CHAPTER 5.
- As soon as we defeat America, another life will begin at once! Taxes will be lowered! They'll raise salaries tenfold, they'll give loans again! I'll buy sneakers first, and then I'll start saving up for a bicycle. I'll be fashionable in sneakers, on a bicycle, riding on the road, like a chairman...
- Yes, yes, - confirmed Boogieman, - but you'll have to be patient a little bit. In America a supervolcano will explode, and the dollar will collapse. That's when our bonded zero futures at the stock exchange will go up! The dollar is not backed by anything...
- Exactly! - I exclaimed.
- And do you know how much national debt the U.S. has? Huge, a billion billion trillion dollars! - Boogieman laughed.
- It's not funny! - I yelled. - The U.S. is just hanging on by printing dollars. They have no industry, no economy, they have no jobs, and all they have left are blacks and Mexicans and liberals. Faggots is flourishing and encouraged, everyone there is getting their ass handed to them, and it's considered fashionable. Gay pride parades...
- Sure thing, yes, that's right! It's a good thing we don't have that in Russia. Right?
- And look at what's going on in Europe? Nothing but Arabs. Sickelove says it's impossible to walk there. They slaughter sheep and rape Germans on every corner. And you know what's interesting? Germans don't mind being fucked by Arabs, because all Germans became sodomites long ago. It's the fashion in Europe to be a fagland, you will see.
- That's awful, it's a good thing we don't have fruitcakes, right?
- Why, we have them too, but we don't become cockerels willingly. In our country, those who have done something wrong are lowered by force, by decision of their superiors.
- Exactly. And power comes from God, that's what you said, isn't it?
- Yeah, if you mess up and the chairman blows a hole in you, it's your own fault and that's your fate.
- It's a complicated world with you double-faced idiots. Your God doesn't like faggotry, and your God-elected bosses fucking you whenever they want - how is that?
- I asked my priest about it, and he said: "God works in mysterious ways", - and in general, it is harmful for the bondmen to think a lot, because we do not have enough special knowledge. And you cannot think without knowledge, you can fall into arrogance, and you can displease God. I asked my father where to get knowledge, and he said that knowledge increases sorrow, and the less you know, the better for you.
- So why the fuck do you think then, scraper?
- Well, how not to think? What else is there to do? It used to be good, before the crisis, we had a vending machine with hawthorn tincture in our village - you drop a coin, you get a bottle, you drink it and you feel good immediately, you don't want to think at all. But now, they only give you alcohol on major holidays. That's why I think...
- What did you come up with?
- I didn't think of anything.
- What are you thinking about?
- What Sickelove says, that's what I think about. What else?
The field road ended, and we were back on the so-called highway, skirting islands of potholed asphalt and especially deep potholes. I held the cart in front, keeping it from toppling over, Boogieman pushed it from behind.
The corpse smelled like... like a corpse. Flocks of flies swarmed over our procession, and more and more with each kilometer.
Five times this morning we had to pull over to the side of the road to avoid Chinese tractors. Huge multi-ton machines, roaring with powerful engines, dragged long trailers with timber and containers.
- Boogieman, why is it that we have an energy crisis and China doesn't? They have electricity in all their towns and villages, and they drive cars. There's a tractor that eats so much diesel, it's scary to think about.
- Don't think about it, you have no special knowledge - you will become proud and God will punish you. It's bad for you to think - your job is to load soil into containers.
- You're always laughing and pussyfooting around me, but you never say anything of substance.
- That's because you should have thought of that 20 years ago. Ten years ago at least, when you could have made a difference. Now that's it, you don't have to think about it, you just have to be patient and go to the fly larvae shop.
In the afternoon we climbed the last hill, from which Abitofadrag town was visible.
- What is that, Boogieman? - The town was hidden in smoke.
- What do you mean, you can't see it? The pressure is low, the smoke isn't rising, and there's no wind.
