LET SPAIN DIE, RUSSIA LIVES LONG

Last night I had a disturbing nightmare. I dreamed that I was working as a doctor in a blood hospital in red Madrid. I was taken there by force. A non-political doctor who spent his entire life trying to serve others through the science of healing. The wounded from the university front were brought to the operating room with very serious injuries; I had to amputate my arms and legs without anesthesia under the supervision of a communist commissar.

The hospital was located next to the Modelo prison in Moncloa. I heard the most vile blasphemies, the most humiliating and insane jokes. Suspected fascists were kept in a special room in the basement called the lion house. I wanted to save the life of a young Falangist and came under the suspicion of a commissar named Tiburcio. He was a gangster with prison manners. He walked around the bay, demonstrating the Mauser. One night, when I was drunk, we heard gunshots in the lion's house.

They gave a ride to a poor young Phalangist, he was no more than fifteen years old. Tiburcio approached the operating room and shouted: “Death to Spain and long live Russia.” The moment Commissar Tiburcio pointed the Mauser at me, I woke up in horror. Cold sweat covered the blankets. I wet the bed and began to think.

   Perhaps my dream was a warning about the reality we are experiencing in our homeland. Tiburcios' commissioners watch the line and continue to shout about the death of Spain. Long live Russia, we must give a different name, because the snake has changed its skin and it has too many rings under its control that are strangling us, with other names, with other satraps. You have to be very short-sighted not to see how the snake crawls and wraps itself around our necks. Of course, very slowly it will strangle us. I am convinced that the enemy is not Russia. These are different greyhounds with different collars. They will come for us. They will end our freedom. I'll say it in Russian

─Voutova (how disgusting I am)

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