Moses

 The guy was a genius.  I only came to realize this many years after graduating. He taught us English majors "foreign lit" — the history of foreign literature. He was a man just over forty. Tall, skinny, with a seriously receding hairline on his fiery red mop, he looked a lot like the Nobel Prize-winning physicist Landau. His name was Moses Solomonovich. The department fairly buzzed with legends about him.

His lectures were like theater performances. Students from other departments would show up just to see the show, because there was always something worth hearing and seeing. Mid-lecture, he'd suddenly step out from behind the podium, take a few steps to the side, and start his sacred ritual. Closing his eyes, he'd launch into a Russian version of Hamlet's monologue:

To be, or not to be, that is the question....

He'd recite with feeling, in a slight singsong, swaying ever so slightly. The students would be spellbound.

"That's Pasternak's translation," Moses would say. "Pretty decent. But Mikhail Zagulayev in the 19th century did some equally brilliant translations. Listen to this...." And he'd give us Shakespeare as interpreted by Zagulayev.

It seemed like Moses could recite any foreign author off the top of his head. He'd pause for a few seconds, as if digging something out from the depths of his memory, and then he'd quote from a Russian translation:

I need a wife, for better or worse,
As long as she's a woman without a spouse.
Thin or fat — that’s all right.
Let her be ugly — it's dark at night.

"Whose masterpiece is this, my friends?" he'd ask.

"Burns?" someone would tentatively answer.

“Absolutely right. Robert Burns, Scotland's national poet. But whose translation is it? You don't know? Who wrote these little verses?”

A mouse sang in her hole at night:
Hush, little mouseling, don't you cry!
I'll give you a bit of bread to bite
And a stub of a candle by and by.

Remember now? Correct. That's Samuil Marshak. He could write for both kids and grown-ups. Anyone want to recite some Burns in English? Or even in Russian?"

But there were no such experts among the students.

"I get it," Moses would say. "Students don't have time for 18th-century poetry. You've got grammar to learn, modern vocabulary to memorize. And let's not forget the history of the Communist Party — no one's cancelled that for you. It’s such an essential subject in our society," he'd add with a smile.

Attendance at his lectures was completely optional. Don't want to come? Don't. Unlike other professors, he never punished students for skipping his lectures.

"If students are ditching a professor's lectures, it's the professor's own fault. It means he's boring. Students don't need boring teachers."

We had this this one serial skipper, Vitya Motorin. He'd even blow off seminars on Communist Party history, not to mention lectures on foreign literature. But one day, he actually graced Moses with his presence. Spotting the new face, Moses smiled and said:

"Nice to see a new face. Pleased to meet you. I'm Moses Solomonovich. I hope we'll be friends."

Vitya didn't hear a single reproach from Moses. And he got a solid 3 on the exam.

Sometimes Moses would give us a heads up:

"My friends, study on your own for a bit. I've got a part-time student coming who needs some special attention. She needs to take the exam early. She's due to give birth soon, so I'll bump her grade up by one point."

Pregnant part-time students were always coming to take his exams early. These girls — or rather, young women — weren't interested in Chaucer and Bacon even before they got pregnant, let alone when they were about to pop. Sitting in front of Moses, they'd bat their eyelashes and sigh sadly. Their knowledge of the subject? Zilch. But Moses would try to save them.

"So, you haven't read Romeo and Juliet?"

"No, I haven't."

"Hmm...." Moses would drawl. "Well, maybe you've at least seen the movie?"

"What movie?"

"About Romeo and Juliet. The English film."

"Oh, yeah. I've seen the movie."

"What's it about?"

"Love."

"Correct. See, you already know something. Can you remember anything else from the film?"

"Like what?"

"Like a melody, for instance." Moses would pause, take a breath, and in a soft, pleasant baritone, started to sing...

I can't sleep at night, from dusk till dawn,
It's not insomnia—I'm simply love-worn.
I used to think such things couldn't be,
But now I find I can't forget thee.

"Can you continue the song?"

"No, I can't."

"But did you at least recall the melody?"

“Yes. It's very sad, but pleasant."

Moses looks thoughtfully at the girl (a young woman with a small belly).

"Tell me, please, what grade should I give you?"

“A 3, if possible."

“If I give you a 4, you won't be offended?"

