Moscow Summer Rain
Evgeny “Eugene” Kudashev is a writer, artist, comedian, and a director of nothing in particular, just here to tell you a story. Born in Leningrad, lives in Berlin, equally fascinated by Serious and Silly.
Eugene Kudashev
No one has quite figured out where exactly did the very first corpse fell. Many, from Izmaylovo to Pechatniki, from Zelenograd to Yasenevo, claimed that theirs was The Corpse. But none of that really truly mattered, like, at all — what really mattered is the second corpse, the third corpse… Corpses falling from the sky, one after another, day after day. Dozens a day at first, soon turning into daily hundreds, and in three weeks’ time you couldn’t walk fifty steps through Moscow without spotting a corpse lying about. Nobody was cleaning them up or anything. Dead bodies were lying all around the capital, stray dogs ravenously stuffing themselves — at first, Muscovites were somewhat curious as to why dead bodies were falling from above exactly, but since the TV didn’t mention dead bodies neither on first nor on the second day, the surprise and curiosity and interest all but faded. Come to think of it, what’s so damn special about a bunch of corpses. Better let them be. Well, not particularly convenient at times, sure, say when a corpse lands right at your front door which you now can’t even open from the inside so you’ll probably be late for work. But otherwise, no big deal; indeed, why not throw in a splash of bright colours?A funny story: a friend of Lyudka was walking home, the dress all white (a theatre night out), and a corpse fell right next to her in such a twist of miserable luck that the dress turned all crimson in an instant. The corpses were not getting moved, as if they were not there. Soon enough everyone’s got used to them and forgot that until recently they weren’t there. Got used to the smell, too. Russians, they get used to anything. And, after all, how much “getting used” to living with the dead does a Russian really need? Tourists’ pictures of Red Square with some corpses in the back/foreground even got more vivid; an elaborate optical illusion of “look, a corpse on my palm” became an integral part of everyone’s bucket list, much like any wedding that were to be taken seriously.At last, the TV said: The Enemy is spreading rumours that there’s a corpse lying someplace on the streets of Moscow. At last, the TV said: it’s all nothing but lies coming from our Enemy who’s trying to divide us; there could be no corpses in Moscow. At last, the TV said: fake news.The Muscovites were told by the TV there’s no dead bodies on Moscow streets never been could not have been never will be dead bodies in Moscow on Moscow streets Muscovites were told it said so on the TV and Muscovites heard the TV as it was said and agreed no no no corpses could never be absolutely definitely no any corpses no but wait then how can I see a dead body right now as I speak through the window a dead body and another and yet another no no no you can’t see a corpse are you The Enemy too we’ve been told clearly so by the TV it has nothing to do with the TV I saw it I see it with my eyes my own eyes myself NO you could NOT you could not see what is not there it’s all lies it’s all rumours of The Enemy there are no corpses nowhere what is this are you making up for real where would you even get the dead bodies from what are they getting them delivered in vans or what haha are you going to say they’re falling from the sky hahaha what are you completely out of your mind or what did you seriously believe there are dead bodies on Moscow streets hahahahahahahahaha.And so we were sitting in the kitchen, with the TV showing a DIY footage of young students standing next to The Mausoleum, and the entire square before them and behind them covered in layers and layers of corpses, one on top of another, everywhere you look you could see nothing but corpses — and the reporter’s voiceover was telling us to look how the Western imperialist machine splurges the common man’s cash on hiring actors and building studio sets and what not; his voice was reeking of admiration, as if he was… somewhat jealous.I was sipping blood from my favorite mug. About two or three weeks ago, the water was cut off. We were washing ourselves with blood, we were drinking blood, we were cooking with blood. When you think about it, it’s really better this way. Practical. Convenient. It only seems strange at first… And then you get used to it.