To Kill the Duke (21 page)

“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.

“Comrades…I regret to inform you all that our leader has died,” Mr. Zavert said. “Show me where they bury Stalin and I’ll show you a Communist plot,” he added.

“That’s a great pun,” Ivan said.

The other four men said nothing. Two of the men wanted Ivan shot on site and the other two hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

“So you like puns, comrade projectionist? So did Stalin. He learned all about puns from me,” Mr. Zavert slyly remarked.

“It’s not a body double, Mr. Zavert?” the man who had summoned him asked.

“There was only one double of Stalin and that man died a while back. Do any of you know why I had that man exterminated?”

No one moved or said anything.

“Because he wouldn’t get a tattoo and an operation,” Mr. Zavert announced.

Now it was time for the men in the room to open their mouths, but as usual nothing came out in Mr. Zavert’s presence until they were summoned to speak.

The man who had been cold cocked by the captain groaned and started to cry.

“I hope you’re crying about the death of our leader,” Mr. Zavert said.

The man furiously nodded yes.

“Good. Go and take care of your head… and comrade, you’re lucky it was another one of my best men who got the drop on you,” Mr. Zavert said.

That man left the room in a hurry…crying louder with every step he took down the hallway hoping to get aid for his aching head and better sympathy from Mr. Zavert.

“What will happen now, Mr. Zavert?” the other man who had helped bring in the movie screen asked.

“That is being decided as we speak. Members of the Supreme Soviet Circle of Trust will be handling this situation in a very delicate fashion. News such as this has to be handled properly. Go and fetch the woman who looks like the actress and dispose of her,” Mr. Zavert told the man.

And that man left to find the woman who looked like Marlene Dietrich, who thought she was safely on her way home.

Now, knowing that the woman would be killed, Ivan was scared. He cleared his throat and the three remaining men turned to him.

“Can I turn off the movie?” he asked meekly.

Mr. Zavert started laughing. “I heard you were funny, comrade Viznapu. By all means do what you do best. Once a projectionist, always a projectionist.”

And Ivan walked slowly into the closet, where he wished he could stay for a very long time, but knew he couldn’t and so he began the process of not only turning off the movie, but putting it away in the canisters. He also wondered if Trotsky Number Seven would be ‘disposed of’ in the same manner as the beautiful woman.

“Why didn’t the double want a tattoo?” the captain suddenly asked

“What kind of operation was it that he refused?” asked the man now without two wooden spoons seizing on what his ally the captain had said, and hoping it would delay any bad news for Ivan.

“You are two of my favorites,” Mr. Zavert announced as he took both men by their shoulders and walked them to the dead body of Stalin. He threw back the sheet that had been covering the corpse and pointed to Stalin’s penis. “Notice anything?”

Neither man wanted to make a comment, so both shrugged their shoulders at the same time.