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Unfiled July 24, 2003
The First Days Of A Liberated Criminal
By Edward Limonov Browse author
Page 2 of 2
I said that prison didn't change my political opinions. "I will not give up a millimetre of my political beliefs." I said, "Our party will defend the rights of 27 million Russians outside of Russia." I said that we will act against the powerful energy monopolists, such as UES and Gazprom. That we will fight against this paternalist state, for a parliamentary republic. We will defend prisoners in the medevial Russian penitentiary system. We will fight for liberty.

A young man from the National-Bolshevik crowd gave me a big bottle - a "Magnum" of champagne. I opened and took a swig of it, encouraged by the shouting and happy noise of National-Bolsheviks. I went down stairs of Paveletskaya train-station, to the black "Mercedes" of my lawyer and friend Beliak. "Find me Nastya!" I asked National-Bolshevik bodyguard Olga. In a minute Nastya was sitting next to me on the back seat of Mercedes. Olga was in the front seat. National-Bolshevik Misha was on my left.

Little Nastya hadn't changed a lot. Maybe she got taller a few centimetres, that is all. She always managed to look strange. Heavy boots with white socks, velour hat, naked legs, small skirt and big knapsack. She looked like Red Riding Hood escaping from her grandmother. "Are you with me?" - I asked her. She said: "Yes, with you." Simple as that. That little girl waited for me while I was in prison.

Through the rainstorm the Mercedes pushed its way to the Party headquarters. A crowd was waiting there. We went up the good old staircases that I constructed myself in 1995! Inside I found hundreds of National-Bolsheviks. Olga brought a bottle of cognac bottled in 1943, a present from Boris Berezovsky, so we drank to my liberation. I started a press-conference that was also a meeting of the National-Bolshevik party...

Later that afternoon I was traveling from one television station to another with Beliak, Olga, a cute blonde girl-master of close combat, Misha who looks like a young Clark Gable, and little Nastya. At Ostankino, between two television interviews, I had my first Moscow dinner. With red wine. Because of my French passport.

At night I was delivered to the apartment of a National-Bolshevik official. Accompanied by little Nastya. National-Bolsheviks prepared us food and gave us a radio, a few bottles of wine, clean sheets and toothbrushes. There, on a water-bed, tiny Nastya and I made love. It was great to make love with her.

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