To Kill the Duke (18 page)

“Good idea,” the captain said.

“We’re in for a long night,” sighed the man with two wooden spoons.

“How many are left watching?” Ivan asked them both.

“Stalin and three other men… plus the girls,” replied the captain.

“Will we really be watching all the other movies?” Ivan asked.

The other men looked at each other and sighed.

“You tell him, comrade,” the captain said to the man with two wooden spoons.

“After
Fort Apache
is over, you will go with Uncle Joe and the women he has picked from the ones in the screening room dressed like Indians. You will be in his room with the woman showing the other
Marlene Dietrich movie. The others will all retire to their own respective rooms,” said the man with two wooden spoons.

“And?” inquired Ivan.

“You’ll show them the movie and swallow all your morals,” the captain ordered him.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Ivan said.

“It will be better than when you found Uncle Joe with Trotsky Number Seven in the bathroom, comrade. By the way, do you know why you were picked?”

“Because Alex thought I would make a great replacement for him, while he recovered from his cold,” Ivan said as he found himself beaming with pride (not to mention a puffed out chest).

“Pull your chest in, comrade. You really don’t remember me, do you Ivan?” the man with two wooden spoons said to a suddenly very perplexed Ivan Viznapu.

“Think back to your days at film school. Do you remember doing something for a fellow student?” the man with two wooden spoons asked Ivan.

This question made time stand still for Ivan Viznapu. He drew a deep breath and put his mind into reverse.

Is this a trick question? Am I being tested?
Ivan thought to himself as he drew on the courage to be truthful and ask for help.
So much for being a deep thinker!
“Can you give me a hint, comrade?” Ivan asked the man with two wooden spoons.

The captain broke out into a hearty laugh.

“Relax comrade, you’re not on trial. I will give you a hint. You still might not remember, but I do. It’s a very pleasant memory for me,” the man with two wooden spoons said.

“Then tell him, comrade,” the captain urged.

“Yes, tell me,” Ivan pleaded.

“Alright,” said the man with two wooden spoons.

With that word — every muscle in Ivan’s body relaxed.

“We were both in film school together, but in different grades. I only ran into you once, but it was a time I have never forgotten, because of your kindness to me. My home had been destroyed by a firestorm that had grown from an out-of-control pogrom against the Jews gone bad. Most
of the structures in our little village, not even owned or rented by Jews, were destroyed. I had no food and very little water and clothing. Yet, I still had to go to school. I was so weak after a few days in class that I passed out on the school’s grounds. I met you, because you tripped over me while carrying the canisters of the films that had to be burned.

“I remember being in charge of throwing the films that had been banned into the furnace… I seem to have a knack for throwing strange items into flames,” responded Ivan.

“That must have smelled real bad,” remarked the captain.

“Burning shit smells worse,” Ivan said.

“I’m sure it does. But isn’t burning films as bad as burning books?” the captain asked them both, as he switched gears in the discussion.

“That’s an interesting question, captain,” the man with two wooden spoons said. “But I’d rather debate that later and talk about my past run-in or should I say trip-over with Ivan.

“Sorry,” replied the captain.

“Go on comrade,” the man with two wooden spoons urged Ivan.

Ivan concentrated as best as he could on his past… and drew a blank other than recalling just doing the chore of tossing the banned films into the flames. “Sorry comrade,” he said with a shrug.

“I don’t blame you for not remembering me. And I might add I love your honesty. Most people would have made up something because they think it’s the right thing to do. But it isn’t. Honesty is always the right way to go,” the man with two wooden spoons said.

Both Ivan and the captain nodded in agreement.

“Since Ivan can’t recall, can you tell us? The suspense is killing me,” the captain said.

“Why not,” replied the man with two wooden spoons. “As I have stated earlier, I felt I was about to expire right on the school grounds because I couldn’t handle the pain of hunger, when young Ivan Viznapu tripped over me because he wasn’t paying attention to walking. The film canisters went everywhere and of course I groaned.”

“What was that?” young Ivan Viznapu wondered as he heard a groan that he had heard before, but couldn’t place. The groan sounded again. It was coming from behind young Ivan, and he slowly rolled over hoping that he hadn’t stumbled over anyone important.

When young Ivan’s eyes caught the source of the groans, he remembered where he had heard that type of groaning sound.

Stalingrad
, Ivan said to himself. “It’s a hunger groan,” he said out loud as he helped himself up and walked to the source of the groans. Young Ivan Viznapu knew hunger, and he knew the groaning that accompanied it. He immediately felt empathy for the young man he saw lying on his side, his head on his arm. The arm didn’t look strong enough to hold anything… let alone a head.

