(Viktor Pelevin) Buddha's Little Finger - English version (aka Chapaev i Pustota) by Неизвестный автор

Author:Неизвестный автор
Language: eng
Format: epub

'Yes,* said Serdyuk. 'Life here nowadays is enough to make a man give up on everything too. And as for traditions . . . well, some go to different kinds of churches, but of course most just watch the television and think about money.*

He sensed that he had seriously lowered the tone of the conversation and he needed quickly to say something clever.

'Probably,* he said, holding out his empty glass to Kawabata, The reason it happens is that by nature the Russian is not inclined to a search for metaphysical meaning and makes do with a cocktail of atheism and alcoholism which, if the truth be told, is our major spiritual tradition.*

Kawabata poured again for himself and Serdyuk.

'On this point I must take the liberty of disagreeing with you,* he said. 'And this is the reason. Recently I acquired it for our collection of Russian art.*

'You collect art?* asked Serdyuk.

'Yes,' said Kawabata, rising to his feet and going over to one of the sets of shelves. 'That is also one of our firm's principles. We always attempt to penetrate the inner soul of any nation with whom we do business. It is not a matter of wishing to extract any additional profit in this way by understanding the... What is the Russian word? Mentality, isn't it?'

Serdyuk nodded.

'No,' Kawabata continued, opening a large file. It's more a matter of a desire to raise to the level of art even those activities that are furthest removed from it. You see, if you sell a consignment of machine-guns, as it were, into empty space, out of which money that might have been earned any way at all appears in your account, then you are not very different from a cash register. But if you sell the same consignment of machine-guns to people about whom you know that every time they kill someone they have to do penance before a tripartite manifestation of the creator of the world, then the simple act of selling is exalted to the level of art and acquires a quite different quality. Not for them, of course, but for you. You are in harmony, you are at one with the Universe in which you are acting, and your signature on the contract acquires the same existential status ... Do I express this correctly in Russian?'

Serdyuk nodded.

'The same existential status as the sunrise, the high tide or the fluttering of a blade of grass in the wind ... What was I talking about to begin with?'

'About your collection.'

'Ah, that's right. Well then, would you like to take a look at this?'

He held out to Serdyuk a large sheet of some material covered with a thin protective sheet of tracing-paper.

'But please, be careful.'

Serdyuk took hold of the sheet. It was a piece of dusty greyish cardboard, apparently quite old. A single word had been traced on it in black paint through a crude stencil - 'God*.

'What is it?'

'It's an early-twentieth-century Russian conceptual icon,' said Kawabata. 'By David Burliuk. Have you heard of him?'

'I've heard the name somewhere.

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