The Amateur

Yuri was introduced to pornography at the age of thirteen by his friends. Mostly steel photographs and cheap magazines; sometimes the silent adult movies that used to run in the dilapidated video parlours in the outskirts of Moscow.

It was mere curiosity at first, succeeded by a brief stretch of repulsion when the very thought of those dirty pictures made him nauseate. Succumbing to peer-pressure, he went for a second time and not so surprisingly, got hooked onto it. And addiction followed.

1920s Russia was experimenting with a new socio-political order. A voyeuristic teenager had limited outlets in such a laboratory. Yuri improvised. He started by copying some photographs from the magazines. Very soon, he was able to harness some of his own wild fantasies on pencil and paper. Yuri was thrilled to discover that his imaginations far exceeded what was out there. His popularity grew among friends and he started earning pocket money by drawing erotica.

However, the addiction got the better of him. He was losing his youth in these voyeuristic pursuits, incapable of a normal relationship, awkward in even conversing with a girl! For Yuri, the fairer sex existed in these photos. Or to be fair, sex only existed in these passive reproductions.

Not that it would have mattered anyway! Like most Russian youths, he was conscripted for the Red army.

Eventually, it was the end of summer in 1945. While the world settled for a lesser evil, Yuri was sent to Siberia for not serving the greater good. His crime was deserting the frontline against the Germans a few months ago in the face of hunger, cold and lack of ammunition.

The Gulags were designed to keep humanity at bay. Neither the clock nor the daylight determined the working hours. Whilst the prisoners tore away at stone and ice, the guards did the same to their spirits’. Where life was cheap and labour was never wanting, the authorities couldn’t be blamed for inadequate rations or winter clothing and warm shelters.

The capability of humans to lose something when you need it most is amazing. In the face of tyranny, one would expect the prisoners to be compassionate to each other. But fellow inmates turned to snitches in the hope of getting an extra bowl of watery soup or another torn blanket. Or they humoured the pervert seeking’s of the guards. They lynched the meek, enforced homosexuality upon each other. Probably ‘survival of the fittest’ came true here like never before.

Thanks to his drawing skills, Yuri enjoyed a special position among the inmates. He brought them, albeit on a paper, something that the starved hadn’t experienced in years. Requests poured in from guards and inmates alike. In return, he got a piece of meat for supper every other day and a bottle of vodka on the weekends. Times like these reminded Yuri of the cold night when his father discovered his notebook and turned the boy of fifteen out in the snow on an empty stomach.

Five winters hence…the world tries to move on from the war. In the Gulag however, constant is the only change. The season, the prison, the labour- all seem to have brought destiny to a standstill. Except for Yuri; his stature among the prisoners had diminished over the years. He was not productive as before. Weak health, trembling fingers from the labour served as an excuse for a while. Soon, the vodka on the weekends stopped. The guards started threatening him. Being the only source for pornography, he was not violated yet.

Yuri was unable to fathom himself. There was a time when he could draw unnatural coital positions in a single stroke. His vocabulary set was different: normal to him was what perverse is to the society. Now, he had to struggle for hours to outline a busty nude! Strange that he was drawing a sun rising from the mountains the other day. Phew…no one there had seen a rising sun in years. What was he thinking? What was happening to him?

One evening, someone saw Yuri drawing a flower. It was so funny that that inmate wanted to share the joke with others. Sensing danger, Yuri stopped him with the bribe of meat from his own supper.

Few months later, Yuri couldn’t bring himself to sketch any more of obscenity. Instead, by now he had almost perfected the outline of a baby girl, just learning to crawl. That night, he was working on the smile on the baby’s face. How does someone smile? In the last few years, he had seen howling, shrieking, hysterical laughter. He knows grinning, he had been sniggered at. But a smile is so elusive…

Someone snatched the piece of paper from his hands. Yuri looked up to see a bunch of jail-mates crowding around him. Seeking help was in vain, he knew the guards would turn a blind eye. Everyone was always jealous of the perks that came with his ability. The time was theirs to get back now…he had not catered to their base passions for more than a fortnight.

What kept Yuri alive was not a life. Forsaking it didn’t keep him alive but gave him a life…his only regret was not being able to catch the smile on time. Now, he will remain an amateur artist. Forever.

A smile is always so elusive…