Animal Farm

While the progressive Russian youth, Nashi movement, was splashing in the river in the Seliger summer camp and Medvedev was meeting with Obama, i was walking the dusty roads of Zherdevka town, waiting for Andrei's and my fate to be decided. I came across a kiosk that, strangely enough, was selling tickets to a circus, which was in town for a few days, I saw a colorful tent in the background and could barely believe the irony. 

The security guard at the court house said he is not going to search me because he read about me in the papers (a rather strange reason). Local TV station dragged its equipment up the stairs to the court room. 

Not knowing is bad. It's like a battle taking place, between the good and the bad, justice and injustice, and you don't know who's winning. A little past eleven i took my seat on a stiff wooden bench of the courtroom. There, to the right of me, was a cage with people. One of the people in there was the man i want to spend my life with. We caught each others' eye and he smiled at me faintly. I smiled back. It was unbearably painful to see how it tears him apart to be in that cage. 

The judge came in and we were told to rise. 'The defendants may have the last word'.  Last word here, I thought to myself, is like a last supper somewhere in a Texan jail. 

Andrei's last word was very strong. I felt tears rolling down to my chin and hanging there until they rubbed them off.  

Then Judge Lebedeva announced that the verdict and the sentence will be announce in two hours. Two hours and forty minutes later she came in, all red and almost shaking. When she started reading the verdict her voice wobbled and she couldn't catch her breath. Some last minute decisions, perhaps even phone calls,  took place in that time, i gathered,  and i was pretty sure they had something to do with Andrei. We had to stand the whole of two and a half hours that she was reading the verdict. 

While she was reading out the verdict some of the defendants were reading magazines, that showed  how little faith anyone had in the real justice of what was being pronounced. 

'Andrei Yakhnev - 9 years and 8 months', i heard but still couldn't sit down and just tried to lean against the wall.  

I turned to look at Andrei but the man with the camera was blocking my view of him. I scanned across the grim faces of our lawyers. I felt lighter- was that the tiny bit of hope i had left, gone? I squeezed Andrei's hand on my way out and then sat in the lawyers car crying.

Andrei later told me that the judge came up to him, while he was still in the cage, waiting to be taken back to jail; she came without her cape, as a regular person, and said that she is sorry. That she understands everything but her hands are tied and this was the best she could do for him.

In a twisted reality of Russia Andrei, at least at first, almost seemed to appreciate that. Well, i don't. And whoever i have to fight and with whatever methods, i will do so. 

My smile might be gone for good but the gloves are also off.