The remote controls were given out freely to anybody who wanted one.

They said the light will blink on every remote, come October 3^rd. It will blink for fifteen minutes. Anyone who presses the button during that time will have voted. And if enough votes are cast, the mujna will begin.

It might not begin right away. Russia is a big country. Technical difficulties and organizational snafus cannot be ruled out. But it will surely happen, as promised.

Vova, the grandson of Granny Katya, worked as a clerk at the Wrench store and was therefore unafraid of complicated technology. A handy guy, he immediately broke apart his remote. Inside he found a timer from a cheap watch made in China, an LED light, and a tiny microchip. He picked at it this way and that, but couldn’t understand a thing. And he couldn’t reassemble the remote again, either.

He went to get a replacement, waited in line for an hour, but was denied. They said, we’ve got records and you already got one. He said he lost it. They said they didn’t care. “Russia is a free country and you can use your remote any way you like. You can lose it, break it, throw it out, and even sell it for beer money. Or you can wait until the designated time and vote for the mujna. It’s your personal choice, young man. But you won’t get a second remote—no way, no how. This is what is called democracy, sonny. Don’t hold up the queue. And tell your friends.”

Granny Katya chided Vova. He was surprised. “Grandma,” he said, “aren’t you against the mujna? Didn’t you forgo picking up a remote? If you’re so concerned, go get one and give it to me.”

“Are you going to vote for the mujna then?” asked Granny.

“I’m still mulling it over, of course, but look what sort of a swamp we live in, what gray melancholy. It seems everyone has a job, and there’s no more mandatory draft, and the international relations have improved. One can live his life any way he wants, except what’s there to live for? Nothing’s happening! And our soccer team keeps winning then losing, then winning then losing—I’m on my last nerve!”

Red-headed Lena, a sales clerk at the Trouser store and Vova’s fiancée, shared his opinion. She also thought everything was mired in insufferable boredom. She said that a mujna would be welcome, so long as it would get things moving again.

“You’re both fools,” said Granny Katya. “Things will move, all right. They’ll launch such the mujna all over Mother Russia, it’ll end in tears. I know how they are.”

“Who are they?” Vova wondered. “No one knows the details; the marketing for this was anonymous.”

“I don’t need to know who,” said Granny Katya. “When you live as long as I have, you’ll be able to sense it. But you simpletons won’t live as long as I have, not when all you want to do is to call down the mujna onto your foolish heads. Suppose you get your mujna tomorrow. You’ve had a month to prepare for it. But look around: half the country has done nothing but talk about it, discuss whether it’s going to happen. People are red in their faces from all the arguing, their wives dragging them home by their hands… Say the mujna happens, what are you going to do then? Will it be the new excuse not to work?”

Vova gave up on her and went outside, to where guys were playing dominos and drinking at the curb. He spread out the disassembled remote in front of them. “What is this?” he asked.

Guys swept their shot glasses out of the way, took out their screwdrivers and voltmeters, started poking around and thinking it over. The remote looked a lot like the car alarm keychain. It didn’t have much juice—the signal wasn’t strong enough to penetrate a prefab building wall. How would one even vote for the mujna using such a thing? The entire country would have to be covered in some sort of a field capable of receiving such weak signals. But would such a field not generate enough electricity to raise hairs on the heads of average working folks? And, perhaps, not only their heads.

Everyone took out their remotes and started pressing the buttons for fun, since the blinking light hadn’t come on yet. They laughed as they played with their newfound toys. Look, a mujna! Where? Right there! Ha ha! Is that what they promised the people? It seemed like a silly idea, until one started to really think about it. But once they’d apply it to themselves, apply it to all of Russia, they’d begin to shudder—either in fear or in excitement. It was difficult to believe, but it was also very interesting. What if it works? What if something really special happens?

To find out, half the country would have to press their buttons come October 3^rd.

Which was only a day away.

