The Sugar Kremlin, page 4
“Go forth, Daughter.”
Marfusha went out into the courtyard, her heart pounding. And dressed-up children are milling about in the courtyard, coming out of all six of the building’s stairwells. There’s Zina Bolshova and Stasik Ivanov, there’s Sasha Gulyaeva and Mashka Morkovich, there’s Kolyakh Kozlov. Marfusha went out onto Bolshaya Bronnaya with them. And other children are already walking down the street—dozens, no, hundreds of children! At Pushkin Square, Marfusha turned onto Tverskaya Street—and all of Tverskaya was filled with children. The children were walking down Tverskaya to the Kremlin in an enormous throng. There were absolutely no adults among them—it wasn’t allowed. The adults had already gotten their gifts. At the edges of the juvenile crowd, keepers of public order rode along on horseback. Marfusha walks along with the crowd. Her heart is pounding and she’s frozen with delight. The juvenile river moves more and more slowly, more and more children are pouring into it from streets and little lanes too. And here’s Manezhnaya Square, Marfusha passes by it with the crowd. Another step, another and another— and now Marfusha’s boot steps out onto the cobblestones of Red Square. The crowd moves at a slow pace, crawling along like an enormous caterpillar. Red Square is beneath Marfusha’s feet. Red Square always takes her breath away. Here is where the heroes of Russia are recognized and here is where its enemies are punished. A moment later—and the chimes of Spasskaya Tower ring out: six o’clock! The juvenile river came to a halt—froze. Their chatter went quiet. The lights around them were extinguished. And, up above, ’pon the winter clouds, the Sovereign’s enormous visage shone forth.
“HELLO, CHILDREN OF RUSSIA!” thundered out over the square.
The children cried out in response, leaping up and down and waving their arms. Marfusha leapt up and down too, admiring the Sovereign’s image. He smiles down from the clouds, his blue eyes watching them warmly. How wondrous is the Sovereign of All of Rus’! How beautiful and kind! How wise and affectionate! How mighty and invincible!
“MERRY CHRISTMAS, CHILDREN OF RUSSIA!”
And suddenly, as if by magic, out through the clouds, out through the Sovereign’s face, thousands of red balloons begin to drift down. To each balloon is attached a little box. The children catch the falling boxes, jump up, and pull down the balloons. Marfusha grabs a balloon as it comes down from the sky, then pulls the little box over. The children standing next to her grab other boxes.
“BE HAPPY, CHILDREN OF RUSSIA!” thunders down from the sky.
The Sovereign smiles. Then vanishes.
Tears of joy splash out of Marfusha’s eyes. Sobbing and pressing the box to her beaver-lamb fur, she moves along with the crowd toward the Vasilyevsky Descent and past St. Basil’s Cathedral. And, as soon as it becomes easier to move through the crowd, she impatiently opens up her shining box. And in this little box is a Sugar Kremlin! An exact replica of the white-stoned Kremlin! With its towers, cathedrals, and bells of Ivan the Great! Marfusha puts the Sugar Kremlin to her lips, kissing and licking it as she walks . . .
Late that night, Marfusha is lying in her bed, squeezing a Sugar Spasskaya Tower in her sticky fist. Marfusha is cozy ’neath the quilted blanket with the sugared tower in her maiden’s fist. ’Tis the peak of the tower with its two-headed eagle alone that peeks out of Marfusha’s hand. The moon shines through the frosty window, glittering on the two sugared heads of the great bird. Marfusha looks at the eagle, glittering with sugar, and fatigue pulls at her eyelids. ’Twas a big day. A good day. A joyful day.
It was a festive evening for the Zavarzin family: They put the Sugar Kremlin onto the table, lit candles, looked round at one another, and conversed. Then Dad pulled out a hammer and split the Kremlin up—breaking off each tower separately. And Marfushenka gave the towers of the Kremlin to the members of her family: Borovitskaya Tower to her father, Nikolskaya Tower to her mother, Kutafya Tower to her grandfather, and Troitskaya Tower to her grandmother. But, during their council, the family decided not to eat the Armory Tower: they would leave it aside till the birth of Marfusha’s brother. Let him eat it, oh yes, that he should take on knightly strength. But the walls of the Kremlin, the cathedrals, and the bells of Ivan the Great . . . these the family ate themselves, washing them down with Chinese tea . . .
Her eyelids clamping shut, Marfusha sticks the two-headed eagle into her mouth, puts it onto her tongue, and sucks.
She falls into a happy dream.
In which she sees a Sugar Sovereign upon a white horse.
