An Easter Carol - Part I

Russkyi Mir Edition - Easter 2023

Part I - Boris Nikolayevich’s Ghost

Boris Nikolayevich was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.

Vladimir Vladimirovich knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? He had arranged the funeral; had been there when they put him into the ground.

Long time ago they had been partners, and now Vladimir Vladimirovich took care of the business by himself..

Then why was he thinking about Boris Nikolayevich, the man had been dead for at least 10, or was it already 15 years? Had someone mentioned his name during the day, or had something else reminded him, some insignificant detail maybe, he could not tell. He just could not help thinking about Boris Nikolayevich. 

It was Easter, but for Vladimir Vladimirovich it was just another day in the office. He did not care what day it was, he was a busy man, and was always dealing with very important affairs of the state. He could not afford to take a day off, especially for a religious holiday, besides he had already had a photo-op at the church. Why would he take a day off for a fairy tale? For something that did not happen two thousand years ago. Humbug!

Anyway, even if he could take the day off, he definitely would not. He was hard as steel and sharp as flint, self-contained, secret and solitary as an oyster. He always seemed to carry his own low temperature with him wherever he went, and external heat and cold had little influence on him. No warmth could warm, or no wintry weather chill him.

Besides, what would he do? And where would he go? He did not want to meet anyone, let alone ‘party’ with them. And he knew no one wanted to meet him, except of course those who wanted something from him. There was no cheerful friend or nephew or anyone, who would invite him to a party. But what did he care? It was the very thing he liked. To edge along on his solitary path in life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance.

Once upon a time, there had been many colleagues and business acquaintances, and even people who called themselves his friends, but nowadays they were all living abroad, or were in prison, or were dead as door-nails. Indeed, he had made sure of that, he thought, with something resembling a faint smile on his steely face. 

The door to his office opened and his secretary Ivan Ivanovich walked in, followed by two men. One was the General, you could tell by the amount of coloured strips and medals on his green uniform. The other was the Lawyer, one of the thousands of grey, nameless, faceless bureaucrats, working in some government department with a long name.

“Vladimir Vladimirovich,” the General started, trying to sound less official, “regarding the Special Military Operation. The current offensive is not advancing as well as we both had planned.” There was a pause, and then he continued, “The troops are running low on ammunition, equipment losses are high, and unfortunately the casualty figures are higher than expected.” There was another pause. “Well, we, the generals that is, think, to successfully continue the operation, think that we will need more boots on the ground. Another mobilisation.” Another pause. “And the arms industry. There is the issue of the timely replenishment of means of destruction. Although they are working three shifts, they are struggling to keep pace with the demands of the units conducting the Special Military Operation.”

“May I suggest something,” the Lawyer said, “we do have a law now that allows us to take over the management of arms manufacturers, if they fail to meet state contracts.”

“Well, there you are. Get more equipment out of storage, and take over the arms factories if you have to,” Vladimir Vladimirovich said to the General, and then turned to the Lawyer, “And?” 

“Sir, as usual, I am worried about the economy and the public opinion. The sanctions; there is a possibility that soon hundreds of thousands will be in want of everyday comforts, the people will complain. And regarding the casualties; there are signs that the public opinion could turn negative in the future. That would not be good for the new mobilisation.”

Slippery, Vladimir Vladimirovich thought, turns with the wind. Lawyers. Have to keep an eye on him. “We are in an existential struggle for the survival of the Motherland. The Russian people are willing to sacrifice some common comforts for that. It is a patriotic duty.”

“Yes Sir, I am sure they are.” They both said at the same time, like they had rehearsed it.

Like parrots, Vladimir Vladimirovich thought. “And the public opinion; what is the situation with the media?”

“Well, all media outlets spreading deliberately false information about the Special Military Operation have been closed,” the Lawyer said.

“That is important, unity across society is vital. And what about the undesirables? Anyone questioning any actions of the State is part of a pro-enemy fifth column. They are trying to undermine the military and the Special Military Operation.” 

“As you know, we have arrested everyone carrying out the activities of undesirable organisations. Well, nearly everyone, some managed to escape abroad,” the Lawyer replied. “But, there are still some in the country who engage in propaganda or protest.”

Vladimir Vladimirovich gave the lawyer a stern look, “Are there no Prisons?”

“Plenty of prisons, Sir.” The Lawyer replied.

“And lots of space in them”, the General added, “we have conscripted prisoners to the fight, so now there are empty cells.”

