Years later I asked my dad how he could have done such a thing to me. My dad swore he couldn’t remember anything of the sort. I believe him, now. Now I know that sometimes people simply wipe the most hideous things from their memory, because it is just as unbearable to remember as to explain.

~

“How many points would you rate your anger?”

“9”

“And protest?”

“9”

“Very good. Now let’s layer you, to remove the aggression.”

A SLAP IN THE FACE IN CHEBOKSARY

Once in Cheboksary we were appearing on stage at a boarding school. We were putting on “Terem-Teremok”, a popular cartoon of a folk tale. For the whole of my time in the collective I played the frog in that play. On this occasion I had just finished the first scene, and the curtain closed. The Chief flew up to me unexpectedly and slapped me in the face with a wide-flung arm, shouting in my face, “Will you just act normally today, you bastard?! Relax right now and stop getting angry, you beast!” I could hardly come to before the curtain had already opened. With a full hall in front of me I had to continue the play. My cheek was burning like it had been scalded. I quickly took myself in hand and acted the play to the end.

It seemed to me at the time – and for many years afterwards I was convinced! – that thanks to that slap in the face I got a wonderful sensation of release and absolute relaxation. It seemed that I started to feel, that my body started suddenly moving freely, my rhythm of motion loosened up, it became easy to speak, my fear of performing fell away, and I finished the play with aplomb. I think the Chief must have instructed my parents to do the same when they beat me after pulling me out of the play about Dunno.

What conclusion could I draw from this? Not to slack off. That every time you have to give everything, as if it’s the last time. And be prepared for the fact that it really could be the last time. Every time.

I was rarely given the roles I wanted to play. Most often I was just an extra. That was boring, especially when you take into account that we performed the same shows for many years. I was already totally sick of the monotony, and even in small roles I tried with all my might to show I was capable of more, so that someone would finally notice me and let me act something more significant. But to my disappointment, no one trusted me with the large or interesting roles. They were given to the chosen ones. For example, the role of the little bandit in “The Snow Queen”, which I fantasised about, went to the daughter of a party apparatchik. She was praised in every possible way, her talent was publicly lauded. I envied her terribly but I already understood: I would never see that role, for the simple reason that she needed it more than me. See, she was the daughter of a high-ranking official and was therefore “sicker” than me. This meant she needed treatment more than I did.

The biggest roles were given to the sickest (and therefore most talented) kids. The Chief explained it like this: schizophrenia conceals a person’s true talents, which are revealed thanks to the treatment. But the logic was still not clear to me: if I was not given any significant roles, then it followed I couldn’t really be that sick. So why were they constantly scolding me and trying to cure me? Did that mean it was a good thing to be schizophrenic? Did it mean you had talent? So if I wasn’t schizophrenic, then I must just be mediocre. Or so I reasoned as a child.