1. [Chinese] faster.
2. “Godza”—Chinese for “state border,” a 4D computer game that became popular in New Russia after the infamous events of August, 2027.
3. [Chinese] sword.
MINSTRELS
THE MIDDLE OF APRIL. PodMoscovie. Night is falling. The ruins of the Kunitsyn Estate, burnt down by oprichniks. The wandering minstrels go through a hole in the high fence and onto the territory of the estate—Sophron, Booger, Vanyusha, and Frolovich. Vanyusha is blind, Frolovich is missing a leg, and Booger has a limp. A herd of stray dogs runs out of the black ruins and begins to bark at the minstrels.
BOOGER (picks up a piece of brick and hurls it at the dogs). Get back, ye nettle seeds!
VANYUSHA (stops). There’re dogs here too?
FROLOVICH (whistles, waves his crutch at the dogs). Hey there, doggies!
Still barking, the dogs run off.
FROLOVICH (rubs his lower back exhaustedly, looks off to the sides). Oh Lord, oh God . . . Forsooth, ’tis that very same place!
SOPHRON. That’s what I was tellin’ ye, bro. I told you . . .
VANYUSHA. Sophronyushka, ye were sayin’ somethin’ ’bout a copper roof with a weather vane, aye?
SOPHRON. There was such a roof, there was indeed. I swear to God. (He crosses himself.) A roof and a tower and granaries and sheds and a kennel. And an apiary with its own orchard. Sixty beehives! There was everything. And wa-a-ay over there was a checkpoint by the gates. That’s where the kind man Alyosha let Frolovich and me warm ourselves up. His masters weren’t at home so he let us stay over. A kind man.
FROLOVICH. Verily so. He didn’t solely let us in, he served us noodles too. And gave us each an apple. They had various different kinds of apples fallin’ from the trees that fall . . . But now stands neither guardhouse nor guard. Goodness, Sophronya, such destruction!
SOPHRON. In sooth, such destruction . . .
BOOGER (blows his nose loudly). The extortionists burnt it all down.
SOPHRON. They burnt down the guardhouse too.
VANYUSHA. Who?
BOOGER (irritatedly). Who, who, Mr. Blue? The oprichniks—who else?
SOPHRON. There’s their sign above the gates: WD. Word and Deed.
VANYUSHA. On a stick, huh?
BOOGER (angrily). Yeah, on a stick!
VANYUSHA. So what—there’s nothing left?
SOPHRON. There ain’t shit.
VANYUSHA. And the orchard?
FROLOVICH. What orchard?
VANYUSHA. Well . . . the place where the apples ripened?
FROLOVICH (taking a closer look). I mean, the orchard’s more or less intact . . . over there, behind the ashes. That’s the orchard, I think, right, Sophron?
SOPHRON. Looks like it.
VANYUSHA. I love orchards. They’ve a glorious scent.
BOOGER. Scent, scent . . . Our legs are achin’ and our bellies’re drilled through with hunger, and yer talkin’ about scent!
SOPHRON. I wouldn’t mind chowin’ down. Chowin’ down and gettin’ happy.
FROLOVICH. Soon’s we get settled in, we’ll set up the kitchen. (He walks over to the ruins of the house.) Can it truly be empty?
SOPHRON. Who would be in it? Dogs ’n’ crows.
VANYUSHA (grabbing hold of Booger’s shoulder). Dogs love that which’s been burnt down. Keeps ’em warm.
BOOGER. What d’ye mean warm . . . They burnt it down in the winter, I think. Ain’t nothin’ warm ’bout embers.
VANYUSHA. Yes, but people lived there. Where the dogs’re sniffin’ round now. Warmth always remains where man once lived.
FROLOVICH. We must needs make a fire. Go get some kindling and Vanya ’n’ I’ll prepare a lil’ soup.
VANYUSHA. Are there no apples in the orchard?
BOOGER (walks through the ruins, collects charred wood). What kinda apples’d there be in April?
VANYUSHA. When an orchard’s abandoned, apples can hide away underneath the snow. Waitin’ for spring so that they might drop their seeds into the soil.
BOOGER. They can’t wait! (He laughs.) Yer actin’ all holy, Van!
VANYUSHA. No, my lil’ Booger, ’tis not I who am holy. For I pray too little. So’s to become holy, y’must needs pray to God for the Holy Spirit t’come down upon ye. When the Holy Spirit comes down, then ye become holy. For a holy person, neither hunger nor cold is frightening, for the Holy Spirit is with them. But I’m freezing and have great need of a bite to eat. (He laughs.) That’s how holy I am!
