Recent stories by
Rocky
Diary of a Feline Flaneur
May 10, 2006
diary of a feline flaneur
May 3, 2006
diary of a feline flaneur
Apr 26, 2006
diary of a feline flaneur
Apr 19, 2006
To Russia, with love
Apr 12, 2006
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diary of a feline flaneur
by Rocky Apr 19, 2006
To Russia, with love pt. II Rocky On my first day in Moscow I decided to ramble the streets of that historic city. Walking through a park and munching on a sausage, I looked to my left and was startled to see what seemed to be a familiar figure — a dog sitting on a bench, smoking a cigar. I searched my memory ... could it be? I approached the dog and inquired, “Excuse me, dear fellow, but aren’t you the dog from Bulgakov’s novella?” “Of course it’s me — Poligraph Poligraphovich Sharikov, in the flesh! And who might you be, citizen?” he asked. “Rocky the Feline Flaneur. Here in Russia doing research for a new English translation of Vera Figner’s Memoirs of a Revolutionist.” “Oh yes, Vera Figner — now she was old school! One of the originals, Rocky Rockovich!” “Wait a minute,” I said, puzzled, “how can you still be alive and kicking 81 years after Heart of a Dog was written?” “First of all, Rocky Rockovich, I had to wait a few decades for the book to be published. And once I’d gotten that far, I wanted to hold out for the final decline of the Soviets. And I made it. Furthermore, never forget — literature is eternal. Not even the most repressive of regimes can kill literature, Rocky Rockovich — never forget that!” “But at the end of Heart of a Dog, you were reverting to your initial state of a non-speaking hound, yet now you are speaking!” “Bulgakov needed a good ending — but it didn’t necessarily mirror reality. From the end of that book until today I’ve been talking talking talking. I can’t stop talking! I love Russian, the language of Pushkin, of Chekhov, of Platonov!” “Indeed, so do I. I am so happy to have a chance to speak Russian, Poligraph Poligraphovich. Not many opportunities in Indianapolis.” Sharikov and I shared a bottle of cheap vodka, and I retired to my hotel room. As I drifted off to sleep I marveled that on my first day in Russia, I had met one of my literary heroes! to be continued ...
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