To the Artist's Page To our home page
To Vladimir Orlov's next piece
The Dead Truck on Russian Fields They waited for carts near the local prison where "the enemies of the people" were kept, their souls and bodies envying the fate of the dead calves, mercifully killed at once, rather than after hours, days, weeks, years of torture and overpowering abuse, death appearing a tempting morsel, a gift of the Communist heaven where Stalin claimed to reign. First thing in the morning those dead human calves sadly still alive were being driven to Siberia's snow-hazed fields, to the "bright future" labor camps to manufacture those very chains which served to pull together the monolithic Evil Empire of Dead Calves. Nobody grouped downwind of the slaughtered calves, 'cause nobody could stand the wretched stench of this Communist "achievement and success", 'cause nobody could risk becoming a human being, not a calf, ready to be driven from one department of the great butchery of the Evil Empire to another - sometimes a thousand miles away, sometimes in your neighbor's room, who informed on you to the secret police, for you to wonder what made your friend and neighbor do that but a hope to get your room for himself - as an award for allegiance soon to be torn from him by another eager informer. And those who died on the way were envied by the millions of dead calves still alive. The shepherds were always esteemed, even though everyone yearned to see them in the calves' ranks, welcome them aboard, beaten up and fettered by the new generations of shepherds and butchers all ready to add up to the long Stalin's list, as the pendulum swings yet again.
To the top of this page