says mockingly. He’s obviously amused by his role as defender of law and order. Noticing the wary look Eddie-baby is giving the sergeant, he adds, “Don’t be afraid of him. If anything happens, just kick him in the neck or the face with the steel tip of your shoe.”

  “And don’t feel sorry for him,” Sanya adds. “If he gets loose, he certainly won’t feel sorry for you.”

  21

  Eddie and the sergeant are left by themselves. Nearby, shots and cries are heard – the militia officers are rounding up the soldiers.

  The sergeant, still lying prone just as Sanya and Cat left him, raises his bloodied face from the ground and whispers,

  “Untie me, son, huh? I’m a Russian, from Saratov. And you’re a Russian too. Untie me!”

  Eddie-baby remains silent.

  “You little fuck!” the sergeant whispers. “I’ll untie myself and rip your dick off!” He begins to strain his hands in an effort to loosen the strap binding them together, and propping himself on the ground with his knees, he tries to stand up.

  Eddie-baby, hardly even looking at him, kicks the sergeant in the ribs as hard as he can with the tip of his shoe.

  “Oh-h-h!” howls the sergeant. “You little scum! You filthy little bastard! You little shit!”

  A couple of years ago Eddie-baby would have untied the sergeant. Once, in response to a tearful plea, he had released mean Lyonka the Vixen after beating him up in Building No.3 – Lyonka lay underneath Eddie-baby, who had his hands around Lyonka’s throat. Eddie-baby let him go. That unnecessary civility turned out badly for Eddie in the most concrete way: Lyonka stabbed him in the hip. And even though the knife was a small one and the wound was sha
llow and didn’t take very long to heal, Eddie-baby was goddamned if he would ever let anybody go again.

  “I’ll run into you sometime, you’ little scum!” the sergeant whispers. His loglike arms instinctively tense, as if an electric current were passing through his nerves. “I’ll tear your throat out in one bite!” he goes on with hatred.

  Eddie-baby kicks the sergeant in the ribs several times more, with almost automatic abandon. So the bastard will stop threatening him!

  The returning Cat, Lyova, and several militia officers catch Eddie-baby in the middle of this activity.

  “Hey, hey!” shouts one of the trashes. “Lad, lad, stop! That’s enough, you’ll kick him to pieces, and we still have to turn him over to the military authorities.”

  “There’s no way you’ll kick goddamn scum like that to pieces!” Sanya says, standing up for Eddie. “Look at him, he’s made out of cobblestones or something.”

  The militia officers, along with Sanya, Cat, Lyova, and Stepan, who has once again returned to the scene of the action, lift the sergeant up from the ground and set him on his feet. Only now does Eddie-baby really appreciate just how unusually large the sergeant is. Sanya and Cat take the sergeant by his arms, which are still tied behind his back, and pull him toward one of the militia cars. Stepan obviously has another plan, however, since he stops the kids, leads them a short distance away from the other militia officers, and says in a half-whisper,

  “Listen, Sanya, don’t be a fool! If it hadn’t been for you boys, there’s no fucking way we would have caught the sergeant. After all, these people” – he nods in the direction of the other militia officers – “arrived after the fact. We need to take the sergeant to the station ourselves and hand him over directly to Major Aleshinsky. He’s already at the station; they called him at home for a big thing like this.” Then, changing his businesslike tone to a more confidential one, he continues,

  “Major Aleshinsky has it in for you, Sanya. But if we turn up with these goods” – Stepan nods in the direction of the sergeant – “he’ll change his mind and maybe even arrange some official reward for you: ‘For assisting the forces of the militia in preserving law and order,’ or something like that. What do you say?”

  “Stepan’s right, Sanya,” Cat says. “And it wouldn’t be such a bad idea for Lyova and me to show ourselves at the station either. We still have suspended three-year sentences.”

  “All right, let’s go to the station,” Sanya agrees, although reluctantly.

  Stepan informs his own and the other militia officers that they first have to take the arrested sergeant to be identified by the raped girl at the Stakhanovite Club, where there’s an official Fifteenth Militia Precinct substation, and only then to the main station.

  The trashes have no objection, so Stepan takes one of the arrested soldiers (as if also for identification, but in fact so that everything will look more businesslike) and quickly forms a small procession. Stepan and Cat go in front, each holding on to an arm of the arrested Uzbek soldier. His tunic is torn at the shoulder and soaked in blood. He looks scared. The effect of the hashish is obviously beginning to wear off, and he now realizes that something not very pleasant is taking place. After the Uzbek come Sanya and Lyova, leading the still snarling sergeant, who from time to time tries to stop. The curious Eddie-baby goes with them, first running a little ahead and then dropping behind…

  This main group is accompanied by a dozen or so civilian bystanders, mostly thrill-seeking drunks from the two trolleys.

  22

  They don’t go into the Stakhanovite Club, of course. Outstripping his rivals, the satisfied careerist Stepan walks with long, quick strides down Materialist Street, hurrying to reach the militia station as quickly as possible and there present himself to Major Aleshinsky as the conqueror who has captured the mutineers’ ringleader.

