Pearly Gates : A Tour of Russia’s Hell by Alfred N.Muggins Part 2

Part 2

Rasputin shows him around (was he a relative of some sort/ they shared the name Putin?) “You had power over your supporters, over all Russia, just as I had influence over the Empress and the ladies who followed me. I upset many of the establishment and was removed, reluctantly of course from power and influence, by my untimely death. Watch out Putin or your closest favourites may turn upon you, for you have committed the sin of expending the blood of Russia for no good reason. What did you think you were Plutin? Did you think you were a Caesar Tsar or Mars, the bringer of Death?”

    Plutin meets the great Russian composer Tchaikovsky, who held the secret of homosexuality, which you, in your guise as arbiter of what it is to be a true Russian, have held to be insufficient men to be accorded citizenship, even if they do happen to be the greatest composers of all time! Tchaikovsky is not actually in hell, having written many heavenly pieces of music, and being one of the more constructive and uplifting notables of the Russian Nation, but he has come to meet this Plutin, the downgrader of Russian civilization, this feeder into the meatgrinder of hell, this killer of young Russians needlessly on the endless battlefield of Russian history.

    And then Putin felt a malign presence in the room he found himself in. He felt shivers up his spine and wanted to run before the bullet entered the back of his head. He knew instinctively who this visitor must be. Kind old Grandfather Stalin, the man of Steel, who had rebuilt Russia from top to bottom, in his own image, had come to pay his respects to the lonely modern Dictator. The bitterest sections of hell must have been opened to let this demon out of his pit to see the young pretender arrive in hell. Vladimir took some comfort in the seeming fact that he was already dead and therefore the man of Death could not kill him again!

    Grandfather Stalin laid his hand upon his shoulders, “You have done well my son! I thought my legacy had been lost in Russia today, but you have managed to restore it, but one thing I do not understand. Why have you taken ownership of all the wealth for yourself and your business partners? The wealth of Russia should be for the State! You have enriched yourselves, you kulak. At least you have sought to restore my inheritance, but my tanks were in half of Germany itself; I had Poland under my boot!; there were Russians in Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Rumania and Bulgaria. We nearly had Greece, and all the Baltic regions paid homage to me and the State, while I transferred their most troublesome subjects to my labour camps!”

     Vladimir dared to turn around, and saw to his relief that Grandfather Stalin was bound by heavy chains, and looked as if he was a lifeless grey statue. Even he could see that this man, who had made himself into a god, had turned actually into a monster. Whatever Vladimir had done with his people, it could not have been quite as bad as what this erstwhile leader had done to Russia. Somehow that gave him some small comfort! At least what he had visited upon his own people could not have been as bad as that old demon. And yet he did see that he had done some of Stalin’s work for him, had resurrected him slightly!