In Russia, coffin has pipe for air, and bell with string. If man is true Soviet, he does not die. When buried, yells for undertaker and rings bell.
Bell rings. Is no wind.
Undertaker asks - "Are you lady Gorbochev?"
Voice says "Yes!"
"Born winter of 1927?"
"Yes!"
"Gravestone says 'Died 20 February, 1957"
"Niet, am still living!"
"Am sorry, but is August. In June, ground will thaw. You must wait for June."
And woman is true Soviet, waits for June.
One night man is riding mule down dirt road. Young woman stands on side of road, calls out for ride home. Is very cold in Soviet winter. Man takes off coat and puts it on back of mule. Girl is also cold. Man gives her sack of turnip for to wear. Girl is much thankful for ride home.
Next morning man realize it is day for buying turnip at market, and girl still has sack. He goes to her house. No girl is there, only father. He says daughter died in salt mines ten years ago night before. Man returns to mule, turnip sack is on back of mule.
SOVIET HONESTY IS STRONG! EVEN DEATH NOT STOP REPAYMENT OF DEBTS!
"Daddy, I had a bad dream."
You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Kremlin's clock glows red in the darkness—it's 3:23. "Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?"
"No, Daddy."
The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room. "Why not sweetie?"
"Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy's skin sat up."
For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can't take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift. "I am sergeant Voronin, please present your documents".
I check into small hotel a few kilometers from Kiev. It is late. I am tired. I tell woman at desk I want a room. She tells me room number and give key. "But one more thing comrade; there is one room without number and always lock. Don't even peek in there." I take key and go to room to sleep.
Night comes and I hear trickling of water. It comes from the room across. I cannot sleep so I open door. It is coming from room with no number. I pound on door. No response. I look in keyhole. I see nothing except red.
Water still trickling. I go down to front desk to complain. "By the way who is in that room?" She look at me and begin to tell story.
There was woman in there. Murdered by her husband. Skin all white, except her eyes, which were red.
I tell her I don't give a shit. Stop the water trickling or give me refund. She gave me 100 ruble credit and free breakfast.
Such is life in Moscow
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