To Kill the Duke (16 page)

“Why do people like Stalin become leaders of nations, while a guy like me becomes the projectionist?” Ivan said out loud while waiting.

“Because the world needs bad leaders and good projectionists,” the captain said quietly. He had entered the projection room while Ivan was peering out at the crowd gathered below him.

“You’re not going to report me, are you?” a scared Ivan asked of the captain.

“And miss your jokes…? Are you crazy?” the captain said. “Relax comrade. I have seen a lot worse than you and have asked myself the same question.”

“But you’re not a projectionist,” Ivan protested.

The captain started laughing and gave Ivan a bear hug.

“Thanks for the laughs, comrade. Enjoy the show. Our leader is about to make his entrance,” the captain announced as he exited.

“Captain, may I ask you something?” Ivan said in a pleading tone.

“Make it quick, comrade,” the captain replied as he tapped his right foot.

“Why does our leader treat Jews like he does?”

“There is not enough time left on earth to answer that one, comrade. He sees Jews as less than human… less than even an animal,” the captain replied.

“Do you?” Ivan asked the captain.

“No one deserves to be treated in the way that our fearless leader sometimes treats others — especially Trotsky Numbers One through Seven,” the captain said. “I have learned that everything evens out in the end, no matter who is on top and who is on the bottom. I have to go. Get ready.”

And Ivan quickly checked on the projector and the first film. Everything was ready to roll, and he went back to the peeping spots in the wall to watch Stalin make his grand entrance.

And what an entrance it was!

Suddenly, very loud music came pouring into the room. Ivan had no idea where the music was coming from and later told Alex it sounded like an entire orchestra was in the room.

“Uncle Joe probably had them performing underneath the screening room… by gunpoint of course,” Alex said.

“No doubt,” agreed Ivan.

The doors flew open and in came the leader of the Communist world with his entourage, which of course
didn’t
include Trotsky Number Seven.
Everyone was cheering and clapping. Stalin — lapping up the attention — waved and stopped every once in a while to grasp someone’s hand or to whisper into someone’s ear. This went on for a few minutes until Stalin sat in the best seat in the house, and at that moment the music, clapping and cheering stopped.

“Do you know how Stalin determined it was the best seat in the house, comrade?” the captain later asked Ivan.

Ivan shook his head no.

“It was one of the few times I ever saw Trotsky Number Seven smile,” the captain recalled.

“Before you tell me comrade, why and how did Trotsky Number One through Six fail?” Ivan asked.

“That’s easy. The previous Trotskys couldn’t satisfy Uncle Joe’s obsession with finding the perfect seat for him in the screening room, so he had them executed just like he did the
real
Trotsky — hacked to death,” the captain informed Ivan.

“Well, how did Trotsky Number Seven do it?” Ivan asked, hoping he would never be ‘hacked to death’ under any circumstance.

“When he wasn’t holding Stalin’s cock, and there were no films scheduled, he had me turn on the projector and he sat in every seat, until he found the perfect seat for Uncle Joe,” the captain said.

“I thought it was odd that Uncle Joe wasn’t sitting in the middle row of the center aisle,” Ivan said.

“That’s where Numbers One through Six made their mistakes. They also assumed that Stalin wanted to be in the center, because of the phrase ‘being the center of attention,’” the captain said.

“Who would have guessed that it was the left section, as you look at the seats from our slit; a third of the way back and the aisle seat to boot,” Ivan said.

“There were two keys that Trotsky Number Seven figured out. The first key was that Stalin loved watching the movies
more
than being the ‘center of attention.’ The second key was in the aisle seat, you didn’t have to climb over anyone,” the captain said.

“But people would always climb over you,” Ivan pointed out.

“Not in our screening room. Everyone sitting to Uncle Joe’s left exits to the left and climbs over everyone else in that row,” said the captain.

“Is that when Trotsky Number Seven finally smiled?” Ivan asked.

“Yes, when he figured the best seat out — he smiled. It made me feel good seeing that poor bastard smile,” the captain added.

And a lot of smiling was happening all around the screening room as Uncle Joe and his entourage retreated to their seats. It had been a long day in the Kremlin for all of them as they plotted and schemed; running the day-to-day operations of the government was hard work… to them anyway. They were hungry and couldn’t wait for their leader to signal for the foods and drinks that would soon be placed on their trays.

Suddenly Stalin stood up and with outstretched arms — palms up, he roared “Let the festivities begin!”

On that cue, the doors flew open and Ivan lost count of the number of workers bringing in dishes filled with delicious foods and carafes containing the best alcohol and other drinks into the room. Ivan watched it being placed upon the metal trays. From the left corner of his eye, he spotted the man with two wooden spoons standing in the doorway — holding those same spoons to his chest and beaming at a job well done… so far.

So far, because the leader of the Communist world had been known to throw temper tantrums if anything at all went wrong with the food—whether it was because of Stalin’s taste buds being offended or anyone else in the screening room. The man with two wooden spoons knew that only after the meal was complete, from the appetizer to the dessert, would everything be okay.

The first appetizers were brought out with the finest vodka from Russia and Finland to be drunk with the opening toasts. Stalin stood up and announced that as soon as the first rounds of toasts were completed, comrade Ivan Viznapu would be turning on their first movie.