Well, this one is not totally useless, Vladimir Vladimirovich thought. He turned to the Lawyer again, “And the Correctional Colonies? Are they still in operation?”

“They are,” the Lawyer said, “I only wish we had more of them.”

“Plenty of space in Siberia. And the laws, you have amended them already? To be useful in the current situation?”

“We have, Sir,” the Lawyer said. “Discrediting the army is currently punished by five years in jail, while deliberately spreading false information about it, gives you 15 years. And the new law creating the digital draft system will help with the new mobilisation.” 

“Well, you know what to do, apparently there are empty cells in the prisons.” He turned to the General, “and I will decide on the mobilisation soon.” 

“Yes, Sir. Will do, Sir,” they replied.

He waved them off before they could say anything else, and Ivan Ivanovich escorted them out. He overheard them wish Happy Easter to his secretary, who cordially wished them likewise.

“What morons” he muttered, “who cares if it is Easter, I have a country to run. What do they think this is, a Charity!”

Ivan Ivanovich approached his desk, “Sir, they were the last ones for today. Do you need anything else tonight? If not, then I would like to join my family for the celebrations. It is Easter, you know.”

“I do know that. Easter is every year.” Vladimir Vladimirovich said, emphasising the word ‘every’. “Well, go on then, if you must. But back here in the morning, sharp.”

“Thank you, Sir. And although Easter is every year, it is only once a year.” Ivan Ivanovich said disarmingly. “And a Very Happy Easter to you, Sir.” He said as he closed the office door.

“Humbug” Vladimir Vladimirovich muttered, mostly to himself, as there was no one else in the room.

*****

Vladimir Vladimirovich had just retired to his private quarters, and was comfortably sitting by the fire reading some economic report, when something very peculiar happened. The fire suddenly grew, and he saw the face of Boris Nikolayevich in the flames. No doubt about it, it was the face of Boris Nikolayevich, in the flames. It looked slowly around the room, and then straight at him. It seemed to recognise him, smiled, and then disappeared. Vladimir Vladimirovich rubbed his eyes, but the flames were just flames again.

Despite the fire, Vladimir Vladimirovich suddenly felt cold, like someone had opened a window and let freezing winter air into the room. He sat back in his chair, and took a deep breath. The fire was burning, he was sitting in his chair, the report was in his hand, and everything was as it had been before. “Humbug” he said to himself and continued reading the report.

Once he had finished, he put the report down on the side table, and looked at his watch. It was midnight.

Just then he became aware of the fact that someone was singing. The sound seemed to come from somewhere from the bowels of the building, the lower floors or the basement. The singing became a bit louder, and although it was a bit out of tune, he recognised the song, it was the one about Moscow Nights.

The singing came closer, and now he could tell that it was coming from the hall. Suddenly, there was a loud crash and the sound of glass breaking, and the singing stopped. He could not tell for sure, but it sounded like someone was swearing. 

“One of the guards probably, I’ll deduct that from his salary.” Then he heard footsteps coming closer, and the unmistakable clinking of vodka bottles in a plastic bag. And the singing started again. “What the Hell? Are they drunk? I’ll send the lot of them to Siberia!” But before he could even stand up, Boris Nikolayevich walked through the door. Let me be clear, he did not open the door and walk in, he walked, straight through, the door.

It was Boris Nikolayevich, the same face, the same hair, the same manner, same everything, except that he was transparent. Like a ghost. He was still singing, raised his hand for dramatic effect, and blasted out the last chords of the song in a great finale. After a pause, and obviously satisfied with his performance, he looked at Vladimir Vladimirovich.

“Tripped on the stairs. Did you have a new carpet put in? Watch your step when you go down, there’s some glass, or you know...” The ghost uttered, with a bit of a slur.

Vladimir Vladimirovich stared at the apparition, “But you are dead.”

“Indeed I am, “ the ghost replied cheerfully, “how could I be a ghost otherwise?” He sat down on the other chair by the fire. “But Vladimir Vladimirovich, my friend, good to see you! It has been too long. What is it, ten, fifteen years? My memory is not what it used to be. Have a drink, old boy.”

It was then that Vladimir Vladimirovich noticed that the ghost had a bottle of vodka in his hand. A glass materialised from somewhere and the ghost filled it up. “Na Zdorovie” the ghost emptied his glass, and threw it into the fire. “I would offer you a drink, but this is ghost stuff, you would not taste a thing.”

