The Trials of Grandpa Zhenya Chapters Nine and Ten.


I am playing with a new title for the Wacky Look @ Russian History.

 

Chapter Nine:  The Dreams of Grandpa Zhenya, Good or Nightmares?

 

The family let Grandpa lay where he was; snoring, his face flat on the table.    The vodka made his mind dance like the Sugar Plum Fairies. In between, the 1812 Overture, would wander through his mind.  The dreams were taking over. The vodka intake stopped, only because he was out like a light, and didn’t get up to drink anymore.  The Battle on the Ice from the movie Alexander Nevsky started playing through his mind. He thought he was Alexander, drawing his sword, as the Teutonic Knights and allies charged across the ice, like demented ice hockey players.  He slew many of the enemy and was the hero of Russia.

Then, the sky grew black and the Mongols, came, stealing what he had.  The Poles also attacked him. Then God came to him. Zhenya, Russia needs you again.  The enemy is within. He woke up startled.  “The enemies are at the gates, we must fight!”  His shouting brought Natasha running in. “The only enemy insight the gates is you, you old fool.  That’s right, wake the entire house up on a Saturday.”

At least Grandpa Zhenya succeeded in something.  He woke the house up. Anton shrugged, when Ivan came downstairs, Grandpa screamed, “Boy, bolt the door, the enemy is here!”

Ivan figured he’d better play along.  He couldn’t resist some sarcasm. “Don’t worry, Sergei isn’t coming, he doesn’t need you to dress him.”

Everyone, except Grandpa laughed.  Grandpa muttered, “No one is serious anymore.  We are vulnerable, and no one in this family sees the danger.”

Galina angrily lifted a vodka bottle.  “Dad, I’m holding the enemy by the neck!”    She proceeded to pour the bottle contents into the sink.  She went to the cabinet, grabbed the five full bottles and poured them down the sink.  Grandpa Zhenya could only croak, “My medicine.”

“No, Dad, the enemy and it can now kill roaches and rats in the sewers.  I’ve done a major public service. I will attempt to save you from yourself.  You may die from this, or the booze, but you will die eventually. Consider this your rebirth, as a man and a Russian.”

“Bah, I’m taking a walk.”  Grandpa stumbled getting up, and out the door.”

“Probably going to that stupid veterans club.”

“I thought they barred him,” Anton said quizzically.

“They’re drunks, they may not remember,” Grandma Natasha mumbled.

Grandpa stumbled down the street, to the veterans club.  The general greeted him at the door. Zhenya, you are no longer welcome.  You disobeyed orders, and shamed us. You can’t be here, I’m sorry, goodbye.”  The general slammed the door in Zhenya’s face.

Zhenya walked down the street.  You’d think he would be dejected.  “I’ll show them,” Zhenya muttered. “They will come running back to me!  I will lead them!”

The only place, Grandpa would’ve led anyone was into traffic.  There was a screech of brakes, and the next thing Zhenya knew, two police officers, were holding him.

“Sir, are you all right?” the younger of the two asked gently.

“Of course, I’m alright, young pup.  There are terrible things in this country.  You need to be going after them. Why are you holding me?”

“Sir, you wandered out into the road.  We nearly hit you. We will take you to the hospital to check you out to make sure you’re ok.”

Grandpa never disobeyed the legal authorities.  He felt he needed to go, to prevent more trouble.  He may not have agreed, but at this point, even Grandpa had his limits of how much far, he could go.

The police officers got him to the local hospital.  Grandpa felt as though he was having army physicals again.  He was x rayed, had blood work done., and was poked and prodded.

The police officers asked the first doctor if he was drunk.  The doctor responded, “He is drunk. He is a sick man, thanks to the drink.  I’m going to have our psychiatrist speak with him.”

Grandpa was dressed in a hospital gown, with the two cops sitting with him.  Grandpa regaled the cops with stories of Afghanistan, while the cops listened politely   Then, SHE entered the room.

 

Chapter Ten.  Grandpa Zhenya and Dark, Exotic, Beauties.

