Dissidents

CHAPTER I What's Wrong with ThisPicture? Derek was not about to let a simple change of address disturb his daily routine. It was three o'clock, and at three o'clock it was time to play basketball. And so, equipped with his Sony Discman CD player, his Chicago Bulls jacket, and his Spalding leather basketball, Derek ventured out into the streets of Moscow. Early in April, 1989; a bright and chilly day. In high spirits and with more energy than he was expected to have, Derek strode through the crowded streets, ignoring an incredible headache that never seemed to go away. He wandered between the rows of gray buildings in search of a court to play on, and maybe even someone to beat in a nice game of one-on-one. In the week that he had been in the Soviet Union, he had yet to come across a basket. Today, Derek made his way toward the center of the city and found himself in yet another small park that seemed designed solely as a haven for the dark bronze statue in the middle of it. Although most of Moscow's parks were crowded and pleasant, this one was not. There were cold, uninviting benches by the paths, and only one was occupiedan old woman with big red cheeks and a heavy coat sat there, looking only a bit more content than the statue. Derek bounced his ball across the cobblestone path of the park, dribbling carefully, because cobblestones made basketballs very unpredictable. He dribbled in circles, hopping to and fro, and managed to elude all the imaginary opponents before him. "Ferretti takes the ball downcourt," he said for his own amusement. "Fifteen seconds left in the game, the Bulls down by one. Can Ferretti pull it off?" The old woman looked at him as if he were crazy. He dribbled and turned, losing possession of the ball when it hit a crooked stone. He raced after it, catching it before it bounced off the path. "Ferretti regains possession of the ball with ten seconds left!" The old woman continued to stare at this spectacle, drawn in, no doubt, by the excitement of Derek's play-by-play sportscast. Derek faked to the right and drove toward the statue. Before him, in the center of the small park, the dark bronze statue loomed like a frightening guardian of a mysterious culturea man with a domed, bald head and a neat, pointed beard. Without looking at the face, Derek would have known who it was. All he had to see were the long coat and the dignified position of the hands, placed just so. It was Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, the most revered Comrade of them all. Lenin, Derek had noticed, bore an odd resemblance to Oz, "the Great and Powerful." This was an observation he kept to himself, however, since such a comparison could get him into a great amount of trouble. Not only with the Soviet Union, but with his mother, who was infinitely more dangerous than the Kremlin. "Five seconds remaining in the game! Can Ferretti do it?" The look of power and determination in Mr. Lenin's face made him a wonderful opponent for Derek. Staring the statue in the eye, he dribbled low, using peripheral vision. He faked to the right, faked to the left. The statue was not deceived. Derek held the ball, then passed it to the statue. It bounced off the statue's chest, back to Derek, and Derek drove around Mr. Lenin to score. So much for stonewall defense. "The crowd goes wild!" yelled Derek. "He's done it! With one second remaining, Derek 'Fireball' Ferretti sinks the final basket and says 'lights out' to Lenin's Red Brigade!" Derek cranked up the volume of the Discman CD player, which was already blasting into his brain, and began to sing along to the haNeal Shusterman is the author of 'Dissidents', published 1994 under ISBN 9780812534610 and ISBN 0812534611.