's film Tarkovsky Solaris , surely survive through a sequence with this dwarf you just seen. His name is Simon Bernstein, died in Moscow in 1973. The official diagnosis was endocarditis. He died in hospital. I went to see him several times. He became increasingly anxious, unequivocally expressing doubts about the treatment of his illness. With the help of some friends, I sent one of "ours", a doctor by profession, in whom we trust. He had spoken with colleagues, read the medical file of Bernstein. Everything seemed fine. Soon the patient was dead. What do you want? People die sometimes endocarditis. Rarely, but it happens.
Why suspicions Simon? Literary criticism, manager of a club of young writers, Communist Party member. Arrived in 1965, the trial of Sinyavsky and Daniel, sentenced to 7 and 5 years of camp to be published - under pseudonyms, abroad! - Their news and stories. Bernstein had signed, like many others, the petition against this sentence, which was aimed primarily at intimidating other writers.
Not only had he signed, but he also refused later to retract. He had been coming to the PC committee of his district. A dozen people were installed around a long table covered with red cloth. The small size of Bernstein - suffering from a hereditary disease, Duchenne bone size, barely one hundred and ten centimeters, made the grotesque: the serious and solemn comrades condemned without appeal a dwarf, a Jew, moreover, of which only the head protruded above the table. Triumphantly, he had been expelled from the party.
course, they followed the dismissal and a ban on working as a facilitator or educator. In the street, they followed him from time to time. One winter evening, the mysterious thugs attacked him and stole his coat ... He earned his living as an extra in particular profile. Thus he participated in the Tarkovsky film, to immortalize.
His magnanimity and his sense of humor, lightness of being, his readiness for a move funny, sharp, unexpected stay in my memory. One day we went to the American exhibition of graphic works. The queue took away any hope of entering the same day. Then Simon said: - He must try otherwise. - And we went out of the room. Approaching the police, Simon said in a nice low: - I'm on a mission. And me pointing a finger: - It is with me. - The uniformed guards gaped, and we spent almost fearing currents explode with laughter.
His funeral passed in a Kafkaesque atmosphere. Like any product in the USSR, buy a coffin was not an easy thing, let alone a corresponding size. There were only white child beers, decorated according to custom, lace. We, some friends have accompanied him to the crematorium. And here we are in a small room, with a robust woman wearing scarf red near a table. She stepped forward and took the floor immediately.
- Comrades, "she said, a citizen of the Soviet Union ... (she consulted the record) Simon Bernstein left us. I declare open the farewell ceremony.
We spoke at length. There were moderate friends of the deceased who spoke of his attempts to improve "our common life." Radicals, outraged by this controversy evoking sentimentality launched the courage of Simon, and his bravery in circumstances where "some think only of escape."
The lady ceremony showed signs of impatience, the queue builds up outside. Finally, memories dried up. Early bièvre child began to descend down the . Friends of Simon, all poets and artists, were massing around with a childlike simplicity, to take a look, as if it was possible to see anything.
soon as the door closed behind terrible beer a man in civilian clothes who remained silent all the time in the corner rose. Calm and indifferent, he made his way through the meeting toward the exit. The secret police had finished with him.
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