#39 | May 21 - June 4, 1998  smlogo.gif


In This Issue
Feature Story
Press Review
Death Porn
Kino Korner
Moscow Babylon


By Edward Limonov

FIRST Carla Feltman's Commandment

For 20 years now, every 28 days, I am taking an ordinary sheet of paper. Using a ruler and pencil I am dividing it into 28 spaces, each one is for one day. To finish a job, I mark the days: May 25th, May 26th, etc.

The recipe of such primitive, but very practical agenda I have received 20 years ago from Carla Feltman, the secretary of my boss, the chairman of National Semiconductor Company, Peter Sprague. It happened at 6, Sutton Square, New York City, where at very exclusive brown-stone of Sprague family I been working as house-keeper, and Carla served her life sentence as a boss's secretary.

Afterwards I have lived during 14 years in Paris, France, now I live in Moscow, but everywhere, including war zones and during uprisings, I have always carried with me my agenda, because Carla Feltman's first commandment states: "Always carry your agenda with you, Edward, and check it constantly from dusk to dawn."

I got Carla's lesson and when one day I will arrive to power in my Russia I will thank her for teaching me working habits and working culture. I proved to be a good, very able Russian pupil of yours, Miss Feltman. All my days of agenda are perfectly stuffed with a duties due to be performed, meetings to attend, tasks to accomplish, people to see, articles to write, demonstrations to organize, even girls to make love with. Thank you, Miss Feltman.

Today is Tuesday, May 19th. Following orders of my agenda at 8:15am, I have called lieutenant-colonel Terekhov. Terekhov in his turn called to a leader of "Trudovaya Rossiya" Viktor Anpilov. Then Terekhov called me back at 8:35. We get agree to meet all three of us at 13:00.

At 10:30, newly appointed bookkeeper of National-Bolshevik's party Sergei Aksionov have arrived. Together we went to our bank to sign few party financial papers. At 11:45 as was agreed beforehand, Konstantin, heavily-built bodyguard of mine, have arrived at my apartment. At 1pm, I, Konstantin, Terekhov, his second-in-command officer, all of us, we rang the bell of "Trudovaya Rossiya" headquarters near metro "Proletarskaya."

Anpilov is not yet there. Place is humid, old basement stuffed with red flags, Lenin's portraits and Anpilov's comrades. We are sitting down, we use phone one after one, Terekhov is using "Trudovaya Rossiya's" typewriter to type press release. At 1:30 p.m., Anpilov finally have arrived, he got stuck into traffic jam. Because, I think, he didn't went through school of Peter Sprague's secretary. Carla Feltman taught me during two years, so I know that subway system is much more useful than travel by car, in megalopolises like New York City or Moscow. High executives should use subway because it is rapid and effective. Politicians are high executives anyway. Good pupil of Carla Feltman's school I am never late. I do make Xerox copies of fragments of Moscow's map when I am going to a section of a city what I don't know. Because that is what Miss Feltman have recommended.

At 1:35 we started to discuss our further line of action. We got to agree that all three political parties have interest in guarding alliance of "Front of Working People of Army and Youth". So we pledged to keep our alliance, but decided to accord more political freedom to each of our parties.

I looked at Xeroxed copy of my agenda. Next line was "3:30pm. Natasha/Parliament." Few minutes later my bodyguard Konstantin have accompanied me to metro station "Okhotny Ryad," and I went to a State Duma. Not for political reason, but for a sentimental one. Pretty, very skinny girl, Natasha, 20, have awaited me for a dinner at State Duma's cafeteria. We ate, I bought 100 grams of vodka, so I drinked it. We looked at each other across the table with an artificial flowers. Our love been broken by me. We were together, then I have betrayed her with another girl. She suffered, she was sick. Before that, another girl have betrayed me. I drink my terrible vodka, bitter and dry, I think, looking at Natasha's little face that on May 1st demonstration, Anpilov, who joined his column with column of Zyuganov, have betrayed me in some way. Everybody betrays everybody. I have betrayed Natasha. I am bastard.

My agenda wants me go back to my apartment. At 5:30pm I am at my table, working. I should do proof-reading of third volume of my novels' collection, that is coming out with "Vagrius" publishers in August. I hate proof-reading, but a voice of Carla Feltman, lucid, articulate, loud, says in metal: "Edward, you are unusually well-organized for a Russian, but you should improve employment of your time." At noon I am going to bed. From 5:30am till noon I left my table only three times: once to eat a bowl of soup, two times to lie down on the floor, to make few dozens of push-ups. When I am in bed Miss Feltman says nothing. I deserve my sleep. I worked hard.

I am awakened by the sound of doorbell. I look at my wrist-watch. 3 a.m. Despite security precautions I opened my door. Big, fat, drunk Polish girl Helga stays in my doorway. "Do you want to fuck, Edward?" She is not from my agenda. I swear. Carla Feltman, she is unexpected visitor. However, she brought me a red carnation. I let Helga in, I am sorry, Carla.

May 20, 8 a.m. I am writing that very article for "Exile." Big Polish Helga snores in my bedroom.

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