History had its little joke. The terror this man inspired in some and the hope he inspired in others, both arose, as it were, from beyond the grave. He was dying of nephritis and in his moments of lucidity used to derive amusement from a story he had been told by the Kremlin doctor. It tickled him greatly. It happens during a meeting of the Politburo. They are all discussing who is to succeed Brezhnev. Suddenly the door is flung open and Andropov bursts in, accompanied by Aliev. Brandishing a revolver, Andropov shouts: "Hands up!" All the old men raise their trembling hands. "Lower the left hand!" commands Andropov. Turning to Aliev, he says: "Make a note! A unanimous vote for Andropov!"
History delighted in making a mockery of those who thought they could determine its course with impunity. Andropov died. Chernenko followed him. With the indecent haste of a comic strip, all of Brezhnev's entourage were dying off. They celebrated funeral rites to the tune of Chopin's funeral march on Red Square so often that the people of Moscow found themselves whistling the tune as if it were a current popular song.
But in the spring of 1982 no one could even imagine that History might be up to such tricks.
In March the head of the transport organization called Demidov into his office. "You've got visitors, Ivan Dmitrevich. These comrades are going to make a film about you." Two television journalists from Moscow were there, the scriptwriter and the director.
The film in question was to be devoted to the fortieth anniversary of the Battle of Stalingrad. They had already shot the scenes of the memorial ceremony where, beneath the enormous concrete monuments, veterans from all four corners of the country wandered like ghosts from the past.