New Russian Novella "A Ray of Light in the Kingdom of Darkness"

New Russian Novella "A Ray of Light in the Kingdom of Darkness"

Instead of a preface: Nowadays, the traditions of the Russian merchantry are being revived everywhere. Well then. Judging by the traditions already revived, the merchantry in the seventeenth century looked something like this.

Chapter One

7th century. The merchant shop "Pafnutich Without Company LTD". In Arabic script with grammatical errors. Merchant Pafnutich sits in the shop, scratching his twenty-two-year-old stubble.

"Proshka!" he shouts.

Clerk Proshka flies into the shop like an eagle.

"Where are the overseas goods?"

"Sold for overseas money."

"And where is the overseas money?"

"Bought overseas wines."

"And where are the overseas wines?"

"Drank them, as is the Russian custom."

"Get out!"

Pafnutich scratches his chest lower and lower until he remembers the wench Anfiska.

"Anfiska!" he shouts.

The wench Anfiska glides into the shop like a swan.

"Will you go to the bathhouse?"

"Well, there's no money!"

"Get out!"

Pafnutich scratches lower and lower until he starts scratching the floor.

"Proshka!" he shouts.

Clerk Proshka flies into the shop like an eagle.

"Will they lend us money on a merchant's word of honor?"

"They won't."

"What about on a dishonest word?"

"Well, maybe merchant Yeremeich, he owes us."

"Get out!"

Pafnutich begins mentally scratching the wench Anfiska.

"Anfiska!" he shouts.

Into the shop like a swan...

"Stop flying and gliding in! Walk normally, like Orthodox folk!" Pafnutich swears.

"If I find the money, will you go to the bathhouse?"

"I won't. Merchant Yeremeich already invited me."

"Get out!"

Pafnutich, scratching himself, prays to God that Yeremeich dies of scabies.

"Proshka!" he shouts.

Proshka walks into the shop normally, like Orthodox folk.

"Go get the money from Yeremeich."

"But we need a sharp saber with a permit from the Tsar-father."

"And what if it's an unsharp one?"

"Oh, big surprise! Nowadays wherever you spit, everyone has an unsharp one!" says Proshka and spits out the window.

"Hey! Who's spitting out there! I have an unsharp saber!" someone shouts outside the window.

Merchant Yeremeich enters the shop, all bloodied from scratching.

"Thank you, Lord! Not long left," thinks Pafnutich.

"Pafnutich! Lend me some money on a merchant's word of honor. I want to go to the bathhouse so badly I can't bear it!"

"You owe me?!"

"Oh, big surprise! Nowadays wherever you spit, I owe everyone!" says Yeremeich and spits out the window.

"Hey! Who's spitting out there! Yeremeich owes us!" twenty merchants spat upon by Yeremeich shout in chorus.

Lost in thought, Pafnutich tries to scratch his brain, but his skull gets in the way.

"How about we go to the bathhouse on the word of honor of, say, merchant Nikanorych!"

"Anfiska!" shout the merchants, scratching each other out of impatience.

Proshka glides into the shop like a swan:

"Maybe I'll do?"

"Oh, big surprise!" the merchants marvel and spit at Proshka. But they hit the window.

"Hey! Who's spitting out there! Now I'll have to wash in the bathhouse with the merchants, can't walk around spat upon!" shouts the spat-upon Anfiska.

"But I won't take off the gifted fur coat in the bathhouse!"

"You will!" shout the merchants.

"Then gift it to me!"

"We'll gift it in the bathhouse!" promise the merchants.

"You're lying!" Anfiska cannot believe her luck.

"Here's the word of honor of, say, merchant Nikanorych!"

Chapter Two

The luxurious mansions of the "Tambov Wolves" partnership. Above the entrance is a sign "Renovation of terems into Euro-castles" and an advertising slogan "And right here we'll slap on a yellow stripe!".

Inside the mansions sits merchant Nikanorych, stroking his bushy little beard.

Two strapping lads enter in leather kaftans and with sharp sabers, without any permit whatsoever from the Tsar-father.

"Whose men are you?" Nikanorych asks politely.

"Sten'ka Razin's little men!" answer Sten'ka Razin's little men.

"What do you need?"

"Could we have a sip of water?" the little men begin from afar.

"Drink!"

"Could we also have a bite of bread?"

"Eat!"

"Could we also have a little money?"

"Take it!"

"And how much?" Sten'ka Razin's little men get down to business.

".............!" merchant Nikanorych wants to say, but cannot, nervously stroking his bushy little beard.

