“Comrade Churygin Has the Floor”- A Short Story by by Yevgeny Zamyatin - author of We- 1927- included in Fatal Eggs and other Soviet Short Stories edited by Mirra Ginsburg - 2007

 “Comrade Churygin Has the Floor”- A Short Story by 

by Yevgeny Zamyatin - author of We- 1927- included in Fatal Eggs and other Soviet Short Stories edited by Mirra Ginsburg - 2007

Yevgeny Zamyatin

Born: February 1, 1884, Lebedyan, Russia

Died: March 10, 1937 - Paris 

His novel, published outside of the country in 1922, We was the first literary worked banned by Soviet censorship.  He was initially very pro-Bolshevick but was horrified by the brutality of the regime. He received permission to leave in 1931 and joined the Russian Émirgé community in 

Paris.

“Comrade Churygin has the Floor” is a Mel Brooks funny account of a speech presented as being an account of the glories of the Revolution.

“My most esteemed citizens—and also lady citizens, who are giggling there, way in the back, in disrespect to the moment that is an evening of recollections about the revolution—I ask you, citizens: do you desire to join my recollections to yourselves as well? In that case, I will beg you to sit without any giggles and refrain from interfering with the preceding orator.”

The speech is being given in the home town of the speaker, Kuyman, in the Izbishchensk district, a remote very backwards area.  The speaker admits many were so ignorant as to follow the church.  He tells the audience of an “enemy of the people”, a landlord he calls “a spider” preying on the peasants.  He tells of the hardships during the Russian Civil wars with most of the men gone.  He mentions young men killed.  One man homing coming is ruined when he returns without legs.

The speaker things because a local resident Rasputin is very powerful.  He seems to have his history very mixed up at times with no real concept of national politics.

As the only way I am aware of to read this story is in the anthology I will close with a lengthy quote to give you a feel for the story.

“By and by, the former Christmas came around, then Shrovetide, frost, and thaw. And on Shrovetide my daddy receives a sudden letter from Stepka in the city. As we had no liquidation of literacy to speak of at that time, and the only reading man, as you might say, was Yegor, a peck of folks piled up at his house to hear Stepka’s letter. And Stepka wrote that it was now inconvert-ibly known at his factory that all the business about God was nothing but a superstitious fact; as against it, there was a book called Marx. Also, he said, a certain important killing had taken place in the capital city of Petersburg, and, therefore, he said, wait and see what big things happen next in the near future.”

Stepka is his brother. The killing is of Rasputin.

This is a very funny store which probably did not increase the author’s popularity with Soviet censors. Trotsky harshly condemned him.

Valentin Katayev - Two Short Stories by a Soviet Satirist from The 1920s

 

A Russian writer who actually looks like he could be funny

Valentin Katayev - Two Short Stories by a Soviet Satarist from The 1920s

I read these very funny stories in Fatal Eggs and other Soviet Satire edited with introductions and author bios by Mirra Ginsburg- 2007

“The Beautiful Trousers” - 1920

“The Suicide”. - 1923

 Valentin Katayev

Born: 28 January 1897, Odessa, Ukraine

Died: 12 April 1986, Moscow, Russia

Mel Brook’s hilarious set in Russia movie The 12 Chairs was inspired by his writings 

“The Beautiful Trousers” is a funny and sad account of how the massive food shortages of the 1920s impacted Soviet Writers.  A writer is close to starving.  

“And in the next room in this huge, run-down hotel, which resembled a chest of drawers forced open and thrown into utter disarray by a burglar, a hotel full of dust, heat, the clanking of cavalry spurs, and the tramping of infantry boots, Master of Arts Zirlich sat naked on a striped mattress and read Apuleius in the original. He had graduated from the university with a degree from the Department of Romance Studies; he could read, write, and speak many languages; he worked in the diplomatic service.”

He knows two other writers he is acquainted with have food in their room.  They live in a shabby hotel.  When he goes to their room they hide all but their bread.  He begs for scraps.  They tell him he can make money writing a propaganda play about how great things are now that the Revolution has come.  

““A man should write propaganda plays, Zirlich, that’s what one should do,” the poet said gloomily,…In the huge, empty, echoing wardrobe hung a pair of new, blue, very beautiful trousers. “You see?” “I see, a pair of trousers.” “There you are, trousers! Blue. Beautiful. New. A masterpiece, you might say.” “You bought them?” “I bought them. Today. Yes. And so I say—a man should write plays, Zirlich.” Zirlich raised his eyebrows. “They buy them?” “Oho, and how they buy them! Just write them!”

He writes a play but the other writers tell him it is not proper, as it could be construed as too negative.  The description of the play and the criticism are hilarious.  

At last he finds a way to eat, he steals and sells the Beautiful trousers.

“The Suicide” is whistling past the graveyard humor, a savage attack on Soviet society, suggesting everything manufactured there is junk.

A man is try to kill himself but is frustrated

“On the part of the Citizen, it was a swinish thing to do in every respect. Nevertheless, he made up his mind to it, especially since suicide was not punishable under the criminal code. In short, a certain Citizen, disillusioned with Soviet realities, decided to turn his face toward the grave. It’s sad, but it is a fact. He hurriedly collected his severance pay and the wages due him for the vacation he had not taken. Then he penned a feverish note to the Local Committee, bought a large and beautiful nail, a piece of toilet soap, and three yards of rope at the government store, and went home. There he pushed a chair over to the wall and climbed up. Cr-rash! “The devil! What a seat! It can’t even support the weight of a young, intellectual suicide. And they keep talking of their fight for quality! They call themselves the Wood Manufacturing Trust! Phooey!”

He tries several more times.  When he at last succeeds we cannot tell if he regretted taking acetic acid along with a sausage.

Of course officially no one was hungry then in the Soviet Union and all manufactured good were of the highest quality.

As time went on such writings could not be published snd writers sent to jail or worse for less.

There are two more of his stories in the anthology.