Obama’s Twelve Stitches

United States President Barack Obama celebrated Thanksgiving at the White House, surrounded by family and friends. On this day, the president usually forgets about calories and sinks his teeth into meat and sweets. This is what happened last year, and this year as well. This year, apparently, the President wanted to somehow sweeten the Democrats’ defeat in the midterm elections and the loss of their Congress majority.

No crime goes unpunished. By crime, I don’t mean the extended occupation of Afghanistan and the prolonged withdrawal from Iraq, but rather the gluttony on Thanksgiving Day. My best guess (or, as they say nowadays, version) is that the next day, Friday Nov. 26, the President decided to return Thanksgiving calories to the Biblical serpent-tempter. To do this, he once again invited relatives, friends and colleagues. But this time, instead of gathering around a festive table full of food, they met on a basketball court. (Obama is an avid basketball player.)

This took place in the morning. But by noon, White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs stated, “After being inadvertently hit with an opposing player’s elbow in the lip while playing basketball with friends and family, the President received 12 stitches today administered by the White House Medical Unit. They were done in the doctor’s office located on the ground floor of the White House.”

The statement did not give the name of the player who hit Obama but mentioned those who didn’t. However, after 5 P.M., the name of the basketball player, who, incognito, cut the President’s lip and made him bleed, became known. The guilty party himself took care of this. It turned out to be Rey Decerega, the director of programs for the Congressional Hispanic Caucus Institute. Decerega also made a statement, saying that the game was all in good fun, and that he “learned today the president is both a tough competitor and a good sport.” Decerega also hopes that Obama will be “back out on the court again soon.” Decerega’s statement did not have the slightest mention of an apology!

Comedians have already given their imagination free reign. Each mocked the situation in his own way. I remembered Chekhov’s tragicomic short story, “The Death of a Government Clerk,” whose main character accidentally sneezed on a general’s bald head and soon died out of fear. Rey Decerega won’t have such a sad fate. On the contrary, he’ll obviously be invited to the next basketball game at the White House. Comedians snicker about Ray never losing his job, and only getting higher on the career ladder, because Obama would not stoop to petty vengeance. Instead, Obama will pretend to be generous.

Also, I’ve remembered a story from my youth. It happened at the country dacha of Lavrentiy Pavlovich Beria, in 1947 or 1948 (if I recall correctly). In this story, the game was volleyball, not basketball. One team had Beria and his guards. The other team was made up of students, friends of Beria’s son Sergo (or Sergushi, as he was called by those close to him, including me).

In the heat of the battle, the ball was passed to me, and I hit it over the net (this was called spiking). The ball hit Beria’s face and broke the glasses on his nose. During the game, he wore glasses rather than his canonical pince-nez. Fortunately (at least, for me), the broken glass did not cut the face of Stalin’s evildoer. Unlike Chekhov’s government clerk, I didn’t feel frightened, just awkward. I quickly apologized, and Beria genially replied, “Don’t worry, it’s a game.” (Or something along those lines.)

Eventually, I became afraid. But the fear came a few years later, when I heard the Central Committee’s letters about Beria’s crimes read aloud at the newspaper’s office. An image of the volleyball game at Beria’s dacha suddenly surfaced from my subconscious, and it seemed to me that Beria’s guards were going to pull out their guns and shoot me on the spot. It took great effort to get that delusion out of my mind.

Stalinist dictatorship has cultivated a deep fear in the fibers my generation’s souls. Playing with our leaders was tantamount to playing with fire. As a result, we preferred to let them win.

These are the memories that Barack Obama’s cut lip brought up for me.