She entered the room.  She nodded to the two police officers, as if she’d seen them before, then smiled and bowed to Zhenya.  She was taller then Zhenya in her heels, her perfume and looks provided a spot of beauty, in the drab Stalinist era room.  The two police officers kept their professional stance, Zhenya, hid his fear. He wasn’t used to being sober for this long.  Looking at Zhenya, she asked softly, “Sir, please wait, I will be right back. Zhenya thought she was teasing him. What is it with these dark women trying to seduce me, Zhenya thought with fear.  

The woman motioned for the two police officers to follow her outside.  They did, while Zhenya sat on the bed, becoming more and more frightened.   

In the hall, she asked in a bored voice,  “Why did you need me?”

The older police officer responded:  “He staggered in front of our police car.  We realized he’d been drinking, we also wondered if he was suicidal.  He’s been bending our ear, about young people threatening the security of Russia, and dark people threatening everyone, and his service in Afghanistan.”

She smiled.  She’d asked questions of many such men.  More interesting than right wing soccer thugs.  She asked the police officers to return to Zhenya, while she called a colleague.

The older police officer got Natasha’s phone number, and called.  He explained the basics, to which Natasha responded with, “Is the old fool under arrest?”

“No, we’re concerned for his welfare.  We are waiting for the shrink to see him”

“Ah, a shrink, very good.  Maybe the old fool will come out of this.  How long are you planning to keep him?”

“No word on that yet.”

“Good, we’ll have peace and quiet in the house.”

The police officer sighed.  “We’ll keep you abreast of further developments.”

“You do that,” Natasha laughed.

The rest of the family heard Grandma’s side of the conversation.  “Maybe Dad is finally getting help,” Galina sighed.

“We’ll find out if he’s beyond help,” Grandma mumbled.

The police officer told Grandma he would keep them informed and hung up.

The dark featured psychiatrist called her friend and colleague Svetlana.  “I have a case you may want to sit in on.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Drs. Svetlana Borodin and Dr. Olga Ulyanova were about to enter the room and shake Grandpa Zhenya’s world.

When both entered the room, the police officers left, and Grandpa sat straight up, as though at attention.  Dr. Ulyanova was the dark beauty, Zhenya met first. Dr. Borodin, was a blonde blue eyed woman. Both were tall, even taller, in their heels, and now the mix of perfumes, really had Zhenya paying attention.  He was more drunk on perfume now then vodka.

Dr. Ulyanov spoke first.  “I am Dr. Olga Ulyanov, my colleague Dr. Svetlana Borodin.”

Zhenya grumbled, “Is this a musical revolution?”

He panicked, when neither lady laughed.  The poker professional face was the same.  Zhenya continued. “Dr. Ulyanova what are you?”

If Dr. Ulyanova was thrown by the question, she didn’t show it.  She answered slowly, “I’m a Chuvash woman.”

“My God, another foreigner.”

Dr. Borodin chimed in.  “We’re all Russians here, but this isn’t about us, but about you, sir.”

“You maybe, but not the Chuvash woman.”

“Let’s get back to you, sir.”

“You mean, you get to know all about me, but I don’t get to know anything about you?”

“We are the doctors, you’re our patient.  We will help you”

“How will you help?” Zhenya cried hoarsely.  Will you two help me help our beloved leader clear our nation of evil?”

“What is this evil?”  Dr. Borodin said softly.  Zhenya thought she was purring, like a cat.  He never trusted cats, and he thought Dr. Borodin was the ultimate cat.  

“I really have to explain this to you ladies?  Our beloved President Putin is in danger.”

“From whom?” Dr. Ulyanov asked.  The professional demeanor never ended.

“From the Jewish peril within!  From the Poles and Angela Merkel!  

The two doctors, nodded, as though on cue.  

“Please excuse me,” Dr. Ulyanov, said softly, leaving Dr. Borodin in the room.

While Dr. Ulyanov was out, Zhenya tried to win Dr. Borodin over.

“Doctor, can you trust a non-Russian friend?”

Dr. Borodin, just smiled.

At that point, Dr. Ulyanov returned with the two police officers.   “The police officers will take you home, sir.”

There was silence, as the two police officers drove Zhenya home.  They knocked on the door and Natasha answered. “So you brought the old fool home?  Is he cured?”

The older police officer just muttered, “Please take care of him,” beating a hasty retreat as to not answer any more questions.  