Granny Katya shouted to Vova from the balcony. “Run to the store for some flour, and I’ll bake pies. Lively now, get going, don’t drag your feet as though communism is coming tomorrow.”

“No, Granny,” the guys told her. “Tomorrow the mujna is coming. Haha!”

“You’re fools,” said Granny Katya. “Some of you are in your forties, yet you’re still acting like babies. Go on, have fun, enjoy your last day. Tomorrow you’ll get your mujna!”

“Oh, quit panicking.” Guys played dominos some more, got more drunk, and started guessing as to how soon the mujna would happen after the 3^rd. They discussed it confidently, as if it were a done deal. Even though not a single one of them had planned on pressing the button—what a foolish notion, as if Russia needed a countrywide mujna to deal with.

One said he overheard the women at work talking, and that the exact time and date the mujna would begin was going to be transmitted by a coded radio signal. If one was to listen carefully and note what letter each news broadcast started with and then converted those letters to numbers… Broadcast on what station? He forgot. Obviously not one of the state-controlled stations. The government issued their official statement the day prior. They said, we have nothing to do with the mujna. Voting is a personal right of each citizen. This is a democracy and we have no right to interfere. Haven’t you heard?

“If that’s the case, slow your roll,” said the most sensible of the guys. “They tricked us, yet again. Granny Katya’s right, we’re adults but we’re being manipulated like little children. If the government allows us to press buttons, then everything has been prearranged. We’ll get the sort of mujna along the lines of Coca Cola and McDonalds. It’s merely an advertising campaign. You can dump your remotes in the garbage. Click, don’t click, the result’s the same. They’ll say all of Russia voted unanimously to have ten percent more American mujna sold to them for the same price.

“This stinks.

“The whole thing is strange. Think about it, guys. Think how much money was invested in this project. First, the remotes, nearly one hundred million of them. The delivery cost alone is enough to bankrupt most companies. Second, the distribution centers. They’ve got computers, personnel, security. Third, remember how they were having all those difficulties at first? How the prosecutor’s office, the tax collectors, the firefighters, the police, and finally the Federal Elections Committee all went after them? It almost went all the way up to the Supreme Court. The handout process stretched to six months. And they still have to turn a profit! What is this thing they’re trying to sell us under the guise of a mujna?

“That’s the real mujna! Haha! ...

“It’s a shame. For the first time in a long time we’ve got the chance to vote for something serious instead of electing one fool to replace another in office. And it turns out to be quite the mujna. What a fate, to be born a Russian. All right, come on already. Pour me another.”

More and more people gathered, as though it weren’t a weekday. The entire staff of the Wrench store was there. They wanted to chide Vova for skipping work, but he was gone. Oh well, his attendance didn’t seem all that important with the impending mujna.

“Hey, turn on the radio,” someone said. “What if they really announce the mujna date on there? What do you mean, what for? I’d like to know! No, I’m not foolish enough to press the button. Yes, I did take a remote. Did you take one? Well, me too. When they give them out, we’re going to take them…”

Vova came back carrying flour for the pies. He was sad, because he didn’t have a remote.

“Don’t fret, Vova,” a guy said, “someone will vote for you. There are enough fools out there. A neighbor of yours dropped his remote down the toilet. No, he fished it out. My wife took away my remote. She said to stop that nonsense. Women, they get that this is an important decision and that the mujna is no joke. But I bet women will be the first to press the button!

“So, take it easy, Vova. Here, have a drink.”

On the radio, the talking heads were doing their thing. Each one had their own theory about the mujna. They’d discussed every angle of the advertising campaign idea. Some assured the listeners that this was some sort of a sociological experiment and that the government was definitely behind it, since the government was denying involvement so vehemently. Another one droned on about mass susceptibility. A lunatic phoned in and said it was that button, and that it was shared to spread around the responsibility. You press it, and the Russians will show America what’s what. Third thermonuclear world mujna! Another psycho suggested an alien invasion, making everyone laugh. Then they handed the microphone to an old, experienced anchor who’d been on TV since the Brezhnev administration. And the old-timer said very somberly, “Come to your senses.”