  Eddie-baby can tell from the behavior of his older comrades that they don’t really want to rush anywhere or even walk quickly, and that further developments are of little interest to them, despite the temptation of making an appearance before the commanding officer of the Fifteenth Militia Precinct not in their customary role as hoodlums and criminals but as conscientious auxiliary forces aiding the militia in its struggle against lawbreaking soldiers and gangsters.

  Cat is the first to leave. Eddie-baby sees him turn the arm of the Uzbek he is holding (the Uzbek’s other arm is being pulled along by Stepan Dubnyak himself) over to a zealous little man in a white cap and a shabby raincoat with raglan sleeves. The little man grabs the arm with ferocious eagerness. Now free, and glad of it, as is clear from his face, Cat drops behind a little way and for a time walks beside Sanya and Lyova, whispering something to Lyova, obviously trying to get him to detach himself from the procession too.

  And in fact Lyova does need to take a leak, as he loudly announced a few minutes ago, so he now hands over his post as escort to yet another bystander eager to take part in the affair – a Georgian of criminal appearance who delightedly seizes hold of the sergeants rocklike biceps.

  “Well, you guys go ahead and piss,” Stepan says, turning around to Cat and Lyova, “then catch up with us!”

  They are now passing Grocery Store No.7, which is still open. The crowd by the store cries out to them in greeting – in the same way, probably, that the Romans hailed their men when they returned from a campaign against a neighboring tribe. The crowd’s information, however, is obviously the reverse of the facts, since some of its members are maliciously yelling in Stepan’s direction:

  “Hey, trash, what did you grab the soldiers for? Let ‘em go!”

  “It’s not militia business. Soldiers are the MPs’ responsibility,” somebody else says in a bass voice.

  “What, aren’t they allowed to celebrate the holiday too?” says somebody else in the crowd.

  “Move along!” Stepan yells, without explaining anything to the crowd or even stopping.

  Eddie-baby grins. The people have decided that anybody arrested by the authorities is necessarily a victim – even if before being arrested the victim has shot at people with a submachine gun, as was the case, or so they say, with a soldier at Kursk Station in Moscow. His girlfriend had cheated on him, and so he walked into the train station and started shooting into the crowd with an AK-47. He went berserk. “What idiots they are!” Eddie-baby thinks contemptuously.

  Eddie-baby’s thoughts are interrupted by Sanya, who says to him in an undertone so that neither the giant sergeant nor the Georgian will hear,

  “Ed, take my place and lead this stallion to the militia station, but whatever you do, don’t go inside, all right? I’m going to… take a leak too.”

  Sanya gives Eddie a meaningful look, winks, and disappears into the crowd without even telling Stepan.

  Eddie-baby doesn’t understand why they have to forgo the triumphant entrance they have all earned. How come the other guys are refusing to go to the militia station and present themselves to the dreaded major for the first time as heroes instead of criminals and hooligans involved in one scrape or another? “It’s stupid!” Eddie thinks. “Stupid. The next time one of us was brought in on a minor charge, the major might have let him off. After all, they always let their auxiliaries off…”

  Eddie-baby soon realizes, however, that if the older kids have decided to refuse the pleasure of the triumph, then it’s because they have a good reason. He has no idea what that reason might be, but he’s used to trusting Sanya. And he therefore continues to hold on to the sergeant’s biceps and obediently follow the procession on its way to the militia station.

  But several minutes later, after reaching the Fifteenth Militia Precinct station, constructed of the same white brick as almost all the other buildings in Saltovka, Eddie remains outside, as if lingering there, and allows the proud Georgian to squeeze through the doorway with their prisoner, the granitelike sergeant. The onlookers all crowd into the lobby of the station too. Eddie stands for a moment by the doorway, then calmly walks away. Like
an experienced old hand.

  A few minutes later Eddie-baby is walking down Materialist Street, going over his accounts with the militia. One evening right here by the station as he was innocently strolling by – he was thirteen at the time and still had long hair – two trashes called him over, and when he went up to them like an unsuspecting asshole, they dragged him inside and put him in a lineup along with a dozen other people who had been detained for some pale girl to identify. As Eddie-baby subsequently learned from his colleagues in misfortune, the girl had been raped by a gang of youths. The girl didn’t identify Eddie-baby, although she did stare at him for a pretty long time. She didn’t identify anybody. The disappointed militia officers, swearing the whole time (Eddie-baby knew they were drunk, he could smell it on their breath), cut off all the hair on the back of his head with a rusty pair of scissors and tossed him out onto the street after presenting him with several punches in the stomach, thereby creating for themselves and the whole race of militia officers one more implacable foe. To the grave.

  Eddie-baby is quite certain that the whole human race can be divided into two categories – those you can beat up and those you can’t. He, Eddie-baby, belongs to those you can’t. When his father, trembling with rage and his own weakness, struck the eleven-year-old Eddie-baby for the first time in his life after his flight to Brazil with the Plague, Eddie-baby turned as white as the wall he was standing next to and, trembling with rage as well, shouted at his father, “Go ahead and hit me again! Go ahead and hit me!” As his mother later told him, his eyes were wild and his face had gone from white to green.