“Natasha practically shoved Zhenya into the house and sat him down roughly on the sofa.

The rest of the family looked on quizzically.   

“Well, you old fool.  What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Woman, there is much work to do.”

“Yeah, clean up the house.”

“No save a country.”

“Oh dear God,” Galina muttered.  Anton and Ivan maintained their stone faced demeanor, continued from the night of the debate.

Grandpa Zhenya slept fitfully, dreaming of beautiful women, who he thought were bringing the state down.

He woke up the following morning, and decided to go into the center of Moscow.  He walked along the Moscow River, deep in thought, until he heard shouting. He ran into a Nationalist demonstration.  He saw some of his comrades from the Veterans Club there. He grabbed a Russian flag, and as the march began, he went to the front, like Charlie Chaplin in the movie Modern Times.  The march ran into another march; a women’s march. Zhenya read the banners. The banners were in Polish and Russian, stating they were a Polish Russian peace and friendship march.

Zhenya was sober, but now it was hard to tell, if that was a good thing.  He moved as quickly as an older gent could ahead of the Nationalist marchers and toward the women.  He shouted loudly, “Which of you bitches are the Poles?”

“I am,” a stout woman in front said with a smile.

“You are defiling, our sacred Russian soil with your presence.”

“No, you are with your medieval attitudes, am I right, sisters?”

Cries of “Da” and “Tak” came from the other marchers.

The Nationalists were coming up fast.  Zhenya slapped the Polish woman on the jaw.  He shook his hand from the pain. Before he could raise a hand again, a stout hand grabbed it.  Two helmeted, strong riot police shoved Zhenya out of the crowd, and into a police van, with other Nationalists.  Finally, Zhenya was in trouble with people who agreed with him. They all saw it as they were the good guys and when President Putin heard of their plight, he would save them.  The van carried them off to Police Headquarters. There would be many more arrests that day.

The police called the house again.  When told about the arrest, Natasha started laughing.  The police officer was bewildered at her laughter.

“Well, the old fool has upped his game.  Yesterday, he was nearly hit by a police car and taken to see two shrinks.”

The cop just listened.  He dealt with rioters in Moscow, not old men stumbling in front of police cars.  

 

Chapter Ten:  Grandpa Zhenya Goes Before the Magistrate:

The courtroom was rowdy.  Many Nationalists were being read charges.  When it was Zhenya’s turn, his family were nervous about him going in front of the judge.  

The magistrate asked Zhenya if he punched the Polish woman.  

Zhenya smiled.  “Yes I did! I struck a blow for Mother Russia!”

“No sir, you did not,” the young magistrate said in a dull voice.  “You struck a guest in our country, who was marching peacefully with Russian women…”

“So you’re a traitor too.  The police, the doctors, the teachers, you?”

The magistrate continued.  “Sir, I don’t want to put you in jail.  I will turn you over to your family, but you’re under house arrest.  You can’t take the law into your own hands. You can only leave your house to see,  the psychiatrists I’m sending you too. You will also be weaned off the liquor. We will try and save you.  You can go.”

The family filed out.  When they got home, Galina said softly, “Dad, you’re finally getting help, I’m glad.”

 

 

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About tucsonmike

I am originally from Brooklyn, New York and now live in Tucson, Arizona. I have discovered a passion for writing. I have five books out now, with a sixth on the way. Take a look @ my book list: The Search for Livingstone An Affair of the Heart The Search for Otzi Griffith Justice in Space. Moriarty The Life and Times of a Criminal Genius Available now on Smashwords - Amazon and Barnes and Noble As to not bore my public with just "Buy my book," I am also interested in baseball, the outdoors, art, architecture, technology, the human mind and DNA. I learned Ashkenazi Jews, of which I am one, have to lowest rate of Alzheimer's in the world. Therefore, I treat my brain as a muscle needing a workout. I enjoy good food, flirtation, beautiful women (I am happily married for thirty years), so just flirting ;) I was considered autistic when I was young, trying to figure out if I have a mild form of Aspergers and learning from that. That is for future posts. You can also see I love history. Enjoy my sarcastic silly look at the world, and making History more interesting than a textbook.
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