Paul Goldberg - The Yid

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The Yid: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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A DEBUT NOVEL OF DARING ORIGINALITY,
GUARANTEES THAT YOU WILL NEVER THINK OF STALINIST RUSSIA, SHAKESPEARE, THEATER, YIDDISH, OR HISTORY THE SAME WAY AGAIN. Moscow, February 1953. A week before Stalin's death, his final pogrom, "one that would forever rid the Motherland of the vermin," is in full swing. Three government goons arrive in the middle of the night to arrest Solomon Shimonovich Levinson, an actor from the defunct State Jewish Theater. But Levinson, though an old man, is a veteran of past wars, and his shocking response to the intruders sets in motion a series of events both zany and deadly as he proceeds to assemble a ragtag group to help him enact a mad-brilliant plot: the assassination of a tyrant.
While the setting is Soviet Russia, the backdrop is Shakespeare: A mad king has a diabolical plan to exterminate and deport his country's remaining Jews. Levinson's cast of unlikely heroes includes Aleksandr Kogan, a machine-gunner in Levinson's Red Army band who has since become one of Moscow's premier surgeons; Frederick Lewis, an African American who came to the USSR to build smelters and stayed to work as an engineer, learning Russian, Esperanto, and Yiddish; and Kima Petrova, an enigmatic young woman with a score to settle. And wandering through the narrative, like a crazy Soviet Ragtime, are such historical figures as Paul Robeson, Solomon Mikhoels, and Marc Chagall.
As hilarious as it is moving, as intellectual as it is violent, Paul Goldberg's THE YID is a tragicomic masterpiece of historical fiction.

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It took a man like Arkashka — someone who required neither a weapon nor a helmet at Stalingrad — to make a joke of this sort. A month ago, on January 13, the newspapers had reported arrests of top-ranking Soviet doctors, including many of the Kremlin doctors:

THE ARREST OF A GROUP OF KILLER DOCTORS

Some time ago, organs of state security uncovered a terrorist group of doctors who planned to shorten the lives of leading figures in the Soviet Union by harmful treatment.

Among members in this group were: Professor M. S. Vovsi, a therapist; Professor V. N. Vinogradov, a therapist; Professor M. B. Kogan, a therapist; Professor B. B. Kogan, a therapist; Professor P. I. Yegorov, a therapist; Professor A. I. Feldman, an otolaryngologist; Professor Y. G. Etinger, a therapist; Professor A. M. Grinstein, a neuropathologist; and I. Mairorov, a therapist.

Documents and investigations conducted by medical experts have established that the criminals — hidden enemies of the people — carried out harmful treatment on their patients, thereby undermining their health.

The investigation established that members of the terrorist gang, by using their position as physicians and betraying the trust of their patients, deliberately and maliciously undermined the health of the latter, intentionally ignored objective studies of the patients, made wrong diagnoses that were not suitable for the actual nature of their illnesses, and then, by incorrect treatment, killed them.

The criminals confessed that in the case of Comrade A. A. Zhdanov they wrongly diagnosed his illness, concealed his myocardial infarction, prescribed a regimen that was totally inappropriate to his grave illness, and in this way killed Comrade Zhdanov. The investigation established that the criminals also shortened the life of Comrade A. S. Shcherbakov, by incorrectly treating him with very potent medicines, putting him on a fatal regimen, and in this way brought on his death.

These criminal doctors sought primarily to ruin the health of leading Soviet military cadres, incapacitate them, and thereby weaken the defense of the country. They tried to incapacitate Marshal A. M. Vasilevskiy, Marshal L. A. Govorov, Marshal I. S. Konev, General of the Army S. M. Shtemenko, Admiral G. I. Levchenko, and others. However, their arrest upset their evil plans and the criminals were not able to achieve their aims.

It has been established that all these killer doctors, these monsters who trod underfoot the holy banner of science and defiled the honor of men of science, were in the pay of foreign intelligence services.

Most of the members of this terrorist gang were associated with the international Jewish bourgeois nationalistic organization “Joint,” created by American intelligence ostensibly to provide material aid to Jews in other countries. Actually, this organization, operating under the direction of American intelligence, carried out widespread espionage, terrorist, and other subversive activities in several countries, including the Soviet Union. Vovsi told the investigation that he had received a directive “to exterminate the foremost cadres in the USSR from the ‘Joint’ organization in the United States through Dr. Shimeliovich in Moscow and the Jewish bourgeois nationalist, Mikhoels.”

