Putting their heads together, they came up with a solution: they would nominate her for candidate for Deputy of the Village Soviet of B.S.S.R. and would make her the only candidate, ensuring her victory in the spring. They were confident that such a demanding and prominent position would leave her little time for anything else, especially for involvement with the handsome young headmaster.
Of course Dounia was thrilled by this nomination, and as the two men had hoped, she could think of nothing else. The prospect of representing the masses of her region enthralled her, and consumed her day and night. Feeling a great sense of pride and honor, she began to devote all her energy to preparing herself for this very important post. News of her nomination spread quickly, and before long everyone came to understand that Dounia Avdeevna was going to be their next Deputy. Not only was she the prime candidate, she was the only candidate. Every day, standing on wooden crates in the village square, she gave impassioned speeches, and in the evening she walked from house to house, knocking on doors, swearing allegiance to the most wonderful party on Earth, the Communist Party.
The pre-election campaign went into full swing, and at the end of March, a general meeting was called, which all inhabitants of the region were asked to attend. Young and old alike flocked to Hlaby and crowded the small Clubhouse, eager to witness the unfolding of the democratic process. Villagers had been informed that they, the people, formed the foundation of the greatest working-class revolution in history, and as a result, were now eligible voters, and come spring, would be electing a Deputy of the Village Soviet of B.S.S.R. Gone was the authoritarian Polish government where discrimination reigned; the wealthy Polish landowners had been obliterated by great Mother Russia and the land given back to the people, and these very same people, the proletariat, now had a voice in government. Today they were being called upon to hear the nominee for Deputy of the Village Soviet, and hearing her would enable them to cast their ballots competently and decisively.
Up front, on an elevated platform behind a long rectangular table, sat the two Party representatives, Kokoshin and Leyzarov. They were dressed appropriately in drab high-collared army jackets and trousers tucked into black leather boots, but their faces were puffy and they appeared rather unsteady. Their breath smelled of drink.
Leyzarov was the first to speak. “Comrades, let the meeting begin! It’s wonderful to see such a fine turnout today. You have come from far and wide, from Lopatinsia, Morozovich, Kriveselo, and Hlaby. Today is the day for the pre-election when all of you, the peasants, the backbone of our great nation, will meet the candidate to best represent you in the Village Soviet of B.S.S.R. This is a wonderful time in Soviet history. The former bourgeois Polish occupiers and landowners elected to parliament their own people, while you were only spat upon. No vote by the working masses was allowed. Now, comrades, you have a voice — a voice that will ring not only throughout the nation but throughout the world. In the spring there will be elections, and whomever you choose to vote for, will, as representative of your region, take up the honorable position of Deputy of the Village Soviet of B.S.S.R. Today we have one outstanding candidate with us, one who is most deserving and, of course, a natural choice. Her name is Dounia Avdeevna Zemlankova.”
Looking at Dounia, throwing her a warm and affectionate smile, Leyzarov’s blood tingled and he felt a rush of emotion throughout his body. When his eyes locked with hers he saw her mouth quiver and her chest heave. This intimate exchange lasted only a second before Leyzarov once again officiously addressed the crowd.
“In a few minutes I will introduce Dounia Avdeevna to you, but first, you the people, must, in accordance with our democratic process, vote in a presidium. For those of you not familiar with the term, a presidium is a standing committee in the Communist organization that serves as the organ of a larger body. As you can see, behind me are four empty chairs, chairs that must be filled with the most upright citizens, ones who will best represent you today.”
Leyzarov had barely finished when a voice erupted from a front-row seat. It belonged to Cornelius, the Village Chairman. He leapt to his feet, his beady black eyes flashing. “The voice of the common man is finally being heard. I take this opportunity to vote our wonderful new candidate for Deputy of the Village Soviet onto the presidium: Dounia Avdeevna Zemlankova!”
At the sound of her name, Kokoshin rushed in, clapping, much pleased, “Excellent choice! Excellent!” He patted Cornelius on the back. “I commend you for your fine decision, Comrade, you couldn’t have selected anyone more deserving.”
Cornelius smiled sheepishly. He had not only made a favorable impression on both Leyzarov and Kokoshin, but had steered the pre-election meeting in the right direction. He felt quite proud of himself. He resolved to say more, but just as he was about to open his mouth, Kokoshin zoomed in from behind and shoved him back in his seat.
The crowd watched closely.
In the meantime, Dounia had found her way onto the platform and taken one of the center seats. Today was a great day for her. Glancing at her two lovers, she couldn’t have been happier or more contented. She was exceedingly grateful for what they had done for her and vowed that, once elected, she would be the best deputy possible. Tears welled in her eyes and her cheeks flushed a deep red. The two men were enthralled by the success of their plan. The crowd appeared to accept Dounia as their future Deputy and even seemed delighted to have her on the presidium. Yes, the meeting had got off to a good start indeed, and there seemed to be no reason why it shouldn’t continue in much the same way. The men were confident that the remaining seats for the presidium would be filled with equally deserving citizens.
Leyzarov addressed the crowd. “Citizens, I want to congratulate you all, the meeting is moving along splendidly. It is now time to fill the remaining seats of the presidium, the most prestigious seats in the house. And I want you the people to decide who will—”
He was interrupted by laughter and jeers from the back of the hall. Then a lone voice called out: “Marko Tovkach! I vote for Marko Tovkach to sit on the presidium!”
Applause erupted, followed by more laughter. Before long a large, burly man with crooked legs and a scraggly beard, clutching a black skullcap, was pushed onto the platform. He stood gaping at the throng, scratching his head.
Leyzarov watched in horror as Tovkach took a seat on Dounia’s right. “This must be some joke,” he thought, trying to contain himself.
Tovkach was a notorious drunkard. Just the other day at dusk he had been found lying on the edge of Pashensky’s field with an empty vodka bottle. Lucky for him he didn’t freeze to death. And now this bleary-eyed lush was not only on the presidium but seated next to the future Deputy of the Village Soviet. This was an absolute outrage! Leyzarov was speechless.
In that instant someone else shouted, “My vote goes to Marsessa Kunsia!”
The crowd roared even more loudly. Leyzarov was totally beside himself. He turned to Kokoshin for help. The meeting, which had started out in such an organized and civilized manner, was being transformed into a sideshow. Leyzarov looked closely at the faces before him, suspecting sabotage. Rage boiled inside him; his face felt hot.