have changed the production targets. Again.'
we are used to.'
objects under production.'
the wisdom of the soviet decreed we make?'
humble beet. Pride of our land.'
our collective. We are producers of the humble onion. So what are we to do?'
the ingenuity we are famed for.'
merely channelling what a superior power has told me.'
Leader always speaks to you wisely, does he not?'
time he has surpassed himself. He has asked that we ask the matryoshkas to make
What do they need to do?’
And what shall we do with the
precious results of this gesture?’
You have the syringes from the
medicine chest, yes Boris?’
‘Under my bed. For when anyone needs them, you understand.’
‘We need them now, Boris. How else are we going into inject the
blood into all our onions?’
‘I do not follow.’
‘It is simple. Our masters want beets. We give them beets. They
do not say what quality the beets should be. Or that they need actually be
beets. Just that there are beets. So that is what they shall have.’
‘And who shall do the injecting?’
‘Our beloved matryoshkas,
of course. It is their blood. They must use it well. And where better, than in
the harvest of their toil, from their soil?’
I shall fetch the chest.’
Labels: fiction soviet production targets