- Where's the smoke coming from, Boogieman?
- Are you stupid or what? Something's burning.
As we approached Abitofadrag town, my pulse quickened. My heart was beating frantically in my chest. Panic was starting to overwhelm me. What was going on? The town was on fire in several places. I could hear crackling, shouting, and women's shrieks everywhere.
A tattered Coksuck in one boot jumped out of an alley and ran down the street. In several seconds, from the same alley a dozen of ragamuffins with knives and clubs in their hands jumped out and chased after the fleeing Coksucker. The pursuit was short - one of pursuers has thrown a club under Coksuck's feet, and he has fallen flat in a road dust. The ragamuffins came at the poor man with shrieks and gyrations, and began to beat him in every way they could.
And then I was as scared as I had ever been in my life. Terror paralyzed me.
- Boogieman, do you see that? What is it, Boogieman?
- The Cockssux have stabbed a Coksuck. But what kind of scrappers are they after that? They're already cannibals.
- Boogieman, are they going to kill us too? I can't run, Boogieman.
- Who the fuck wants to kill you? Stay here by the cart. I'm gonna find out what's going on.
I clutched at the cadaver carriage with my white fingers and didn't take my eyes off the carnage. The Coksuck's body turned into a mess rather quickly. One of the ogres pulled a boot off the corpse, sat down, took off one boot from his foot and put on his trophy.
Boogieman staggered over to the rampaging cannibals and talked to them about something for a long time. The ogres waved their hands, pointed somewhere, and explained something to Boogieman.
Dammit, he's immortal, he doesn't seem to be afraid of anything!
- What happened? - I asked when Boogieman came back. - Is it the mutiny, revolt, Maidan? Like with the Ukrainians?
- If it was a Maidan, if only... Sickelove announced on the radio in the morning that the Kyrgyz-Tajik Horde had attacked Moscow at night, without a declaration of war. The Kremlin stoically resisted for seven minutes, but fell under the onslaught of the enemies. Part of the people's deputies managed to evacuate to decaying Europe, the other part did not have time - and the hordes massacred them. The leader, like a true leader, did not leave his state at the mercy of the invaders, refused to evacuate and hid in a drawer. The Horde found the leader and cut his head off, right on Red Square - your fairytail stability is fucked, scrapper. Sickelove said this was his last broadcast and called on the Scrappers to arm themselves and gather in the militias.
The world turned over in me, and I stood stunned, goggling my eyes.
- The governor said not to worry, and the mayor and the chieftain of that already fucked up town ordered everyone to get back to work - like it was all bullshit, the new Tajik-Kyrgyz government would be no worse than the old one. And the priest cut a crescent out of plywood, threw down the cross from the church, and put the crescent there. In general, the Scrappers rebelled, because the Cockssux began to beat them with lashes - and it force Scrappers to revolt, and Sickelove did not say, that it is necessary to be patient when somebody beaten you with lashes. So they revolt. So they killed the Cockssux, and the mayor, and the chieftain - in general, killed everyone. What the fuck, let's go...
- Where are we going, Boogieman?
- Let's go bury the body properly. The fly-fishing farm here burned down anyway.
It's called a state of shock - I was walking as if in a dream, where Boogieman directed me. I dug a hole with a stick, helped to dump the corpse, then buried it with my hands. The news did not fit in my head.
At the evening, sitting by the fire, I finally began to formulate mine thoughts:
- Boogieman! What to do now? How do I go on living? The leader had kept the country in an iron fist for 30 years, protected it, defended it. We'll all be lost!!! Tomorrow NATO soldiers will invade! And the Great Border Fence won't hold them back...
- You think too highly of yourself, you scrapper. You did not surrender for nothing to the soldiers of NATO, along with your Godhood, spirituality and traditions. You have nothing but hemorrhoids, lice and worms. And don't even expect a NATO soldier to come and do something for you. You're the one who got in the shit, so you get out.
