"Ian Watson - Stalin's Teardrops" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watson Ian)

had always been bored by his job, unlike me.
Some people might view the task of censorship as a cushy sinecure.
Not so! It demanded a logical meticulousness which in essence was
more creative than pedantic. Yet it was, well, dusty. Mirov lacked the
inner forcefulness which might have seen him assigned to foreign
espionage or even to the border guards. I could tell that he did not
intend to resist the changes which were now in the air, like some
mischievous whirlwind intent on tossing us all aloft. He hadn't come
here to conspire with me, to any great extent.
As head of censorship Mirov was inspector of the department of
cartography. Yet under my guidance of the past twenty years
cartography basically ran itself. Mirov routinely gave his imprimatur
to our products: the regional and city maps, the charts, the Great
Atlas. Two years his junior, I was trusted. The occasional spy whom
he planted on me as a trainee invariably must deliver a glowing
report. (Which of my staff of seventy persons, busily drafting away
or practising, was the current "eye of Mirov"? I didn't give a hoot.)
As to the quality of our work, who was more qualified than myself to
check it?
"What you're suggesting isn't easy," I grumbled. "Such an enterprise
could take years, even decades. I was hoping to retire by the age of
seventy. Are you implying that I stay on and on forever?" I knew
well where I would retire toтАж
He rubbed his nose. Did those broken capillaries itch so much?
"Actually, Valentin, there's a time limit. Within two

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Stalin's Teardrops


yearsтАФconsisting of twenty-four months, not of twenty-nine months
or thirty-two; and this is regarded as generousтАФwe must publish a
true Great Atlas. Otherwise the new economic planтАж well, they're
thinking of new railway lines, new dams, new towns, opening up
wasteland for oil and mineral exploitation."
"Two years?" I had to laugh. "It's impossible, quite impossible."
"It's an order. Any procrastination will be punished. You'll be
dismissed. Your pension rights will diminish: no cabin in the
countryside, no more access to hard-currency shops. A younger
officer will replace youтАФone of the new breed. Don't imagine,
Valentin, that you will have a companion in misfortune! Don't
assume that I too shall be dismissed at the summit of my career. My
other bureaus are rushing to publish and promote all sorts of
forbidden rubbish. So-called experimental poetry, fiction, art
criticism. Plays will be staged to shock us, new music will jar the
ears, new art will offend the eye. Happenings will happen.
Manuscripts are filed away under lock and key, after allтАФevery last
item. We only need to unlock those cupboards, to let the contents
spill out and lead society astray into mental anarchy."
I sympathised. "Ah, what we have come to!"