“I understand,” he said,” you’ve all had it. You’ve been shamelessly lied to for the past twenty years. You’ve been assured that the mold they’ve been shaping you into is very popular; it’s how things are done in America, and Europe has been doing things that way for a long time. But now that life has finally stabilized, why aren’t you exercising your civil rights, or even your common sense? You’ve decided to vote for the mujna? Come to your senses, Russia. How do you know what this mujna will be like? Have you seen it? Have you held it or tasted it? What if you press the button tomorrow and instead of the mujna you’ll get some cheap substitute? What if it’ll be a shit show? What are you going to do then, damn you?”

That’s when they cut off the veteran anchor’s microphone. You can’t say curse words on air—the station might lose its license.

Granny Katya shouted from the balcony again. “Vova, where’s the flour? The filling for the pies is ready.”

“Wait, Grandma. This is serious business.”

The curb was quiet, even the glasses weren’t clinking, the alcohol wasn’t being poured. The people were very confused by the suggestion of the possible shit show. That’s much worse than a mujna. And Russians had been hoodwinked before. Everyone started talking again. They remembered Boris the deadbeat, Mikhail the traitor, Nikita the daydreamer, Joseph the cannibal. One overly erudite guy even mentioned Oleg of Novgorod from back in the 10^th century. When asked what Oleg had possibly done wrong, he said it was the opposite. Oleg was the only honest president and he did what he said he’d do. That’s why they killed him!

“You’re fools,” said Granny Katya. She came downstairs to get the flour herself, since Vova had imbibed a few shots and no longer cared about anything, especially since the vote and the mujna were practically around the corner. Or the shit show was. People tried not to think about that, but doubt niggled at the corner of their souls, which had been softened by Perestroika, crazed capitalism, oligarchic overreach, strengthening of the vertical power structures, and the current slow-moving stability.

“You’re fools,” Granny said again. “I’m seventy-two years old and I’m still going, because I never expected freebies from life. I merely worked, raised kids, helped with the grandkids. I did my duty. Meanwhile, you get offered a mujna on a silver platter and you’re happy, you see it as just another reason to skip work. I wouldn’t take the mujna, not even for free.”

“You got the remote for free,” the guys said but Katya was already walking away. She didn’t care for their reply; she knew it would be foolish.

“She didn’t take a remote,” Vova said, respect in his voice. “She’s against the mujna. I asked her to get one for me, and she told me off.

“Granny is rock solid. Russia rests on the shoulders of people like her, without any mujnas. Pour me another. To you, Granny Katya! May you live another hundred years.”

The food they chased drinks with was wrapped in a newspaper. The paper claimed the mujna was initiated by multinational corporations. Who else could have done it? They wanted to pocket Russia’s oil industry. While the whole country was experiencing a mujna it’d be theirs for the taking. Question was, why not test the mujna some place like Venezuela? It’s smaller, and so is the risk in case the mujna doesn’t work. Russia could punch back, after all. The answer was, Venezuela is smaller but it’s also smarter. It wouldn’t buy into this whole mujna thing. Whereas all they need do is merely dangle it in front of the Russians. Strictly speaking, every person steeped in the Russian cultural tradition lives their life in anticipation of a mujna. He’s perpetually ready for it, like an Irishman for a drink.

Everything points toward major foreign capital—the size of the campaign, its anonymity, and the non-engagement stance from the government. Even the initial hurdles were carefully staged PR. Russians love standing up for the aggrieved party. They rushed out to get the remotes. And they didn’t ask any difficult questions, satisfied with abbreviated sound bites, as if a mujna were an everyday thing and easily understood… Remember how a few select politicians were indignant at this, shouting about criminal frivolity? Apparently, every political party financed from overseas is against the mujna. Is that not proof enough?

