The Faint-hearted Bolshevik Read Online Free PDF Page A

bastard?” trilled Sonsoles’ unmistakeable voice.
    I panted at some length. She remained silent until I stopped.
    “Oooh, how dirty. Am I supposed to be scared?” she laughed.
    She was right. That was a bit unoriginal. I took out a handkerchief and covered the mouthpiece. I put on a deep voice.
    “Hello, Sonsoles. You don’t know me, but I see you every day. I’ve been obsessed with you for weeks.”
    “Of course. And you want to ask me out on a date, or for me to tell you whether or not I’m wearing panties.”
    “I’m not that kind of man.”
    “So you think you’re a man, do you?”
    “More or less.”
    “More or less?”
    “Do you know what I really want, Sonsoles?”
    “I’m dying to find out.”
    “I want to tear out your liver and eat it fried. I’ll feed your heart to my dog and I’ll preserve the rest of you so that my monkey can have some fun with that and stops jerking off. In the meanwhile, I’ll always be there, sweetie. Watch your back.”
    “I’m going to call the police right now.” Sonsoles had stopped laughing.
    “And what’re you going to tell them? You don’t have anything on me. I’m in a phone booth and you don’t know who I am. Do you have any idea how many cases like this they file away every day? They’ll wait until I really do something to you.”
    “I know who you are.”
    “Don’t waste your time.”
    “You’re a piece of shit.”
    “Of course I am. By the way, my monkey sends his love. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”
    I hung up on her. That was more than enough for one night. What I’d done made me feel slightly disgusted with myself, of course, but I noticed that I’d relaxed considerably. There was a time when I hardly ever did that sort of sick prank, and thought that those who did were slimy buggers in a state of permanent anxiety and who wanted to kill themselves after every misdeed. However, now that I’ve become a pervert I’ve realized that when you give vent to your basic instincts you don’t feel guilty, but empty, which is the only way a pervert can feel at peace with himself. When you go and do something disgusting, it’s over and done with. The problem is when you stop halfway, because then the itch becomes unbearable.
    That night, for example, I got home, went to bed and slept like a log. When I woke up, I saw that I had dribbled all over the pillow. Although Freud may not have written about it, preferring to waste his time on debatable subtleties, a dribble-filled sleep can only be a happy sleep.

The fucking office. Impressions of a victim:
    At present, due to the inevitable upheavals as the millennium draws to a close, three very different castes coexist within the world of work.
    First there are those, about thirty per cent or more of the workforce, who have been there forever and have stable positions in a well-established company and therefore, subsidised in some way or another. These companies are more common than you might think and no doubt also more common than suits those who don’t enjoy their benefits. Thanks to their influential and seconded trade-union officials, these people haven’t yet left the golden days when labor contracts were awesome. The days when they gave you a bonus after you’d spent X number of years with the company, when you went out for lunch at noon, you could have a leisurely cup of coffee in the morning, and when September came round everyone would get a bonus that was juicy enough to buy everything the kids needed to go back to school and with the rest you could go out for a night on the town, and finish off with a cigar and after dinner drinks. Naturally, the new model of labor relations tries to discourage such employees, but it would take an earthquake to unsettle them, and even then I’m not convinced they wouldn’t think that earthquakes only upset staff on temporary contracts. They know that the worst that can happen to them is to get a golden handshake at the expense of young