Sorokin, Vladimir - Day of the Oprichnik

“Hail! Hail!”

“To our dearest Batya! Good health to you! Success against opponents. Strength! May your eyes be ever sharp-sighted!”

We drink to our leader. Batya sits there, chews, washes the wine down with kvass. He winks at us. And suddenly , he locks his two pinkie fingers together.

The bathhouse!

Oh, Mamochka! My heart flares: Did I imagine it? No! Batya’s pinkies are locked together. Those who need to, see the sign. What news! The bathhouse is usually on Saturday, and even then not every Saturday…My heart is thumping, I glance at Shelet and Pravda: it’s news to them, too! They turn around, chuckle, scratch their beards, twirl their mustaches. Freckled Posokha winks at me and grins wide.

Wonderful! My exhaustion disappears. The baths! I look at the clock—23:12. A whole forty-eight minutes to wait. No matter! We can wait, Komiaga. Time moves on—and man puts up with it. Thank God…

The clock in the hall strikes midnight. The end of the oprichniks’ evening repast. We all stand. In a loud voice Batya thanks the Lord for our food. We cross ourselves and bow. Our guys head for the exit. But not everyone. The inner oprichniks stay—what we call the oprich of the oprichniks. And I’m among them. My heart thumps in anticipation. Sweet, oh how sweet is its beating! In the emptied hall where the servants quickly bustle about, the two wings remain, along with the most adroit, outstanding young oprichniks—Okhlop, Potyka, Komol, Yelka, Avila, Obdul, Varyony, and Igla. All first-class—blood with milk, gold-forelock fire fellows.

Batya walks from the large hall to the small hall. We follow him—the right wing , the left, and the young people. The servants close the door behind us. Batya approaches the fireplace decorated with three bronze warriors, and pulls Ilya Muromets by his cudgel. A door opens in the wall next to the fireplace. Batya is the first to step through the door, and we follow by rank. As soon as I enter, the bathhouse smell hits my nostrils. And from the very aroma of it my head spins, the blood in my temples beats with little silver hammers: Batya’s bath!

We descend the dim stone staircase, down, down, down. Each step down is a gift, the expectation of joy . There is just one thing I can’t understand—why Batya decided to have the baths tonight. Will wonders never cease?! Earlier today we enjoyed the golden sterlets—and now we’re also going to take the steam .

The light flares: the dressing room opens. Batya’s bath attendants meet us—Ivan, Zufar, and Cao. They’re older, experienced, trustworthy . They’re all different in personality and blood, and in their bathhouse skills. Only injury unites them: Zufar and Cao are mute, and Ivan is deaf. This is wise not only for Batya, but for them as well—the oprichniks’ bathhouse attendants sleep a deeper sleep and live longer.

We sit down and disrobe. The attendants help Batya to undress. And he doesn’t lose any time:

“About work. Who has what?”

The left wingers are ahead right away: Vosk and Seryi finally got underground Kitaigorod away from the treasurers; now we control all the construction. Nechai has two denunciations against Prince Oboluev, Buben has the money from a deal that was bought off. In Amsterdam, Baldokhai correctly rubbed up against the Russian community, and brought back black petitions; Samosya’s asking for personal damages—he smashed a Streltsy car. Without a single word of reproach, Batya gives him five hundred rubles in gold.

Our fellows from the right wing weren’t so resourceful today: Mokry fought with tradesmen for the Odintsov Paradise restaurant, but hasn’t gotten very far yet; Posokha tortured criminal pilots with the departmentals; Shelet had meetings in the Ambassadorial Department. Yerokha flew to Urengoi to deal with white gas; Pravda arranged surveillance and set fire to the apartment of someone in disgrace . I’m the only one with a profit:

“Here, Batya, Kozlova bought a half-deal. Twenty-five hundred.”

Batya takes the purse, shakes it, unties it, counts out ten gold pieces, and gives me my due . He sums up the day:

“In the black.”

Other oprichnik days are “festive,” “wealthy,” “hot,” “disbursed,” “losing,” and “sour.” The young people sit and listen, learning a bit of wisdom.

The money and the papers disappear into the white square shining on the wall of the old storeroom. The bath attendants take off Batya’s pants. He slaps his hands on his knees:

“I have some news for you, gentlemen oprichniks: Count Andrei Vladimirovich Urusov is naked .”

We sit there, dumbstruck. Baldokhai is the first to open his mouth:

“How’s that, Batya?”

“He’s been removed from all his posts by His Majesty’s decree, and his accounts frozen. But that’s not all.”

Our commander takes us all in with his searching gaze:

“His Majesty’s daughter, Anna Vasilevna, has sued for divorce from Count Urusov.”

Now there you go! That really is news! His Majesty’s family! I can’t refrain:

“Motherfucker!”

Batya immediately socks me in the jaw.

“Shameless!”

“Forgive me, Batya, the devil made me do it, I couldn’t help…”

“Fuck your own mother, it will be less expensive.”

“Batya, you know my mother passed away…” I try to get him on pity.

“Fuck her in the grave.”

I’m silent as I wipe my split lip with my undershirt.

“I’ll beat the brazen, rabble-rousing spirit out of you!” Batya threatens us. “Whoever fouls his lips with curses—will not stay long in the oprichnina!”

We grow quiet.

“So, then,” he continues. “His Majesty’s daughter has filed for divorce. I don’t think the patriarch will divorce them. But the Moscow Metropolitan could divorce them.”

He could. We understand. He very likely would. Just like that! If that happened, Urusov would be completely naked . How wisely His Majesty conducts internal politics; oh, how wisely! If you look at it from the family point of view, what does that pasquinade mean for him? Underground rebels write all sorts of things…After all, no matter what you say, it’s his son-in-law, the spouse of his beloved daughter. And if you look at it from the governmental point of view, it’s an enviable resolution. Cunning! No wonder His Majesty prefers skittles and chess to all other games. He calculated a multistep combination, drew back, and swung the bat at his own. Knocked a fattened son-in-law out of the Inner Circle. And immediately strengthened the people’s love for him two- or threefold. Gave the Inner Circle something to think about: don’t go too far. He reigned in the departmental clerks: that’s how a statesman should act. He energized us, the oprichniks: in the New Russia no one is untouchable. No one is and no one can be. And thank God.

Both wings sit shaking their heads, clicking their tongues:

“Urusov— naked . Hard to believe!”

“There you go! Turned Moscow topsy-turvy!”

“He shone in His Majesty’s favor.”

“He stirred things up, shuffled people around.”

“Drove three Rolls-Royces.”

It’s true—Urusov had three Rolls-Royces: gold, silver, and platinum.

“So what’s he gonna drive now?” Yerokha asks.

“A lame electric goat!” Zamosya answers.

We chuckle.

“Well, that’s not the last bit of news,” says Batya, standing up naked.

“He’s coming here. To the baths. To take the steam and ask for our protection.”

Those standing sit down again. This is too much! Urusov—coming to see Batya? On the other hand, if you think about it rationally, where else does he have to hide, now that he’s naked ? His Majesty kicked him out of the Kremlin, businessmen will flee from him, the departmentals as well. As a fornicator, the Patriarch won’t shelter him. To Buturlin? They can’t stand each other. To Her Highness? Her stepdaughter despises her for “debauchery,” she hates her stepdaughter and her stepdaughter’s husband, even though he’s already a former one, all the more. The road to China is closed for the count: Zhou Shen Min is a friend of His Majesty and won’t go against his will. What can the count do? Sit in his estate and wait for us to roll up with our brooms? So, out of desperation, he decides to pay obeisance to Batya. That’s the right thing to do! For a naked man the road can lead only to the bathhouse.