When Ivan heard his name announced by the fearless leader, he blushed. He also noticed that his ego got a boost from having his name announced in a room full of such dignitaries and then he cursed himself for letting his ego run a little amok, because the praise
had
come from someone such as Stalin, after all.

“What’s the first movie, comrade leader?” a voice from the screening room called out.

“
Life on the Collective Farms
,” Stalin said.

There were cheers and whistles from those in the screening room. Ivan thought the title sounded like a documentary. The captain and the man with two wooden spoons groaned silently. They knew the movie would be a propaganda piece that had about as much truth to it as Stalin had compassion for the Jews.

“A toast,” another voice rang out.

“To comrade Stalin… the man who saved the entire world from the National Socialists,” a third voice shouted.

There were whistles and cheers and everyone did a shot of Russian vodka… a large shot.

“A toast to the mother Russia!” yelled out another in the room and shots were downed once again.

“A toast to comrade Stalin for expanding our borders… WEST!” a fifth voice shouted at the top of his lungs.

More vodka was consumed.

“A toast to the people who have prepared these appetizers,” yet another said.

And the Russian vodka was downed again.

“A toast to comrade Lenin!” was screamed out, and the Finnish vodka was used.

“A toast to the brave men and women who protect us from the West,” someone said.

And more vodka from Russia was consumed.

“A toast to the movie,” came from a different voice.

“Who said that?” Stalin yelled and the room became silent.

A silence that Ivan later told Alex seemed to last for eternity, for however long eternity is. A small man in the front about nine rows to the left of Stalin raised his hand.

“Take that man out and have him shot,” Stalin commanded.

The captain and two of his guards walked briskly to the man who had offended Stalin. When they grabbed the man, they looked at Stalin for a possible reprieve.

“Just kidding comrades… to the movie. Comrade Viznapu, start the movie,” Stalin yelled as he waved the captain and the other guards off.

The man they were holding collapsed in a heap and was quickly removed from the theatre.

Ivan Viznapu started the projector while the men gathered in the screening room began to finish their appetizers, drink more vodka, watch a propaganda film and hope that Stalin never played with their minds like he just had done to the previous man.

Ivan couldn’t believe that when the movie was over, everyone in the screening room was still there, let alone awake.

The movie was only 50 minutes long, but Ivan felt like it had lasted for 500 hours.

The cinematography was so poor that Stalin had asked the captain twice to check on Ivan, to see if either Ivan or the projector was messing up.

“It’s neither, comrade Stalin,” the captain told the leader of the Communist world “it’s the film itself or as comrade Viznapu reported to me, ‘technically, it is the cinematography that is terrible.’”

“I like my new projectionist,” Stalin whispered to his loyal captain. “Make sure we never show this film again, and have the cinematographer sent to Siberia. No. Better yet, have the man sent to Siberia and be forced to watch his own cinematography 24 hours a day.”

Ivan had cringed when the captain came in. But once Ivan showed it was the film, and not the projector or his operation of it, the captain nodded in agreement.

Ivan had also cringed at the narrating voice of the film he was showing. It had reminded him of his first instructor in film school. It had been a class Ivan had right after lunch in the cafeteria. Most of the time, the food served in the cafeteria was passable. All of the time it was full of starch and other heavy ingredients that made Ivan very sleepy when he returned to the class, where the teacher’s voice was all monotone, all the time. Ivan had to slap himself across the face or pinch himself very hard to keep from falling asleep. How he hated the cafeteria food, especially given the fact that the people he lived with were such excellent cooks; even though they always didn’t have a lot of food to cook with.

Once, the teacher asked him why he was hitting himself. Ivan responded that he was toughing up his skin for the cold winters. The
teacher thought that was a good idea and soon had everyone in all his classes slapping themselves in their faces in order to toughen up their skin for the cold weather. Ivan became the least popular student in the school, but Ivan always boasted that their grades improved because the students were all awake.

Now, he found himself doing the same thing while this film was droning on and was totally amazed that the people, who had been watching it—especially after consuming so much vodka—hadn’t fallen asleep while the film played.

When the light came on, Stalin rose from his chair and pointed up to the projection room.

“Let’s hear it for comrade Viznapu showing us his first film flawlessly,” Stalin urged.

There where whistles and cheers from the throng. They all also exited to the bathroom or went outside to light up a cigarette while they waited for the next course and the next film.

Ivan put the documentary away. He then pinched his nose, because the movie was so bad. He proceeded to get the next film ready.

Unlike the first film, this one had a synopsis taped to the top canister that housed it. There were three reels to go and Ivan knew from film school he was in for a 90-minute show. Considering that the next meal would be the main course, Ivan guessed that the food would take 90 minutes to be eaten.

It was a good guess and a better film.

The entrees were staged just like the appetizer course was. The only difference was larger dishes of food and more toasts.

Again, Ivan Viznapu ran the film flawlessly. The only interruption came when two guests passed out and were removed from the screening room. Ivan was perplexed that no one seemed to care that the two men had keeled over into their trays. The men who passed out were simply carried off and the mess they made just cleaned up. It was like they were never there.