Boris’s Coat ©
By Michael Casey
Boris was a soldier, he was a good soldier because he was still alive, that Winter had been hard, so very hard, it was the Winter that nearly killed him and Mother Russia too. But he and Mother Russia had survived to win the battle and then the war, the Nazis had been pushed back, and with the help God himself Mother Russia was to be freed from the Madness of Hitler.
Boris had a great big warm coat, this had saved his life so many times that Winter, the Winter the Nazis had tried and failed to kill Mother Russia itself. Boris had borrowed it from an officer, a political officer, Boris had said he’s kill him if he didn’t give it to him, so the officer had decided it was politically correct to hand it over. There was a tear inside it as the officer handed it over, or rather Boris snatched it from him, so Boris sewed it up and sewed inside it an icon of Saint Michael, they had been sheltering inside a church as they hid from the Nazis, so Boris thought the icon would help him just as much as the coat would.
By Stalin’s moustache he was right, no sooner had Boris poked his nose, and he did have a big red nose, outside the church when a Nazi sniper took aim at his heart. Boris fell back as if dead, only he soon realised he was not, the icon had taken the bullet instead of Boris’s heart. Boris immediately promised to lead a good life once the Nazis were defeated, though there were 6 million of them on the Eastern Front, none were on the beach having ice cream in France, why did the Nazi bastards come to Mother Russia in the first place, did they not know that Napoleon had tried and failed centuries ago.
While he was on his back Boris spotted where the Nazi snipper was, so he rose like a ghost and threw a grenade killing the bastard. The political officer laughed, saying it served Boris right for stealing his coat. Once they edged forward Boris rescued the dead Nazi’s boots, they were a perfect fit, as for the Nazi’s coat the political officer had it, it had a fur collar so he was quiet happy now. Though Boris reminded him he might get shot at by our snipers so he had better put his ribbons on it, just in case anybody thought he was Hitler.
War is horrible but as you advance you get to improve your wardrobe as you kill the Nazi devils, though using the word devils is a disservice to devils. Boris got shot 3 or was it 4 more times but each bullet just passed through his coat, the political officer joked he must have mice living in it making all the holes. Boris threatened to make one in the political officer’s head, though the next day he did catch a mouse and was going to eat it but decided instead to keep it in his pocket to keep him warm, and once he fattened up the mouse he would eat it.
That mouse was with him when he liberated Berlin from Hitler’s evil, it was there too that Boris met a Yank called Hank. So in exchange for Boris’s coat Hank gave him 100 American cigarettes. Boris jumped at the exchange, before taking a coat off a dead Nazi whose body was still not cold. Those bastards should have their own very Hell to burn in, the suffering they brought to Mother Russia, by Stalin’s moustache it was a close run thing until Russia strength beat those Nazi bastards into the ground.
So the Yank finished his war and Boris finished his war too, what became of them we’ll never know, or so we thought. You see History is a strange thing, and it is a wonderful thing too. Hank the Yank’s grandson became a History Professor and as for Boris his grandson became a History Professor too. One in San Francisco and another in Saint Petersburg, Hank’s grandson was on holiday in Saint Petersburg and was in a bar drinking Russian Vodka, it was a weakness of his. So who did he meet, only Pavlov Boris’s grandson, the bar was called Stalin’s moustache.
They got talking and were amazed to discover the connection, Hank had died of heart failure only the year before, he had kept the coat and it was his stories that had encouraged his grandson Ryan to be a Historian. Of course the coat had to be returned, in fact Ryan had a friend in the State Department called Hillary, so Hillary put it in the Diplomatic bag and it was in Saint Petersburg within 36 hours.
And that’s how an International Friendship was fostered and rekindled, from one saint to another, from Francis to Peter, and an icon will always take a bullet for a sinner, any sinner.
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