Another news report:

SPIES AND MURDERERS UNDER THE MASK OF DOCTORS

The unmasking of the band of doctor-poisoners dealt a shattering blow to the American-English instigators of war.

The whole world can now see once again the true face of the slave master — cannibals from the USA and England.

The bosses of the USA and their English “junior partners” know that success in ruling another country cannot be achieved by peaceful means. Feverishly preparing for a new world war, they urgently sent their spies into the rear of the USSR and into the countries of the People’s Democracy; they attempted to implement what the Hitlerites had failed to do — to create in the USSR their own subversive “fifth column.” […] It is also true that, besides these enemies, we still have another, namely, the lack of vigilance among our people.

Have no doubt but that when there is a lack of vigilance, there will be subversion. Consequently, to eliminate sabotage, vigilance must be restored in our ranks.

Spartak, the ambulance driver, didn’t give a rip about Jesus, or Lazarus, or Yid doctors. He had read something about that in the newspapers, but thought it had nothing to do with him or any Jews he knew.

“I didn’t know Jesus Christ was a doctor,” he replied to Arkashka’s quip.

An Azeri, Spartak would have been a Muslim had he not been an atheist like Arkashka.

“Remember Lazarus? The dead guy he brought back? Now, that’s a doctor !”

“Was Lazarus a Jew also?”

“Good question, Spartakushka. Yes, I think so. Probably.”

“Would he have raised a dead Russian?”

“That’s an even better question, but it’s uncharted territory. To know conclusively, you would have needed to show him a dead Russian and a dead Jew and see which one he selected for raising.”

Arkashka let the train of thought develop silently in his mind, then burst out laughing.

“Or better, a group of dead Russians and a group of dead Jews…”

Arkashka paused again, letting the thought roll on in seclusion, then reported back, “There were no Russians two thousand years ago, we should note to be completely accurate. There were hunter-gatherers or some such, sitting in the trees, maybe, but in those dark, distant times, Yid doctors were already raising the dead!”

“You people are the best,” muttered Spartak.

Spartak didn’t see why this might be amusing, nor did he care, but he was glad to see Arkashka entertain himself. They were grunts from the front, frontoviki, members of a brotherhood, driving through nighttime Moscow with a siren on. It was a say-what-you-want situation. No politics in that ambulance.

Arkashka would have graduated at the top of his class, except for being nearly flunked by the idiot professor of Marxism-Leninism-Stalinism. He was unable to spew out a satisfactory analysis of Comrade Stalin’s latest work, Marksizm i Voprosy Yazykoznaniya. Marxism and Problems of Linguistics .

Arkashka had flubbed that course godlessly. He had no problem grasping Marx, Engels, and dialectical materialism. Even Lenin was mostly understandable when taken in small doses. But the words of Comrade Stalin made no sense at all, no matter how many sleepless nights he devoted to chewing them.

Besides, being a Jew in 1953, Arkashka was lucky to have any gig, and riding with the ambulance was more than good enough.

* * *

A maid wearing a dark blue dress and a light blue apron opened the door. She was a young woman, roughly Arkashka and Spartak’s age — late twenties, if that.

They walked through a big, cavernous hallway, Arkashka carrying his doctor’s bag, Spartak carrying a stretcher.

With the medic missing, they would both need to carry out the old woman to get her to the ambulance. Some doctors weren’t strong enough for this task, but Arkashka was fine. With no one shooting at you, with no land mines to trip, carrying out the sick seemed so easy that it felt like cheating.

Arkashka instantly grasped the incongruence of the situation.

“Why are we even here?” he asked himself, looking around. “These folks should be using the Kremlin hospital.” Theirs was a simple, regional ambulance, the kind that took care of stroked-out old ladies who had no admiral sons or Kremlin connections. Besides, at the Kremlin hospital they had a ventilator — American.

The maid opened the door to a large room, where a middle-aged man sat in a massive armchair in front of a bed, watching an old woman.

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