"Who are you paying, you half-slaughtered merchant?!" continue Sten'ka Razin's little men, stroking their sharp sabers and gradually turning into Stepan Razin's men:

"What, gone deaf, you half-slaughtered merchant?"

"Eh?" merchant Nikanorych can speak, but doesn't want to talk in such a tone and pretends to be deaf-mute.

"Now you'll pay us, you half-slaughtered merchant! Or else we'll finish slaughtering you!" finish their thought the hulking men of Stepan Timofeich Razin, stroking Nikanorych with their sharp sabers. Nikanorych, pitifully stroking his money pouch, gives them exactly half of the money pouch.

"We'll drop by again!" the Razin men hint at the second half and leave, slamming the door loudly.

Merchant Nikanorych remains in the mansions. He strokes his already less bushy little beard.

Two strapping lads enter in the attire of the sovereign's service, with sharp sabers with a permit from the Tsar-father.

"Whose men are you?" Nikanorych asks anxiously.

"Tax collectors for the treasury!" the tax collectors for the treasury answer cheerfully.

"What do you need?"

"Could we have a sip of water?" the collectors begin from afar.

"Eh?" Nikanorych can speak, but doesn't even want to talk on this topic, pretending to be deaf-mute again.

"Ha-ha-ha!" the tax collectors laugh unexpectedly.

"Eh?" Nikanorych continues playing dumb.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!" the collectors laugh twice as hard as before.

"Ha-ha-ha!" Nikanorych cannot hold back.

"Well, we've had our laugh and that's enough!" the tax collectors get down to business:

"And now you'll pay taxes to the treasury. Or else we'll lock you up in the stockade!"

"What if I give you a bribe?" Nikanorych subtly hints.

"Hand it over!" the collectors reluctantly agree and take the other half of the money pouch.

"Still, you'll have to pay the taxes anyway. And we'll drop by again!" they say and leave, slamming the door very loudly.

Merchant Nikanorych remains in the mansions; with furious stroking he rips out the remains of his little beard. A fair maiden of indescribable beauty walks in to him.

"Whose are you!" Nikanorych asks troubled, not recognizing the beauty.

"Your wife. Agafya!" confesses Agafya, Nikanorych's wife, the secret lover of merchants Pafnutich and Yeremeich, stableboy Ivashka, baker Stepashka, carpenter Petka, yardkeeper Fedka, the heathen Ibragim, and some random bloke named Agafon.

"Get out!" Nikanorych begins from afar.

"Eh?"

"Get out! I won't give you any money!" Nikanorych continues.

"Eh?"

"I don't have any money! All that's left is just the merchant's word of honor of merchant Nikanorych!" Nikanorych confesses.

"Eh? You're a fool yourself!" the deaf-mute Agafya finds something to say and leaves, tearing the door off its hinges. Most likely to the heathen Ibragim.

Merchant Nikanorych remains in the mansions. But after scratching himself, he decides to ride to the bathhouse, so he might as well wash up too.