"Oh, not at all!" The happy student leaves the classroom in tears. "I love him! What a man!! He's a genius!!!"

 

I have a clear memory of taking an oral exam from him. I happened to get the works of Bernard Shaw.

I came face to face with Moses in our Institute’s tiniest classroom, which was located in an 18th-century architectural landmark. Tolstoy's children had once studied within these walls. A few desks had been crammed into this tiny cell-like room. Moses settled down behind one. He peeled and ate an orange while I was preparing my answer. As I sat down opposite him, he pulled out a Belomorkanal cigarette and lit up. It's hard to imagine now, but smoking wasn't banned in the institute back then — students could smoke in the corridors during breaks. The more liberal professors even smoked in the classrooms themselves during lectures.

Puffing out a cloud of smoke, Moses noted: "I see you haven't read the textbook. Though there's not much to read there anyway. The material's pretty weak. But I can tell you've studied Shaw's biography as interpreted by Hughes. That's a good source. I approve. Did you pick up anything personally meaningful from it?"

"I like some of Shaw's thoughts."

"May I know which ones?"

"For example, about love."

"What exactly?"

"If a person hasn't fallen in love by forty, it's better not to fall in love after that."

"I assume that's not a threat for you?"

"Nope, not a threat."

"Thank God, not for me either. Anything else?"

"Yes. About patriotism, for instance. It's supposedly a naive delusion that one country is better than others just because you were born there."

"I can't disagree," Moses nods and takes a deep drag. "Being a genius, Shaw understood perfectly that paradox and truth are often one and the same. Honestly, I never cease to admire this Englishman's wit and keen observation. Where's your grade book?"

He gave me a 5.

 

Only our institute's rector, Professor Shustikov, nicknamed "The Bolshevik," could match Moses for the brilliance and originality of his lectures.

He was short and chubby, with plump cheeks and a very friendly face. When he walked down the institute's corridor, students greeted him respectfully and sincerely. He responded just as sincerely. Everyone respected him, and it was impossible not to. They said he was a brave man who feared no one. He could show up unannounced at a collective farm where his students were harvesting potatoes, check how they were being treated, and give the farm’s chairman a dressing down. He could speak the plain truth to the regional party secretary’s face in a meeting. Despite his high-ranking position at the institute, he still handled his fair share of the institute’s everyday teaching duties. He gave lectures and administered exams.

His lectures were unforgettable. He'd start them in a barely audible voice, speaking with a noticeable effort, as if he were recovering from a severe illness or a wild bender. Gradually, his voice would strengthen, taking on a metallic edge. And then he’d start waving an arm as his strong bass voice boomed through the large, acoustically perfect auditorium:

Hostile whirlwinds blow over us,
Dark forces oppress us viciously.
We've entered a fateful battle with enemies,
Unknown fates still await us.

After singing a couple of verses, The Bolshevik would pull out a handkerchief, wipe his sweaty bald head, and say: "We Bolsheviks know where to go and what to do."

I remember taking his exam. I had to talk about the formation of the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party and the goals set by the newborn Bolshevik revolutionary organization. I didn't know everything, but I got a question I knew how to answer. "I see you've read Lenin. And that's the most important thing," said The Bolshevik. "Give me your grade book."

 

One day, I came to the institute and saw The Bolshevik's portrait in a black frame on the bulletin board. Heart attack. It was a shock for the entire institute. He was only fifty-four.

They carried the body out of the Officers' House. Moses was among the funeral organizers. He moved through the crowd of students and mourners, giving instructions on where to stand and what to carry.

At some point, he ended up next to me. "A great man has left us," I said to him.

He looked at me sadly and said: "It happens to us all, the great and the small. Help that girl carry the wreath." And he led me to a student I had long wanted to approach but never dared.

Moses! How did you know I had a secret crush on that girl? Did you notice it during lectures and decide to bring us together?!

Funerals are long affairs, so I got a chance to open up to my future sweetheart. Thank you, Moses.

Some time later, Moses's portrait appeared on the same bulletin board for the same reason.

Students hurried along the corridors. The girls' eyes were wet. Some were sobbing quietly, others crying aloud. Moses was gone....

 

… A lot of time has passed since then. But I remember this unusual man well. I understand now that I was dealing with a genius. But I didn’t know it back then.

(Translated by J. McVay)