It was a dark and stormy night when three men met on The Balcony after closing time, two wearing black trench coats and hats, and I, my duster and cowboy hat. The electricity had gone off all across Oxford town. Between the darkness and the torrential rain, we may as well have been invisible.
We moved the middle table away from the wall. I sat nearest the wall. The other two men sat across from each other.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “we are here to attempt to reach an agreement that will stop the horrendous attacks on Ukraine. Your representatives have negotiated this meeting and you have kindly consented to speak English so I might understand. Let us begin.”
President Volodymyr Zelenskyy spoke first. “The entire world agrees that this attack upon my people of Ukraine is unprovoked and unwarranted. Won’t you admit that, President Putin?”
Nyet, spake Vladimir, accentuated by flatulence.
“Almost 3000 civilians have died and over 3000 civilians have been injured so far. Over three million of our people have become refugees for what? To satisfy your ego? Don’t you see the injustice in that?” asked Zelenskyy.
Nyet, spake Vlad the Expeller, again accentuated by flatulence.
“Nation after nation is accusing you of hate crimes,” said Zelenskyy. “Doesn’t that concern you?”
Nyet, spake Putin as he released more Russian methane into the air.
“Your people must be suffering, too, because of all the sanctions against your country,” said Zelenskyy. “Surely you care about them.”
Nyet, spake Putin, still pootin’.
Zelenskky continued, “Close to twenty-six thousand Russian troops have died in this war. Do you at least care about them and their families?”
Nyet, spake Putin, breaking wind once more.
Putin’s methane hung heavy in the air.
“Mr. President,” said Zelenskyy, “you have threatened to use nuclear weapons against us. Do you not see how that could drastically change the sense of safety and security for the entire world?”
Nyet, spake Vlad the ‘nad, lifting his left cheek then his right, increasing his aggression with his very own chemical weapon.
Zelenskyy hung his head and started wringing his hands. Coughing from the stench he looked at me with a face that asked, “What the hell else can I do here?”
I intervened, also coughing. “Gentlemen, you agreed to come here to attempt to find a solution to this crisis. President Putin, President Zelenskyy has asked quite a few significant questions. Your response to every one of them was a poot-peppered “Nyet”. Do you have any intention of negotiating in good faith here?”
With that, the President of Pootin’ chuckled, reached in his inside pocket, and drew out a cigar and a lighter. As he did, he smiled, grimaced, and leaned forward as if to whisper a secret to us. Zelenskyy and I looked at each other in horror, and quickly jumped away from the table. As Putin lit his cigar, he let loose the most heinous cloud of lethal methane, one that fifth-grade boys only dream of, at the decibel level of a Megadeth concert.
Putin lit his cigar and the methane cloud around him exploded. When the smoke cleared, there he sat with soot all around him, still puffing on the cigar.
Nyet, he spake.
With the danger dispelled, President Zelenskyy and I returned and stood at the table. “Gentlemen,” I said, “This summit has gone up in smoke. I declare it ended!”
Vlad the Bad stood and smiled. He extended his left hand to Zelenskyy. Zelenskyy took a long, hard gaze at the hand of the Russian, put his hands in his own pockets, locked his eyes on Putin’s, and spoke one word:
“NYET.”
*********
Executive Director of the United Nations’ World Food Program, David Beasley, said on CBS’s Sixty Minutes, “We are now taking food from the hungry to give it to the suffering.”
How different are Vladimir Putin’s actions from those of Adolf Hitler? German theologian and pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer struggled with the idea of assassinating Hitler. He eventually joined the resistance in support, favoring the greater good, and was hanged for it.
Our world stands at a crossroads. One man is set on destruction. One man, probably more dangerous than was Osama bin Laden. Something must be done.
…and that’s the view from The Balcony.
Randy Weeks is a Licensed Professional Counselor, a Certified Shamanic Life Coach, an ordained minister, a singer-songwriter, and an actor. He remembers looking for Sputnik in the night skies as a very young child, and not being able to eat snow one winter because of Russian nuclear testing. He knows only one Russian word: Nyet. Randy may be reached at randallsweeks@gmail.com