Chapter Three

The luxurious bathhouse chambers "Shameful Place." At the entrance hangs a sign:
"Services of wanton wenches — 200 hryvnias
Wanton massage — 100 hryvnias
Back scrub — 15 hryvnias"
In the anteroom, merchants Pafnutich and Eremeich indulge in carnal pleasures. They drink overseas wines. They scatter overseas money. The wench Anfiska steams herself in a gifted fur coat and temporarily does not indulge in carnal pleasures. A gloomy merchant, Nikanorych, enters the bathhouse:
"Greetings, merchants! Where’d the money come from?"
"Fine bathhouse, ain't it!" Pafnutich and Eremeich dodge the unpleasant topic.
"That’s what I’m saying, it's fine! But where did you find the money for such a fine bathhouse?"
"Yesterday a priest fell off the belfry!" Pafnutich and Eremeich dodge the unpleasant topic even further.
"That’s what I’m saying, you’re having quite a party here! So where’s the money for such merriment come from?"
"And the day before yesterday, two priests fell off the belfry!" The merchants steer completely clear of the unpleasant topic.
"Well, I’ll be!" Nikanorych doesn't know what to say. But to keep the conversation going, he confesses:
"And look at me, I'm completely ruined! And all I have left is my honest merchant’s word, unstained by debt—so far!"
Pafnutich and Eremeich stay silent, fearing to reveal a terrible secret to Nikanorych.
"Good thing at least the honest merchant’s word remains!" Nikanorych continues to sorrow:
"Or else I’d have to go become the lowest ragman. Like merchant Filimonych. Saw him yesterday. Dressed in tatters. Covered all over in sores. Begging for scraps. Oh, how far a man can fall!"
"Are you kidding! That’s him on the up-and-up! When we saw him a month ago, he looked far worse!" the merchants try to reassure Nikanorych.
"And without an honest merchant's word, it’s even worse for me—could end up in the gaol!" Nikanorych grew completely despondent.
"If you get locked up properly in the gaol, you can even live there!" Eremeich assures him.
"Truly you can! Just recently merchant Panteleimonych passed me word from the gaol. Doing all right, says he. They still string him up on the rack, but they don't brand him with red-hot irons anymore. The man's settled in!" Pafnutich calms him down.
Just then, Streltsy of the Tsar's service burst into the bathhouse. In armored caftans and bearing sharp, shortened, folding sabres. To start, they beat the merchants soundly. Then they ask menacingly:
"Which one of you is Nikanorych?"
"Him!" Pafnutich and Eremeich bravely confess.
"Oh, is that so!" the Streltsy say and beat Pafnutich and Eremeich.
"So who here is Nikanorych?"
"Me!" Pafnutich and Eremeich bravely confess simultaneously.
"Oh, is that so!" the Streltsy say and beat Pafnutich and Eremeich again.
"So which one is Nikanorych?"
"Me!" Nikanorych makes up his mind.
"If nobody confesses, then you'll be Nikanorych!" the Streltsy say to Nikanorych and beat all three of them.
"You’re coming with us, Nikanorych, off to the remand gaol for debts!"
"But I don’t have any debts! All I have is my honest merchant's word..." Nikanorych objects.
"You have no honest word! You owe everyone around: for the bathhouse, for the wanton wenches, for the overseas wines, for the overseas money borrowed at interest, for the fur coat, and for the Rublev icon—the authentic one!"
"For what kind of icon?" Pafnutich eyed Eremeich suspiciously.
"For what kind of debts?!" Nikanorych eyed both suspiciously.
"Who gets to answer first?" Eremeich clarifies.
"Us! We ask the questions here!" the Streltsy say and beat the merchants again:
"You’re coming with us! We’ll sort out who's wrong and who’s guilty at the execution block!"
"Eh?" Nikanorych goes customarily deaf.
"What about me?!" the wench Anfiska speaks up.
"What can you take from a wench besides her fur coat!" the Streltsy decide, and as a farewell, beat the living daylights out of everyone.
"Our era had harsh customs!" they justify themselves and haul the merchants off along with the coat.
Only the wench Anfiska is left in the bathhouse. Bereft of her fur coat, honor, money, job, hope, and even a little bit of her sanity.
"Ramamba haru mambu ru the banner flutters in the wind hare krishna hare rama hello city of Yokohama on the yard there is grass on the grass there is wood!" she rattles off at the end and, with a running start, plunges into the prototype of a cold-water plunge pool. And drowns in that prototype of a cold-water plunge pool.

THE END

---

Costs of Modern Times: "NEW RUSSIAN" Incidents from Real Life

One day, a "New Russian" decided to change his nationality. He went to the passport office and said: "Change my nationality. In the passport, where it says 'Russian', just write purely 'New Russian'." But at the passport office, they said they weren't allowed to do that. So he paid money, and they did it for him.

...

One day, a "New Russian" found himself among a cheerful bunch of people. And he felt like telling a joke. "Listen up!" he says. "A joke! Very funny. A buddy told it to me. While we were driving to my villa. In the Canary Islands. In my brand-new Jaguar. To take a ride on my yacht. Toward the Bahamas. Where I have another villa. To fly back on my private plane..." Just then, someone asks him: "Where's the joke, then?" He turned bright red and said: "I already forgot it!" Everyone immediately grew sad. But the "New Russian" paid money, and everyone became very cheerful again.

...

One day, a "New Russian" got heavily drunk and fell into a puddle. But he didn't lose his head; he started blowing bubbles and claiming it was a "Jacuzzi." People started laughing at him. So he paid money, and everyone respected him immediately.

...

One day, a "New Russian" wanted to serve in the army. But they wouldn't take him. So he paid money, and they took him. And they marched him into the army bathhouse like any recruit. And it was all the same there, except lacking beer, girls, a sauna, soap, shampoo, hot water, cold water, and the ability to wash oneself. So the "New Russian" decided to get discharged as a veteran. But they wouldn't let him go. So he paid money, and they let him go right away. They even gave him a rank—Major General in the Reserves.

...

One day, a "New Russian" sat down to raise his education level. He’s reading the Pythagorean theorem, but he can't wrap his head around it. "What’s there not to understand?" they ask him. "The sum of the squares of the legs is equal to the square of the hypotenuse." And the "New Russian" replies: "That part is clear! What I can't figure out is where you can make a grab, turn a profit, and run!" They waved him off and gave up explaining. But he paid money, and they explained everything to him.

