That Moment

The moment everyone had been waiting for had come. The gala dinner was almost over. The newlyweds, although tired from all the stupid fuss, petty-bourgeois congratulations, people in suits that didn't fit them, women who were perpetually threatened with breaking their heels and who were staggering around, finally saw the bed in front of them. Two relics of their puritanical upbringing. The moment he and she had been waiting for had come. Hush hush.

The sun had risen for Yuri Vladimirovich Streltsov, first term, former Komsomol member, raped four times in order to pay off his debt to the "death apron" and the tax to the Dedovshtina. The military academy, the absence on his alcoholic father's funeral and the crazy version of the Oedipus complex towards his mother. The denunciation. His moment had come. Authority. Money. Power. The red button.

The five minutes had come for him, the little guy from the docks, the thrifty bastard who ran a stall, giving up the small pleasures of everyday life, patiently tracing his path to the middle class, that den of gluttony and moralizing where he dreamed of belonging, so many times he had imagined it that there was no room left for any other dream. And finally, he arrived at his destination, he had his own business. The future seemed as pink to him as the bottom of a Madagascar Lemur.

Derek Chamberlain, born into opulence and decadence, Ivy League education, Trust funds, superficial superficiality, the child of the owners of four fear-producing concerns, a procession through many female and male crotches, the stairs of the bourgeois dream, the governor's office, new elections and victory. He got his dream of dreams, the mandate in the Oval Office. Power, fame and a code book for the descendant of the old lineage of degenerates.

The mosaic also matched the child from the other entrance of the building, he could not separate himself from the soccer ball and the redness in his cheeks every time a little blond girl of his age passed by him. Their eyes met more and more often. Their moment came, the first awkward kiss and his confused babbling that one day he would play for Everton football club and that she would be proud of him. Probably the same day that she would start acting together with Edward Norton. Still, it was their day, beautiful and wonderful with the taste of her tongue in his mouth.

Ahmed Ibn al-Samani, the middle-aged Sheikh, the monster of the Gulf, the master of manipulation and intrigue, the strict Muslim, the eternal juggler between East and West, the gambler who gambled with millions every weekday, and in his free time with the lives and fates of his subjects, had long been fulfilling his life's mission. The only thing she had no control over was right in his skull. Galloping schizophrenia and megalomania.

She was nothing special on any grounds. No amount of imagination would be enough to find any specialness and give her any meaning. Apart from her husband and two sons, she dedicated her life to the three of them, prepared tons of food, sent tons of dirty laundry and gave many maternal kisses goodnight to her sons and occasional routine sex to her husband. The time had come for her dream to come true. Her sons were getting an education, getting jobs and one of them was getting married. The woman was shining like never before in her life.

A predictable future, dancing in the shadow of the Real-Politik dance and everyday joys and sorrows, the small and big hopes of the small and big players on stage.

Some would like it to stay that way, apparent tranquility and false peace, violence on the screens and pensioner comments in the park. Almost everyone expected it, a kind of predictable path of the living and the main actors as well as the supporting cast and extras - likewise. The only crack in that picture were the demons in a Sheik's head.

The second horseman of the apocalypse did not come as predicted in the scriptures, there was no red horse and sword. He came unnoticed for the sailors of the USS "Gettysburg" in the form of an Exocet missile, and minutes later for those of the "Udaloi". The confusing international conference, interrupted coitus at the height of passion on the first wedding night, opening the ICBM silos, the Sheik's last game of poker, the big bets and the simultaneous strike on both superpowers. The rosy future of the newly minted businessman received darkish red tones from the Megatons detonated over his port.

The red button, the code book, the breakdown in communications, Yuri's bluff, Derek's bluff - both unsuccessful and cheaply executed. The petrified embrace on the bench where the wannabe footballer and actress experienced their first love, unaware that their first kiss would also be their last. A belated coup, The Fulda gap blues, the Sheikh's head mounted on a spear by the guard of honor. Intercontinental ballistic missiles saluting one another as they passed each other on the road to eternity. A mother's unfulfilled dream for a piece of happiness stolen from the monotonous everyday life sacrificed in the name of a happy tomorrows.

Yes, everybody was looking forward to the day after...

Well...

There was no day after.

(Roger Mortis 013)