- I don't understand you, Boogieman. I tell you one thing, and you tell me something else, in your own Boogieman language. Tell me in Russian, what do I do now?
- Do what you do best.
- What's that?
- Nothing.
- Do nothing?
- Yes, like you like to do. Do nothing to begin with. Then be patient, then do nothing again. Maybe it'll work itself out.
- Come on, Boogieman. What are you going to do?
- I haven't decided yet, but I have some thoughts.
The fire was crackling, sometimes shooting embers. Snowflakes flew above the flame and dissolved in eternity in a fraction of a second.
- Boogieman, do you think they'll put stones up the chief's ass when they take him to the fly larvae farm?
- I don't think so.
- Why not?
- More likely he'll get his asshole ripped all the way up to his ears.
Abitofadrag town burned all night. Revolted scrapers set fire to the City Hall, the fly larvae farm, the Coksuck outpost, and the barracks of those in power. Naturally, the fire also spread to the Scrappers shacks. The fires reflected red glares in the low-swimming clouds. A roar of distant screams and shrieks echoed through the night from the city.
Though I had been rather tired for the day, I woke up several times during the night and gazed in horror at the glow. It was frightening to think about the future. How should I live now? What would happen next? I wish I had some hawthorn tincture or gulp of sweet windex... This heavenly nectar instantly heals the soul and fills the muscles with divine power.
Once you drink it you realize at once that your truth is the most righteous in the world and that there is no other truth in the universe that could challenge your truth. And you are ready to crush hordes of enemies who doubted your Godhood. Oh, I could use a drink...
Boogieman woke me up in the morning:
- Wake up. Let's go to my base, I'll settle accounts with you for your help.
Over the past twenty-four hours, most of the city has burned out. I mean, the residential part, the private sector. The high-rise buildings were untouched, but no one had lived there for a long time. But the wooden huts were turned into heaps of steaming ash. Only the inhabitants of holes and dugouts were lucky. Fire did not touch their godly dwellings. As the proverb says, a hole under the latrine is a scapergoat's cantina.
Yes, the townspeople had a blast. Bodies were lying here and there in the streets of Abitofadrag town. Not to say, of course, that they were covered with them, but there weren't many residents in the town.
- I don't understand, why did they start cutting each other up?
- Why? Some people said they must be patient - the Tajik-Kyrgyz horde will come and put things in order. Others said - stop enduring it, we must gather in the militia and go to liberate Moscow. So they disagreed: some did not endure it, others did not militia.
- Boogieman, is that all? Is this the end of our great superpower? There is no more Russian's peace?
- How naive you are, you scrapper. As long as you are alive, the Russian's peace will be alive, because first of all it lives in you, in your head. After all, you are its carrier and distributor. Wherever you go and whatever you do - everywhere there will be a Russian's peace, because spiritual bonding is strong in you. Weaved, for example, booties from burch tree bark - that's a revival of traditions. Dug a hole next to the dugout, put over it a wooden booth with a hole in the floor - here's your spiritual staple cell. No one can ever subdue you and instill their faggot values - be proud of that, you scrapper. Be patient a little longer, soon Yellowstone will explode, and you will have a chance to spread Russian's peace all over the planet.
- Boogieman, are you laughing again?
- No, scrapper, I'm not. Nature has already laughed at you.
Abitofadrag town square was covered with corpses - scrapers, Cockssux, foremen of fly nursery in agroholding overalls - corpses that yesterday looked at each other with hatred, now, as if brothers, were lying in one pile.
- That's the way it is, a crossbones. Yesterday they were cutting each other, but today they are like brothers. And just think, the maggot eats them all with equal pleasure. The maggot is tolerant, he doesn't sort shit.
- Boogieman, what happens next?
- Nothing. You'll wait a little longer and go to heaven.
- What are you going to do now? There's no more fly larvae factory.
- I'll go to Mongolia.