...

One day, a "New Russian" came to visit the woman he loved, bringing her a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of flowers. "Is this for me?" she asked joyfully. "No! It’s for me," he joked. "What for?" she wondered. "To drink and to chase with a sniff!" the "New Russian" joked again and laughed: "Ha-ha-ha!" But the beloved woman didn't get it and fell out of love with him. So he paid money, and she fell in love with him again.

...

One day, a "New Russian" began flashing gang signs and strutting his stuff in unfamiliar company. Everyone decided he was "tough." But just to be sure, they wanted to check: "You spread those fingers so well! You must be a tough guy?" But the "New Russian" decided to hide that he was "tough" and lied: "No! I'm just a pianist suffering from rheumatism!" Everyone immediately stopped paying attention to him. So he paid money, and he was back at the center of attention.

...

One day, a "New Russian" walked into a jewelry store to buy a gold chain. They started showing him various chains with crosses, brooches, and other "bells and whistles." But the "New Russian" says: "I don't need any crosses, brooches, or other bells and whistles. I'm a modest man. So just give me a modest gold chain, about twenty-five kilograms!" They didn't want to just give him a gold chain like that. But he paid money, and they sold him the chain.

...

One day, a "New Russian" decided to disguise himself as an ordinary Russian citizen. He walks around town disguised as an ordinary Russian citizen, but everybody still recognizes him and greets him. He asks one of his twenty bodyguards: "Why does everyone recognize me and say hello?" And the bodyguard answers him: "Well, it's like, y'know. Whoa-ho-ho!" Then the "New Russian" paid money, and everyone started pretending that they completely failed to notice the "New Russian," his twenty bodyguards, two armored escort vehicles, and one air-support helicopter.

...

One day, a "New Russian" arrived in Africa for the first time. They ask him: "Is it true you're in Africa for the first time?" The "New Russian" didn't miss a beat and answered: "Yes. I’m in Africa for the first time. But on the other hand, my five crocodile-leather suitcases feel right at home!" Everyone laughed, so the "New Russian" paid money, and they started taking his suitcases much more seriously.

...

One day, a "New Russian" ran into a stray dog. And the dog's eyes were so clever that it looked like it was about to start talking. The "New Russian" looked into its eyes, waited about twenty minutes, and said to the dog: "Listen, bro! If you ever figure out what you want to say, give me a ring on my cell!" And he gave the dog a cellular phone. For three days, the dog didn't call. And then the "New Russian" paid money, and the calls just wouldn't stop coming.

...

One day, a "New Russian" sat down to play chess with a famous grandmaster and said: "Listen, bro! Show me which of these is your most kick-ass piece!" The chess player points: "The Queen." And the "New Russian" says to him: "How about I buy it off you?" The chess player agreed. They kept playing, and the "New Russian" asks again: "Listen, bro! Which piece is your most kick-ass one now?" The chess player replies: "The Bishop." The "New Russian" suggests: "How about I buy that one off you, too?" The chess player agreed again. So gradually, the "New Russian" bought up all the pieces, the pawns, and even the King from the famous grandmaster, and says: "Listen, bro! All the chess pieces are mine now! The board is mine, too! Does that mean I won, huh?" The chess player thought for a moment and replied: "My offer is a draw!" And the "New Russian": "What draw? Let me pay, and the win'll be mine!" The chess player began to refuse, but the "New Russian" paid him, and he sort of won. And from that time on, he frequently plays chess for money.

...

Once, a "new Russian" decided to leave his Homeland forever and live abroad. His relatives and close ones came to say goodbye and asked him: "How will you get by over there? You can't even string two words together in English!" And he replied: "Well, you know, uh... why string words? I'm going to speak them! And if they need stringing, I'll pay and someone will string them for me!" They said to him again: "And how will you find a common tongue with foreigners?" And he said: "Well, you know, uh... why a common one? I have my own tongue right here in my mouth! But if we need to find a common one, I'll pay and they'll find it!" They asked him once more: "And why are you leaving?" And the "new Russian" told them: "Well, you see, I'm tired of this Russian stupidity!" He thought his relatives and close ones would mourn the impending loss, but instead they started laughing at him. Then he paid some money, and everyone immediately mourned the impending loss. And some even cried.

The End

Career guidance material, for those who still haven't decided who to be "in life"

Thanks to highbrow literature and low-grade video production, certain types of professions are overly romanticized among us. Therefore, all children dream of becoming big-time mafiosi, smaller-time mafiosi, or, at worst, cosmonauts. Although the country has a much greater need for Bakers, bakers, fitters, technicians, plumbers, etc., and so on, especially the "so on." Out of sheer desperation, another attempt has been made to embellish reality, and presented for your attention is the promotional piece "The Heroism of Everyday Professions."

