Creative Speech: The Death Of Vladimir Lenin's Death
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23. The mourning Brought to the hospital unconscious, Vladimir Lenin died on the surgical table. That hour the hospital’s corridors were crowded; the local guards were powerless. The square in front of the hospital was packed by thousands of silent people.
I stayed on the stadium stage about ten minutes longer: I wasn’t needed close to Lenin anymore, and to Fomin, apparently, too. I waited there until the massive Myacheva’s body was carried away from the stained bloody stage, and then Purba’s. Police coyly covered Myacheva’s body with yellow veil offered by one of Krishnaites. The body of yogi Purba was covered too: his nudity somehow connected in policemen’s minds with the woman in the linen, and therefore seemed indecent. The giant screens went out. Thousands on the stands were slowly realizing what just happened before their eyes and were calming down. I didn’t wait until all of them flood out and ran across the field to the exit: I was in a hurry. Luckily I got a taxi, and half an hour later entered the gate of the cottage village. Passing the guard’s booth I noticed a flickering TV screen there. “Lenin’s alive?” I asked. “Under the surgery. Bunglers you! Didn’t guard him properly!” said the guard and cursed contemptuously. I’ve got on my motorcycle and glanced at the cottage’s door. I had no more business inside and I thought I will never come back. Though, I was