“Comrade, you need help,” Ivan said to the young man. “Wait right here. Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” he added as he sprinted to his locker where he knew he had some food.

I’ll get the films later
Ivan thought.
Helping a fellow man is more important than film being thrown into the flames.

In a matter of seconds, young Ivan made his way to his locker and retrieved his food. He sprinted back to the figure that he had earlier tripped over. At first glance, Ivan thought he was too late. The figure looked dead.

“He’s so skinny, he has no fat to live off,” Ivan said as he kneeled down to get a better look.

Suddenly, the person on the ground started to make really loud sniffing sounds.

“You’re not dead!” exclaimed Ivan.

“No… but I’m very hungry and I smell something really good,” the figure said.

“Let me help you sit and give you some buttered bread with cheese on it and some water to get you started,” Ivan said.

“What is this? It’s delicious!” the figure cried out to Ivan.

“Good old bread, butter and cheese,” Ivan said. “Home cooked pot luck I call it. It’s very good.”

“Comrade, right now, I’m so hungry I’m going to chew the water,” the figure said as he slowly sat up and took a bite of the bread and drank a cup of water from the small cup that Ivan had provided.

Ivan started to take out the other slice of bread in his possession to give to the young man. As the boy slowly ate everything that was put out for him, Ivan picked up the spilled film canisters and walked over to the flames and threw the items in.

“What was that?” asked the figure on the ground, who then belched.

“Excuse me, comrade,” Ivan pointed out.

“Excuse you for what?” the figure on the ground asked.

“Never mind,” said Ivan. “If it were not for what I just threw away, you might be dead.”

“Good point,” said the figure on the ground. “This meal is terrific.”

“Why don’t you come home with me to the collective farm I live on and I’ll introduce you to the cooks,” Ivan said.

So young Ivan brought the figure on the ground to where he lived. The cooks took the young man under their wings until he was healthy enough to return to film school. While he was being nursed back to health, Ivan rarely saw the unknown person whose life he had saved. One day young Ivan asked about the boy, and the cooks told Ivan that the young man had dropped out of film school to focus on becoming a chef. The young man had decided to return to his hometown to find his family and restart out on his new career.

“Did he say anything?” Ivan asked.

“Something along the lines of never knowing what hunger is,” said one of the cooks.

“That’s it?” replied Ivan.

“No, I gave him two wooden spoons,” replied the cook.

“That’s some story,” said the captain.

“I’m embarrassed,” said Ivan.

“Don’t be. I’m alive because of you,” said the man with two wooden spoons. “How could you have known who I was after all these years, especially with the weight I have since put on,” the man with two wooden spoons said with a laugh.

The movie ended and as the others said, Stalin picked one of the girls who had been dressed as an Indian and left for a private screening of
Destry Rides Again
. Ivan was ushered into a little room that was no larger than a big closet. As a matter of fact, it had been a closet, but Stalin had the room fitted to be a small projection room, which was big enough for a small table, one chair, one projector and of course one projectionist. There were no peep holes, but someone had forgotten to obstruct the keyhole, which Ivan now peaked into.

At first, he thought he must be in the wrong projection room, because the room he was peering into couldn’t have been a bedroom; and he had been told that he would be showing a film in Uncle Joe’s sleeping quarters. This room was way too large to be a bedroom.

“Of course you don’t know what a royal bedroom looks like, comrade,” Alex said to him later when they were discussing the events of the night. “You’re a peasant like me. We peasants only sleep and screw in our bedrooms, but the rich and the famous have other ideas about what their bedrooms should look like.”

Ivan saw a thick carpet that was a dark color. He guessed it was thick, because of how far certain legs of some of the furniture he saw seemed to sink into the carpet. All the furniture looked to be made out of the finest woods. The drapes looked like they were made of material that the Czars would have draped around them after they were crowned. The bed was huge, with pillars on each corner that seemed to reach into the sky, if not the room above. The desk was square with all sorts of papers stacked up on it. There was a metal tray, which was definitely brought in from the screening room, carrying a few bowls of various dessert items. There was a swivel chair that looked fit for only a giant, because the back of the chair was so tall. There were lamps that sparkled in the dim light of each other’s glow. The lamps looked like they were made out of gold. There was one wall dedicated to closets that had mirrors for doors. Ivan didn’t know what was the weirder feeling — seeing his own eye reflected in a part of the mirror, or playing the part of a peeping Tom.