“But, you Are Dead.” Vladimir Vladimirovich repeated.

“Yes, I know I’m dead. You know I’m dead. Everybody knows Boris Nikolayevich is dead. But here I am, visiting you, my old friend.”

Ghost or not, he is obviously drunk, Vladimir Vladimirovich thought. “Well, what do you want?” 

“Me? I want nothing.” The ghost pointed his transparent finger at Vladimir Vladimirovich, “I was sent to warn you.”

“Warn me? Why? Is someone trying to kill me?” He looked hurriedly around the room but there was no one there. “And who sent you?”

“Not so fast, one thing at a time. First, a drink. Na Zdorovie.” and he emptied another glass. “Well, I was at my dacha, and this fellow comes to me, tells me to come visit you,” the Ghost said while he filled another glass.

“A fellow, at your dacha? Who sends ghosts to visit people?”

“I think he was German, spoke funny. Don’t know his name, but the others called him Professor.”

“What others?” Vladimir Vladimirovich started to get a bit irritated at his drunk guest, ghost or not.

“Take it easy, old boy, take it easy. Na Zdorovie. He, this Professor fellow, a nice guy by the way, he has been here, in Moscow. Sometime before the war I think, and his friends too, a weird bunch. But they had some really funny stories.”

“Get to the point.” Vladimir Vladimirovich was really starting to lose patience.

“I will, I will.” The ghost started to pour yet another drink, but the bottle was empty. He threw it away and a new bottle materialised from somewhere. “The thing is, this Professor, and his buddy, what was his name… Fagotto, or something… and the other guy, with the funny eyes, and the Redhead. Oh, she was nice…” he stopped and stared into space for a while with a smile on his face, then he continued, “and there was a cat as well, at least I thought it was a cat.”

“A cat? You are not making any sense.”

“Anyway, they told me to come visit you, and here I am.”

“Visit me? And with a warning?”

“Oh yes. He said to tell you, this Professor fellow: If you do not get your act together, you’ll end up like Boris Nikolayevich. You know, like me.”

“Like you?”

“Yes, like me. Wandering around for all eternity, totally forgotten, no friends, all alone, with an endless supply of vodka.” He looked straight at Vladimir Vladimirovich with profound sadness in his transparent eyes. “Like me, Vladimir Vladimirovich, like me… Na Zdorovie.”

The ghost filled his glass again in silence. “Anyway, you will soon be visited by three Spirits.”

“Spirits? What spirits?”

“Spirits, you know, like me, ghosts.”

“And why would they visit me?”

“Don’t know,” he shrugged, “said they’ll show you something.”

“Show me, something? What?”

“I don’t know, did not tell me. Listen old boy, I got the sense that this is strictly on a need-to-know basis, and I-did-not-need-to-know. And believe me, you do not want to argue with them, not with this lot.” Then he seemed to remember something, “Oh, I nearly forgot. This Professor fellow, he also told me, to tell you, about Easter. That something really happened two thousand years ago, said he was there. Whatever that means… Na Zdorovie.”

Vladimir Vladimirovich did not understand how the Ghost knew what he had thought about Easter? “And these three Spirits? Who are they? And when…?”

“I don’t know. Tonight, I guess.” The ghost seemed to lighten up, “But, Vladimir Vladimirovich, you should have seen the Redhead. Beautiful. Had a thing on her neck, but otherwise, Perfect. The legs, like a gazelle, and beautiful round hips, and, oh, a perfect pair of…”

“And how will I know they are Spirits?” Vladimir Vladimirovich cut him off.

“Oh you’ll know. They are Spirits. Probably like me, you know, transparent like.”

“Transparent like… now that helps a lot.” 

“Well, anyway. It was nice seeing you,” the Ghost said cheerfully, “I must be off. And don’t worry, if this does not work out for you old boy, you can always join me. We can wander the world together, talk about old times.”

Wandering the world with Boris Nikolayevich’s ghost was definitely not a future that Vladimir Vladimirovich would be looking forward to, then again, the thought of three Spirits visiting him did not fill him with joy either. 

The ghost stood up and walked towards the door. “Three Spirits, Vladimir Vladimirovich, Three Spirits.” Then he went through the door and was gone.

Vladimir Vladimirovich heard him walking in the hall, followed by the constant clinking of vodka bottles, and then after a pause, a faint,

“Na Zdorovie!”