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Every people has its charms, its idiosyncrasies and its own special forms of national idiocy. The typical German, for instance, arrives at dinner parties on the dot, invites people to his own parties two months in advance, listens to music regularly but reads books only on holiday. To the Russians, this behavior appears bizarre. Russians find American’s obssesion with health hilarious, along with the American habit of washing twice a day, donning a fresh shirt every morning, and using strange threads to clean between their teeth.

It’s almost impossible to say what is the deviation in Russian behavior and what is the norm. It’s also difficult to separate pure Russian idiocy from Soviet idiocy, since the two have become entwined in an absurd mishmash.
For example — paranoia. Russian or Soviet? A friend of mine was thought to be retarded, and even had a certificate from a psychiatrist, because he wore red shirts and had long hair. On several occasions he was seized by his fellow citizens and led off to the police station as a spy. Another friend, a writer, used to walk around mumbling his thoughts into a Dictaphone. Passersby noticed and, thinking that he was transmitting secret information to an enemy radio receiver, called the police. But even though the Soviet regime has long vanished, you can still be arrested for photographing a railway junction, electricity pylons or factory gates. Spy mania and xenophobia are diseases that take a long time to cure.

Not so long ago, people lived under a totalitarian regime, in cramped conditions, without any rights, marking ballots with one candidate — and that wasn’t considered strange.

The great Russian psychologist Ivan Pavlov (of Pavlov’s dog’s fame) once conducted an experiment on some of his patients. He would switch on a red light and say “This is a green light.” The patient would eventually agree. “The Russian,” said Pavlov, “has such a weak psyche that he is unable to perceive reality objectively”. Pavlov’s theory is confirmed by Homo Sovieticus’ dependence on thoughts handed down to him from above.

To explain: before, people lived badly, but the media assured them that they lived well. They listened and believed. Then times changed. Suddenly the shops were full of goods that Soviet people had never seen. There were free elections, people were allowed to travel abroad and speak their minds without checking the floor lamps for bugs. But at the same time, the newspapers, freed from censorship, started to report strikes, alcoholism, and how bad life was. People began to weep, tear their hair and, if possible, flee abroad, repeating, “We can’t live like this” — just when it became possible to live normally.

So much for Soviet idiocy. As far as typically Russian weirdness is concerned, most is based on superstition. If you come to Russia you should under no circumstances shake hands across a threshold, or look at a baby if you have black eyes. If you are asked how things are going, you should spit over your shoulder three times before replying that things are fine. If you want to have a son, it is essential to wear a hat during the process of conception.

Folk medicine has also always been popular in Russia. Many people don’t believe in doctors at all and instead go to witches, fortune tellers and shamans who advise them that the cure for cancer is to drink kerosene or to spit at the moon, or to pee into a saucepan through a wedding ring. But the most typical Russian form of insanity is Russian hospitality. If you ever get invited to a Russian home, I advice you to make your peace with God before setting out. Your hosts will feed you with all their might, at the same time complaining that prices are high, wages are low and life is impossible. You can attempt to refuse, claiming that you’re on a diet, that you’ve given up drinking, that you suffer from obesity, the doctor has warned you that too much salt will be fatal, that you have gastritis, heartburn and blood pressure. Resistance is useless. Count yourself lucky to escape alive. And if you don’t, your hosts will be sincerely envious, since for a Russian there is no more desirable way to die than from sex or gluttony.

Reading this, you might conclude that the overwhelming mass of Russians are crazy. You would probably be right.

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VOINOVICH, author of “The Extraordinary Life of Private Ivan Chonkin”, was one of the Soviet Union’s leading dissident writers. He left the Soviet Union in 1980, and now divides his time between Moscow and Munich.