The kgb
When I saw that Prague had a KGB Museum, I knew right away that I was going. I’d always been intrigued by Russian military history & reading “The Unlikely Rise of Vladmir Putin”, firmly planted the mystery of the KGB in my mind.
It was a dreary day, half way raining, overcast & bleak, which seemed like the perfect time to go to the place that held Lenin’s death mask. I trudged across slippery cobblestones, up over the Charles Bridge into Praha 6, gingerly picking my way along, being careful not to slip & shatter my old bones. A few wrong turns later & I stood in front of a nondescript store front with the KGB logo plastered in front & a sign that read, “Just facts! Come see!”. I pushed the door open & was met by a rope prohibiting me from going further. A short, stout late 60’sish gentleman popped up from behind the tall counter & asked what I wanted in the thickest Russian accent. He told me that he wouldn’t give me a tour because he needed more than just one person to make it worth his time, but if I came back in half an hour there was supposed to be a group of guys coming & I could tag along with them. Argh. Ok.
Begrudgingly, off I went to kill 30 minutes. I plugged the John Lennon graffiti wall into my GPS as I knew it was really close, carefully making my way towards this place of interest.
When I returned, the Russian wasn’t overly enthusiast to see that I was back & said, “like I told you madame, I’m not doing the tour for just you. If people show up, sure”.
“I thought you said there was a group of guys coming at 2:30?”, I questioned.
And the banter started with the Russian, that went on like this:
Him - “Why do you want to see the KGB museum so badly?” Looking me up & down sullenly.
Me - “I think I was a spy in a past life & I want to see if any of the memorabilia provokes a memory”.
Him - Slowly, methodically & deliberately, he sticks his pinky finger up his flaring left nostril to the knuckle, swirls it around & then does the same to the other nostril. “You joke about KGB?”
Me - “On the contrary sir, I am very serious about being passionate about Russian military history. I particularly want to see Lenin’s death mask.”
Him - “Please do not tell me you are American” More said as a statement than a question.
Me - “Don’t insult me, I’m Canadian”, trying to sound like I meant it.
Him - “Yes, of course, but where are you FROMMMMM??”
Me - “My ancestors are from the UK”.
Him - “You have never been spy…the English are too arrogant to spy. Maybe you were spied on? Maybe you were murdered by spy? Maybe you slept with spy? You no spy”.
Me - laughing, “you’re quite something. So, no tour for me today? You’d rather sit behind your desk than make 500 Kronas & show me the museum? What if I just walk through the museum on my own? I don’t need a detailed account of each artifact. If I have questions, I can ask you later”
Him - “Madame, do you understand what is written on the door? Do you understand what I’ve told you?? No tours for one person…ever. Without exception!
Me - “Alright then, I’ll leave then”
Him - “it’s for the best”.
No KGB museum for me, but I think I made a friend. Haha!