Booger and Sophron bring over a pile of debris. Frolovich takes out a gas lighter, makes a campfire, puts a tripod over it, and hangs a pot from the tripod.
FROLOVICH (to Sophron). There’s a snowdrift over by the fence. Go scoop it on up.
Sophron takes the pot, scoops snow into it, then comes back to the campfire.
VANYUSHA. How can it be there’s still snow ’pon the ground?
SOPHRON. Just ’cause . . . what’re ye goan do about it? (He hangs the pot from the tripod and adjusts the fire.)
FROLOVICH (spreads out an oilcloth in front of the fire). Well, then, shall we dump it all out?
BOOGER. Some’ll dump and some’ll just watch.
SOPHRON. Enough, Booger. Ye didn’t get lucky today, I won’t get lucky tomorrow. (He unties his sack.)
FROLOVICH. What was it the deceased Tsao said to ye? Don’t fence yerself off. Beg with everyone else. For everyone together gets more than one alone.
SOPHRON. Ain’t that the truth. Tsao was a wise man. But ye, Booger, yer a man of easy thinkin’.
FROLOVICH. I’m missin’ a leg and I still ain’t goan go beggin’ alone!
SOPHRON. Even Samson the Stump don’t beg alone these days. We live in new and different times! Safety in numbers. And yer always sayin’ “me, me, me.” Ye ain’t even got a sack! (He laughs.)
BOOGER (losing his temper). Ye think I wanted to get it for myself?! I wanted the best for y’all!
SOPHRON. Yep. And ye lost yer sack because of it.
Frolovich and Sophron laugh.
BOOGER. Why don’t ye go—
VANYUSHA (lays a hand on Booger). Did they take away yer little sack, my little Booger? Well, God be with it. There are a lot of evil people these days. For evil grows and grows until it’s broken by the good. And, for that, one must needs wait . . . Ye can have my sack, my little Booger. I’ve got deep pockets: I can put alms into them. Take the sack!
SOPHRON. The problem’s not his sack, Vanya, but his head. Booger must needs begin to use it.
BOOGER. Ye and Frolovich are so terribly smart. But who was it brought ye pork for Easter? Who was it brought ye two Easter cakes?! Who was it sang for a half chicken from the zemskys in Mytishchi at Epiphany?! Or did ye forget?
SOPHRON. Woah, woah, let’s take a minute an’ calculate out who sang for what! First ye sang for a half chicken, then ye sang away yer sack.
BOOGER. It ain’t even yer sack! No, it ain’t!
FROLOVICH. OK, OK, that’s enough yappin’. Let’s sit down and partake of our repast.
Frolovich and Sophron dump the contents of three sacks out onto the oilcloth.
FROLOVICH. So, we got a buncha chicken bones from The Hen’s Golden Eggs. Take yer pick and throw ’em into the pot. Oh baby! (He laughs joyfully.) I managed to scrape together a lot! And without singin’ my throat out!
SOPHRON. How ye slid in there, I won’t even begin to imagine. There’s always a sentry standin’ outside.
FROLOVICH. We saw he’d gone off to do his business. And, right then, we were singing at the refill station across the way.
VANYUSHA. Yep. About Christ the Child. And no one hustled us along . . .
FROLOVICH. As soon as I noticed the sentry was gone, I seeped through the door. Dove down, looked, and—four plates of chicken carcasses on two tables!
BOOGER. Y’got lucky.
FROLOVICH. While the floor-cloth wench was tinkerin’ with her cart, I slid over and got the carcasses into my sack, yep, right into my sack. And nobody raised a cry! I grabbed the bag and out the door. Of me they caught a brief glimpse alone!
SOPHRON. Ye got lucky with the refectorians. Not long ago, I went to the Chinese area on Prechistenka Street and poked around in a xiao sitan’s1 stall, but they noticed me right away, and I got a bolt of electricity right up the ass. The bastards noticed me by my reek.
FROLOVICH. By yer reek. It’s all ’cause of yer reek . . .
BOOGER. All of our troubles.
VANYUSHA. Ain’t that the truth. We don’t smell like ev’ryone else. That’s why clean people disdain us. And why dogs are the opposite—they get all cuddly. And bark at clean people.
BOOGER. Forget the damn dogs! Those hounds’ve never loved me. Not when I walked round as a clean man and not now. (He potters through the scraps.) And what’s this?
SOPHRON. A little toy. A boy gave it to me as a gift.
BOOGER. And can we eat the little toy?
