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Aleksey Ivanovich reads, deliberately distorting his voice, and he speaks in his infamous falsetto that grates on the ear:

• Disarmament. Carts
• Carry the bombs away to the casemates.
• And I go limp and cry
• „Save my soul!“ at the top of my voice.

He becomes silent. Mama begins to understand his train of thought and quietly curses: „Damn! I’m a total idiot! How could I have overlooked this?“

„How would you interpret this?!“ screams the party committee leader, and without waiting for an answer, he continues howling. „Are we against disarmament?! Are we against taking the bombs away to the arsenals?!“

I am frightened by the sharp cry, and I instinctively draw in my knees and pull my head down to my shoulders. Mama almost cries, and with a voice shaking with agitation, she tries to explain.

„Aleksey Ivanovich, this is a lyrical image. I agree, it’s not entirely successful…“

The party committee leader interrupts her.

„Completely unsuccessful. If someone in the City Party Committee sees these verses, they won’t be patting me on the back. As for your political shortsightedness, you’ll have to hand over your party membership card.“