“Look here,” Commissar Nico said, drawing directly on the top of his desk with a piece of chalk. “We have 104 seats. You, the driver, you have to arrange them in the room. Then write a number on each chair. Put the best chairs in the middle. You understand?”
“Yes,” Dima answered. “I will put the best chairs in the middle because that is where the rich have to sit. They got fat exploiting the peasants and need bigger chairs.”
“No!” Comrade Nico shouted at Dima. “There are no rich people anymore. We, the Communists, have eliminated them and their class. Now we are all the same: peasants, workers, and women. We fight for peace, progress, and . . . the other one. How do they call it . . . , I think they call it parity or . . . paternity, something like that. You understand?”
“Yes,” Victoria interrupted. “We sit the good-looking people in the middle rows. When the actors look at them they see how beautiful our nation is.”
“Victoria!” the commissar yelled. “Have you ever seen a movie?”
“Yes, Comrade, I have, before the war. A Turk, from a place called India, came to our village and showed us a movie with women dancing and men on horses. We had to change seats all the time. Everybody wanted to be in the front row so the actors could see us one by one.”
“Comrade Victoria,” the commissar said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “First of all, there are no Turks in India, and second, the actors cannot see you. They are moving photographs. They are not there. The film will arrive in a box just like this one. You don’t have to strive for the front row, because nobody is going to see you. Reserve the better seats in the center for the members of the Communist Party. Do you understand now?”
Comrade Nico had pushed Victoria’s shoulders down toward his desk until her left breast was close to his hand. “And what is your job?” he said, leering at her. “Your job is to sell tickets. Each time that you sell a ticket, you put a cross on a piece of paper and take the money. That is why you are the cashier. For example, I come to the theater and ask you for two tickets. What do you do?”
“I tell you that we do not have champagne,” Victoria answered, pulling slightly away from the desk.
“No, Comrade! You ask me where I want to sit, right? And I say to you, ‘I want two seats in the middle of the row.’” With that, Commissar Nico stuck out his tongue, licked a finger, and—using his saliva—drew two crosses on the desk. “You give me two tickets, then put two crosses on the paper. At the end of the day we count the crosses and the money and know how many tickets were sold.”
“Yes,” Dima, the driver, said. “We put crosses on the paper like at the cemetery; you die, you get a cross.”
“Every day Comrade Dima will bring the money to me, together with the crosses.”
“Comrade,” Norah intervened, “I think that a fallacy could occur in the system of crosses, no?”
“A falla—what?” Comrade Nico said. “What is that? Can’t you speak the language of the Revolution? You work for the education project. Don’t use the words of the treacherous reactionary class, words that no one understands.”
“No, no, Comrade! She represents our Turkish minority and sometimes she uses Turkish words,” Silvia said, coming to Norah’s rescue. “What she was trying to say is that she wants to make an addition to what you just said.”
“Then call it by its name, Comrade. Daca ai cuoaie, spune cuoaie, if you have balls, call them balls!”
With a smile of superiority, Dima put his hand between his legs and rubbed his groin. Victoria blushed slightly.
Norah turned to Silvia with a look of nervous gratitude. “Comrade Commissar Nico,” Norah said, “you know best how to organize events. You want Dima to write letters on the rows and numbers on the chairs. Is this what you just said?”
Comrade Nico quickly realized the advantage of the system. To reinforce that it was his idea, he said, “Yes, this is exactly what I want. A should be the first row, and the chairs should be numbered from right to left. From the Oppressive Right to the Liberating Left, the spirit of the Bolshevik Revolution is everywhere! Is this clear?”
“This will also benefit the working class,” Silvia added in a tone that she believed to be sincere. “Our comrades will also learn the numbers and the alphabet when they look for their seats. You will be in the front line of the fight against illiteracy. The Party will be proud. Row L, seats 4 and 5—two crosses.”
Norah nodded in agreement, afraid that Silvia would start laughing at her own words. Then Comrade Nico further explained their duties. Painting the title and an evocative scene from the film on a billboard above the entrance was Silvia’s task. It was also her obligation, her expression of personal gratitude to the Party, and a true chance to put her talent at the service of the working class. Dima had to set up the chairs and drive the van to the collective farm, once a week, to bring people to the movie. Norah’s job was to supervise everyone, to inform him of any irregularities, and to make sure that everyone in town saw the movie. “And Comrade Victoria, you should stai pe cur si vinde bilete, sit on your ass and sell tickets. The movie didn’t arrive yet but we will send an engineer to work the projector,” Comrade Nico concluded. “For me, of course, admission is always gratis. I am the culture and the culture is me.”
Everyone understood. As they prepared to leave, Dima turned to the commissar and said, “Comrade, just between us men, what is the name of the movie?”
Your book looks interesting. Is it available at local bookstores? I hope your reading scheduled for February 10 gets rescheduled.