The Heroism of Everyday Professions

...He took cover behind a pile of bricks and aimed carefully. A steady hand and a sharp eye had saved him more than once, and more than twice, in similar situations. But today it was especially hard for the hungover bricklayer of RSU No. 2 to lay a brick accurately...

...The mechanical monster fiercely spun its steel jaws. Any careful movement threatened to become a careless one. But with a precise movement of his hand, a grade-6 lathe operator permanently put the merciless machine out of action...

...He cautiously approached the animal, fearing a mistake. The male's horns brought death, whereas with a female one could come to an agreement. Yet over many long years, he still hadn't learned to tell them apart. And once again, he got lucky. Easily dodging the horns of the motionless cow, the milking-machine operator got to work...

...He approached it, stepping silently over broken glass and tin cans. And backed away again, stepping silently over tin cans and broken glass. He could have picked it up, but he was in no hurry. He bided his time. After all, amateurs can pick up trash, whereas the street sweeper was a professional...

Letter to the Editor

OPEN LETTER

USA. "Greenpeace" Headquarters
from Petya the marsupial opossum, residing in Russia and able to write in Russian.

Dear "Greenpeace"! A marsupial opossum is writing to you with a request to return me to my historical homeland or to any other place. Just as far away as possible from a five-story cottage in a prestigious district of the city of Novosibirsk. And now you will understand why.

I was born in New Zealand and almost reached sexual maturity right there. But one day, a "new Russian" vacationing in our parts met me and bought me just in case.

When he brought me home, his wife asked: "And what kind of freak is this?" I understand that I'm exotic, but not to that extent! The "new Russian" tried for a long time to remember my name and finally said that I was a "Marsupial PETEK"! His wife called me Petya and left me to live under the seventeenth TV in the third living room.

They tried to feed me scientifically. For big money, they hired a major specialist, who declared that for food I eat only young bamboo shoots... Thus, for the first time in my life, I tasted young bamboo! It was disgusting. I had to compromise my principles and steal camel thorn from a hamadryas baboon who had built a nest next door in the fourth fireplace of the tenth bedroom. He is also fed scientifically, so he doesn't eat the thorn, and instead feeds on whatever he can find. One time he even pounced on me! Wanted to eat me!... Though he barely ate anything, mostly just slobbered all over me. Still, unpleasant to recall!

Next, my owners made an attempt to breed me in captivity. They brought me a female opossum. At least they thought it was a female. In reality, it was a seasoned male, who walked up to me and asked: "Well, countryman, what are we going to do?"

"In what sense?" I didn't understand. "In the physiological sense! They won't leave us alone! They'll keep playing us porn movies and slipping us 'Playboy'. Until you and I, so to speak..." Of course I'm all for procreation, just not in that way! Well, I can't just lure him under the TV and passionately pounce on this guy... "Don't flatter yourself!" the seasoned male read my thoughts, "you're the one they mistook for a female! So what are we going to do?" And so we had to spend ten hours straight all together watching porn movies and flipping through "Playboy."

And once, masked bandits broke into the house and mistook the baboon for the "new Russian." They tortured the monkey with a clothes iron and demanded to know where the money was hidden. And you know, that vile animal actually learned to speak under torture! And what were his first words? "Ask the opossum. He knows!" Then the bandits started torturing me. I likewise had to master articulate speech and untimely remark to them: "You forgot to turn the iron on!" That was a subtle calculation. The bandits said to the baboon: "And you, you bastard, why did you keep quiet about the iron?" and went back to tormenting that scoundrel.

Recently, I discovered a live penguin in the freezer of the tenth refrigerator. He was disguising himself as a chicken leg quarter there. I asked where he had lived before that, to which the penguin replied: "In the third refrigerator. But the pelmeni ran out there." Then he said that nobody had ever walked out of here alive. Or dead, either. And he also asked me to bury him after his death in his Homeland, in the third refrigerator.

But worst of all, yesterday the owners were entertaining guests. One of them turned out to be a gourmet, in the most perverted sense of the word. He said he was very fond of roast opossum. The owners looked at me somewhat guiltily and invited everyone to come back in a week for an evening of exotic dishes. Now I have little time left and a slight hope that they'll start with the baboon. Therefore, dear "Greenpeace," don't sit idly by—do something, do it! Before a rare species of animal becomes rarer by one more specimen. With beastly regards, yours, Petya the marsupial opossum.

THE END