18 February 2016

War and Peace

by Neil Tallstory

Thought Andrew Davies’ BBC TV adaptation of Leo Tolstoy’s classic was too modern, with its incest and male nudity?  Huh.  Try this for size…

Chapter LLLCCCCXXXXXIV

Natasha rushed round to Andrey’s apartment as soon as she heard that he was back in Moscow from the war.  On the way she stopped for a moment to pray at the little church of Saint Gyorg.  Anna Konstantinova had told her that Andrey was wounded. Badly wounded.  The doctors could do nothing for him, she’d said.  Natasha knelt down and kissed the saint’s icon.  I pray for Andrey, she whispered. I pray that I am not too late.

She found Andrey propped up in bed drinking vodka.  His friend Pierre was sitting at his bedside.  Andrey looked thin and pale, but Natasha was relieved to see that there were no signs of any wounds on him, no blood, no bandages.

“Tell me about War, Andrey” Natasha said. “Tell me how the glorious Russian army is protecting our holy Motherland from the barbarian Antichrist.”

“We bomb civilians” Andrey said proudly.  “We kill civilians by the score, by the hundreds, by the thousands.”

“Ah, Andrey, you are so noble!  You and all our other fine soldiers and airmen!”

“We bomb schools and hospitals” Andrey boasted. “We bomb mosques and market-places.”

“Ah, Andrey, how brave!  How heroic!”

“We bomb their homes.  We drive them from their towns and villages.”

“So our planes haven’t killed them all yet?”

“Not yet.  50,000 refugees are fleeing from us in the north, 100,000 refugees are fleeing from us in the south.”

“Will they get away?”

“No, don’t worry, the refugees in the north are trapped against the closed Turkish border, and the refugees in the south are trapped against the Israeli and Jordanian borders.”

“We are winning the war, aren’t we, Andrey?”

“Oh yes.  You see, the West – Europe and the USA – they’re reluctant to get involved, because they don’t want to kill civilians.”

“Why ever not?”

“Well, they believe in something called ‘the rules of war’, something called ‘fair play’, and ‘humanity’, and ‘decency’.

“How decadent!” she exclaimed in disgust. “How weak!”

Pierre leaned forwards, refilling their glasses.  “But what about Peace, Andrey? Tell us about Peace!”

“Sorry?  What?”

“Peace, Andrey, Peace!”

“I don’t understand.  That word, what does that mean?”

“Well, it’s a word they’re using a lot in the West, in Vienna and Geneva and Munich.  Apparently it means ‘not war’.  It means laying down your weapons and not fighting.”

“Really?” Andrey said without interest.  He shrugged and yawned.

“Yes” said Pierre. “Apparently we – Russia – have signed up for talks about Peace, for a ceasefire, for a truce, for an end to bombing civilians.  We were supposed to stop fighting and start talking three weeks ago.”

“Really?” Andrey repeated, yawning again, even more bored.  “But what’s the point of that, if we haven’t finished bombing the hospitals and schools and mosques and market places yet?”

“Listen, Andrey” Natasha said, excited.  “Why don’t we finish destroying their towns and villages, driving them from their homes, and taking their land, and then, when the war’s over and we’ve won, then we can join in the ceasefire and peace talks?”

“That’s a very good idea, Natasha!” Pierre exclaimed in delight.  “How clever you are!  How fine and noble!”

Natasha heard Andrey sigh and yawn again. “Oh, Andrei, are you in pain?  I’m so sorry!  I haven’t asked you about your injuries!  Are you badly wounded?  Was your plane shot down?”

Andrey laughed. “No. That’s the wonderful thing. The enemy have no aircraft to fight us with. They have no anti-aircraft weaponry.  We can bomb the hell out of them, and they can’t lift a finger against us!”

“So how come you’re wounded?  I’ve been told that… that…” Natasha sobbed.  She couldn’t help it.  She was trying to be brave, but… “That the doctors can do nothing for you?”

“That’s true. I am dying. The doctors can do nothing for me.  But my injuries… they’re not from the war… not from the battlefield…”

“Then what are they?”  Natasha hardly dared ask.

“Polonium-210 poisoning. I’ve been contaminated by radio active material.”

Natasha gasped “Oh Andrey! How did you come into contact with radio active material?”

“I was given it by my commanding officer.  I was ordered to take it to England, to London, and to tip it into the tea of one of the enemies of the state who is in exile there.  To assassinate him.”

“So what happened, Andrey?”  Pierre asked.

“I must have spilled a little bit of it on myself.  So instead of doing my duty and going to London to kill the traitor who is daring to tell the truth about Russia, here I am, dying of radiation sickness.”

“Oh, Andrey, I’m so sorry!”

“So am I, Natasha.  You see, I’m so radio active, that anyone who comes near me is contaminated as well.  I’m afraid you and Pierre are going to die too.  I’m really sorry.  I really do apologise.”

“Oh, that’s all right, Andrey” Natasha said bravely.  “You see, I’m so depressed by this whole gloomy story that I was going to kill myself anyway.”

“Me too” said Pierre, shaking his head.  “Something about this little chat has robbed me of the will to live.  The world suddenly seems so dark, life so meaningless…”

“So this polonium-210 saves me from a lot of trouble” Natasha continued. “I was going to throw myself under a train…”

Pierre and Andrey looked at her, puzzled and confused. “Hang on” said Pierre. “Isn’t that the other one? That doesn’t happen here, to you, does it? I thought it happens to…”

“Exactly.  So now we have something different, something new.  We don’t want to bore our readers as well as depress them, do we?”

“So that’s all right then?”  Andrey looked at his friends, and they both nodded. “Very well.  So perhaps it’s time to call for a priest…”

At this point, dear reader, we would be well advised to leave Natasha, Andrey and Pierre to their inevitable Slavic doom, and go and read this week’s Chin Chin to cheer ourselves up a bit instead.

 

Please click here if you would like a weekly email on publication of the Shaw Sheet