SOPHRON. I dunno. Give it here. (He takes the little toy bun and opens it up; inside is the same bun, only smaller.)
BUN. Nihao. Nihaoma, shagua?2
SOPHRON. Ni shi, shagua.3 Tsao would know just what to say to ye . . . Nay, yon ain’t an edible thing. (He throws the bun into the fire.)
FROLOVICH. Separate the bread from everything else as usual, guys.
BOOGER. They gave us much bread.
SOPHRON. Mhmm . . . These days, they barely give us any money at all.
FROLOVICH. A lot of beggars’ve moved to Moscow. That’s why they don’t.
VANYUSHA. And why are there so many beggars these days, Frolushka?
FROLOVICH. Because they’re idiots. All of them leap into Moscow thinkin’ that the city’s just rollin’ in cash.
SOPHRON. I already told ye, Van: there are so many beggars in Moscow because they’ve started burnin’ more and more villages down. Back in the day, they burnt zemsky estates alone and in Moscow alone. Now, they’ve started burnin’ the villages too so’s the zemskys understand that they answer for the subjects on their tracts. Get it?
VANYUSHA. Got it, Sophronyushka.
FROLOVICH. And once their village gets burnt down, they hurry right to Moscow! Of course they’ve stopped givin’ us cash! These days, there’re so many beggars on Tverskaya that ye can’t even push yer way through. Ye think people save up so’s to have enough for all of ’em?
VANYUSHA. They flee the flames and come to Moscow because there’re lotsa people in Moscow. And they think they can ask all of those people for alms. That’s how they think.
SOPHRON. Well, one can always ask. But can ye ever know if yon person’s gonna give?
FROLOVICH. Muscovites have hearts of ice. Ye won’t even melt ’em with tears. And they could give a shit about our songs.
SOPHRON. That’s true. These days, they don’t listen to our songs. A year ago, they listened, but now they don’t. The late Tsao had it right: one must needs leave Moscow and head to PodMoscovie. There, the people’re more compassionate. That’s how it shakes out. They don’t give ye any money in the country, but shower ye with bread. That’s why we’re in PodMoscovie, and thanks be to God.
VANYUSHA. Tsao was smart. Y’remember what he’d say to ye, lil’ Booger? “Better not to steal, but to ask.”
BOOGER (fussing round the boiling pot). Yes, I remember, I remember . . . Dang, it boiled up . . . ! It’s always safer to ask. But I wanna drink too. And they’re not allowed to give us vodka.
SOPHRON. My God, how obsessed ye are with vodka! There hasn’t been a day when ye haven’t talked about this accursèd vodka.
FROLOVICH. Yer head buzzes and legs go weak from vodka.
VANYUSHA. My deceased dad loved vodka. It’s real bitter.
SOPHRON. Bitter and undelicious. How people can drink it . . . is incomprehensible . . .
FROLOVICH. Man puts everything into his mouth.
BOOGER. I love drinking vodka. Especially in the winter. Warmth flows forth into yer veins when ye drink it.
SOPHRON. And all yer money flows away to it. Beastliness shall always remain beastliness. There’s nothing to discuss. Well then, brothers, shall we rejoice?
FROLOVICH, VANYUSHA, BOOGER (preparing spoons and moving toward the pot). Let us rejoice.
Sophron takes out a rag and unfolds it. Inside of the rag is a packet of soft ampoules. There is a living image on the packet: flowers suddenly begin to grow on a man’s bald head, the man smiles, and out of his mouth fly two gilded Xingfu4 characters.
FROLOVICH. How many?
SOPHRON (with a sigh). Seven.
BOOGER. Won’t be enough for two suppers.
VANYUSHA. What do y’mean seven? Weren’t there ten?
SOPHRON. We gave three away to the Pharaohs in Perkhushkovo yesterday. Near the tavern. Don’t ye remember?
VANYUSHA. Yesterday?
SOPHRON. Yesterday. When ye and Frolovich were singing about Ataman Kudeyar.
FROLOVICH. He must not’ve seen. The Pharaohs walked over and Sophronya silently gave ’em three without bein’ asked. So that they wouldn’t bother us. And, sure enough, they rolled right off.
VANYUSHA. Yeah, so I didn’t see. But ye didn’t say nothin’ either.
FROLOVICH. What’s the point of vainly wigglin’ one’s tongue about?
Booger removes the pot from the flame, Sophron lays a piece of wood out in the center of the oilcloth, Booger puts the pot onto the board, and Frolovich takes out and distributes spoons.
