The Minstrel of Moscow

"I follow the Moskva and down to Gorky Park- listening to the winds of change" - Scorpions All the heads of state and their spouses (or significant others) have arrived and been seated for this, my last show at Gorky Park, here in the heart of Moscow. For twenty odd years our troupe has staged this re-enactment of medieval entertainment for Russia's elite and I, I have been its star performer. Patiently, I bide my time as each actor does his schtick to the amusement of the crowd, enjoying their moment in the spotlight under grey skies and bitter cold temperatures. Before long, those in attendance are calling me to the platform with the chant: "MINSTREL OF MOSCOW! MINSTREL OF MOSCOW"! Yes, my reputation for thrilling an audience precedes me. As I step onto the stage in my flaming red tunic and mitered felt hat (with lute in tow), a strange feeling suddenly envelops me, a suffocating and all-pervasive wave of anxiety. I have to say, in all my years of entertaining never once has this gut-punch of trepidation to perform happened to me. I gaze out at this assembly of powerful people, each one eager to hear my lyrical poetry set to music. Lyrics of battle and victory, power and conquest, humor and loss. Just as I am trying to regain my composure, a stiff breeze in the form of a vortex sweeps through the park, sending leaves and debris flying through the air and upsetting the peaceful dynamic that has held sway up to this moment. My anxiety gradually dissipates and is being replaced by, well, I can only describe it as a presence, or a power. I am experiencing a newfound clarity, a singular purpose. I think I understand what is being asked of me. The words of a dirge have come into my head without my consent. My fingers begin to strum an unfamiliar, foreboding melody: "Have you come here to be entertained, O King of the North? Are you not the same one from of old, Gog of the land of Magog? For a brief moment in time, you felt anxious over an unexpected whirlwind. There are days coming, O king, when my whirlwind will become a cyclone of destruction such as has never been witnessed by mankind. You have invaded and conquered. You have pillaged and ravaged. My own people you treat with contempt and dishonor. You have been examined and judged. The innocents cry out to me day and night. Shall I not avenge them? On this day take note, O Gog, along with your cohorts in crime, that vengeance is mine, I shall repay. Your days have been cut short and brought to a conclusion. Your annihilation is imminent." Returning to my senses, I can see that all faces in the crowd have become whitewashed and stony. Even my loyal band of brothers appear stunned at the gravity and tone of my song. There is no applause, as one by one each of the condemned exits the park. One thing I know for certain, my life will never again be the same. grey skies soon depart as light overcomes darkness the endgame in sight