Birds and a Stone. Anastasia Novykh

nowadays is craving for power and easy gains. Using the law as a cover, they shameless fleece citizens, and even dare being rude with those, – Rebrov looked at Kostushkin and Chmil sleeping peacefully. – Not everyone, of course, but great majority. Thus, how can militia be trusted by people whose interests, in fact, it should protect?”

      Major massaged his eyelids and forehead to somewhat ease the dull pain.

      “Well, on the other hand, I can understand the guys,” he went on thinking. “They need to support their families. Who wants to put his ass under fire and fray his nerves daily inside this filth for such a paltry pay? Looks like an exclusive circle... And I’m sitting here on the phone like a scapegoat and listen to complaints about the system...”

      All of a sudden, Rebrov keenly sensed the caustic smell of the room again, exactly like on the day he had first entered the duty subdivision. It was a pungent, strong, very specific smell of sweat, tobacco and stuffiness, intrinsic in such authorities... One just could not get rid of this smell. It saturated him and his clothes with its miasma, and accompanied him everywhere like a stigma, notifying those around him of the place such individual works in. At first, working in the duty subdivision, Rebrov couldn’t get used to it a long while, but afterwards he even forgot about its existence. And now this smell struck his nostrils again, as if somebody thrust an open bottle of ammonia under Major’s nose. Rebrov hastily popped out to the corridor, opened the door-lock and got outside.

      It was late autumn, and the weather was chilly enough, but Major liked the sensation of humid, fresh and bracing air. “What’s happening indeed?” he complained to himself, somewhat coming round after the unexpected suffocation. “That would be the last straw... Calm down, Rebrov, calm down...”

      Major took out a cigarette, struck a match and began to smoke, trying to quiet his lately shattered nerves. However, obtrusive thoughts threaded one after another along an invisible spiral of logical reasoning on the sense of being.

      “Well, life has flown by like a spark of this match. It hasn’t had enough time to kindle, while it already goes out with a waft of somebody’s will from above... From above?!” Rebrov got wondered at himself. “Am I getting old? Seems it’s not that age yet...”

      It’s a paradox though: your body is falling into pieces, as if you’re a decrepit old man, while there is a feeling inside that you’re full of strength and youth... Youth... Oh! What a golden time that was! No burdens, only bright dreams and the unflinching faith in better future. The first true love... Yea, it was really the best part of my life...”

      Major recollected how he dreamt of entering a literature college after the army service. He was very good in Russian language and literature as early as in the secondary school. But his fellow-countryman Sergei together with whom he was called up to the army asked for his help with entering a law school. As a joke, Rebrov applied to the same school to keep his company. He wrote a literature essay for two of them at the exam. They managed to pass the history exam somehow, same was with English. They amused a young teacher at the latter exam, and she was indulgent with them. Thus, jokingly, Rebrov entered the law school together with his friend. Being a lawyer was very prestigious during the Soviet times, too. Young people were as well educated by means of movies in which officer dignity, honour, fortitude and heroism were glorified. Both Rebrov and his friend were gripped by such a romantic appeal and aspired to become like their favourite movie characters.

      Later on though, when they started working, their romantic youthful ardour somewhat diminished in view of the reality they faced. His friend left the service almost at the start, while Rebrov stayed and devoted himself to “the people of his Nation”. He changed jobs inside the service between preliminary and main investigations several times, and nearly everywhere he had steady conflicts with his management because of his honesty and straightforwardness. Then, he was enlisted with the Criminal Investigation Department headed by an “old school” man as honest as himself. Rebrov spent around fourteen years on the operations job, and it’s impossible to mention everything he saw and faced during those years...

      The recent considerable conflict recurred to Major’s memory, after which militia bosses dismissed him from the operations, having accused him of “rude communication with senior officers”. The situation was as follows. For two years, the operations were tracking down a scum who had twice been imprisoned before and was related to numerous local crimes. Yet, it was very hard to prove his participation in those crimes was, for he managed to commit those with other people’s hands, formally remaining pure under the law. Nevertheless, once he made a floater. The operations had to follow on his and his partners’ heels for almost four days. Owing to such persistent work, they succeeded in preventing another crime. Two of Rebrov’s colleagues were heavily wounded upon detention of the criminal group. Finally, their hard work was depreciated. A member of the criminal group assumed responsibility for the crime preparation, whereas the main suspect was set free “due to evidence insufficiency”. At that, all major documents which could be used for his accusation mysteriously disappeared from the files. Two years of work and the colleagues’ wounds turned out to be idle. Why? Rebrov believed it was his duty to reestablish the truth in front of militia bosses who had actually ordered to release the main suspect. As a result, Rebrov was driven from the operations with a scandal, and neither his former merits nor the Investigation Department head’s intersession could mend matters. The best thing his honest boss could do for him was placing him into a duty subdivision of one of the remote city districts, and then hushing up the unpleasant affair.

      At heart, Rebrov still felt aggrieved. The militia bosses actually showed they cared neither for his services nor for the fact he and his colleagues risked their lives while the bosses were comfortably sitting in their offices. Nor they cared for the fact Rebrov ruined his health doing his job. Cirrhosis was the outcome. No wonder, this disease could be called “a militia operations disease”. Daily violent stresses, dead bodies, rivers of blood... How could a normal organism endure this? Nearly the only way to relax was drinking vodka, so as to digress from the lingering shock state at least a little.

      Major hastily searched for any sense in his entire service to which he had devoted the greater part of his life. “How have I spent my life? I’ve always been fighting for justice... How many real gangsters have I imprisoned? None! Those who must be in jail are now delegated to local councils or sit in the city administration, being considered “respected people”. But they precisely are the criminals! While who is imprisoned? A one who stole a hen from an old farmer in the market, or a car from his neighbour, or a beam from the factory? Well, they committed such crimes through starvation or drunk foolery! We imprison those who have no money to pay off, while the real gangsters don’t care! They just bribe, and a case is dismissed. It’s time to set official prices and let people do what they want... Why getting under fire and risking life? Chaos...”

      Although the air was very refreshing, Rebrov got nervous again. A tangle of thinking again started to wind painful thoughts which had been already overthought numerous times with anger and hatred. Major put out the cigarette end, crushing it under his foot with such frenzy as if it was guilty of all the troubles in Rebrov’s life. Having entered the building, he closed the door behind himself and returned to his office. The disgusting smell inside was now felt muted, but still disturbed his nose with its stuffiness which seemed to be the stuffiness of the law-enforcement system as a whole.

      Low snoring resounded in the duty room. Senior lieutenant Chmil opened one eye, examined the situation and fell asleep again. Major approached the peaceful, dozy “monkey house”. “H’m! Beggars, hypes... Same faces always. Ensuring statistics?! On these people? It’s so stupid... Everyone well understands this “civilization waste” is only a consequence of the surrounding mess, while the reason is in those who shamelessly produce such “waste”. And everybody keeps silent, trembling with fear. Where can we find justice in this country? And who really needs justice defenders now, when such terrible things are happening around? Feels like I was born not in my times...

      Life, life... Who invented it as it is? When you are young, you dream, plan something, but eventually you get something else which is completely unexpected, and you flounder inside it your entire life. Looking into it deeply, all this around is not mine. All my life, I worked here just because it turned out this way. Besides, I needed to support my family.