It was getting dark, but the guys at the curb kept arguing.

Then red-headed Lena and the other girls from the Trouser store came by.

Granny Katya came back downstairs with a whole pan of pies. “Eat, eat you sorry bunch,” she said. “Have some, dear Lena.”

Vova was still extremely upset that he had broken the remote. “I wouldn’t have pressed the button, out of principle,” he shouted. “I get it now, that this is a serious thing. Perhaps we’re deciding the fate of our homeland. Maybe even the fate of the world. But who’d explain this to a simple working man? Who’d open our eyes? As always, they’re lying to us on the radio, pulling wool over our eyes on TV, selling us a bill of goods in the newspapers. Meantime, all of them want a piece of our mujna for themselves.”

“You seem to be getting smarter,” said Granny Katya.

Lena patted Vova’s shoulder. “You can have my remote if you want, just calm down. A mujna isn’t worth getting upset over.”

“It isn’t just a mujna,” Vova shouted. “It’s the mujna. Everyone has to have a voice. Whether they participate or not, they have to have a voice. And whoever didn’t take a remote is a fool. This is democracy, you see. And it turns out, I opted out of it!”

“Here, take it.” Lena shoved her remote at him.

Vova waved her off.

“It’s not like that,” the guys said to Vova. “Democracy isn’t just about having a vote, it’s about an everyday barrage of people telling you who to give your vote to, until you’re ready to shove that vote down the agitators’ throats. We’ve had it with this democracy. Why do you think people are for the mujna? This is why.”

“Yes, exactly,” Lena said. “Do you know how I became the best salesperson at the Trouser store? It’s because I don’t push the product onto my customers. The manager demands we kiss up to them, upsell them, ask them ‘what would you like’ and ‘what else can I show you’ but I refuse to do that. I smile at the client but I don’t approach them first. Because I understand our people, I know what they need. This is how they sold you on the mujna, guys. Take my remote, Vova, and be happy. I’m going to go home and get myself ready for your mujna.”

The guys sat there as though dipped in shit. The sun had set. It became dark, cold, and scary by the curb.

And the mujna was almost there.

Vova finished his drink and ran after Lena, barely containing his tears.

Granny Katya picked up the empty pan and said, “You all decide for yourselves, but I’ll tell you this: we’ve had ups and downs in life. I’m seventy-two and sometimes I get this feeling that my generation has been robbed. But you young people, why do you feel that way? Don’t you have anything to look forward to besides the mujna? Don’t you have anything to strive toward? Don’t you have enough opportunities? You cry and complain about boredom and frustration but just imagine what sort of pits we rebuilt this country from. And what kind of fools—way more foolish than you—used to be in charge. And how they wasted everything we built. I would be all for the mujna, if it would fix Russia for the better. Except the mujna won’t help. Because it’s not the country that needs fixing, it’s the people. Russia isn’t stupid, you are. Mostly it is your parents who are at fault. Now, while there’s still time, forgive your parents for raising you to be so unhappy. They didn’t know any other way. They raised you the way we were raised ourselves. So, forgive us.”

“What’s the hurry?” the guys said with shame in their voices. “It’s as if you’re saying goodbye to us. There’s no need to fear the mujna, everything will work out, honest. The mujna will be fine, when it eventually takes place, if it happens at all. It might not happen, let’s not discount that possibility.”

“Nothing will happen,” said Granny Katya. “Don’t you get it yet? This was all a test! To see who we are and what we’re good for. So that everyone would come to understand who they are. I won’t even try to imagine what they learned about us. But we haven’t learned a single thing in all these months. We didn’t understand ourselves then, and we still don’t now. We have to think about that, a lot. And I’m afraid, no matter how much they push us, we won’t think up anything worthwhile. It’s not about knowing other people’s hearts; it’s about knowing your own. Well, good night. I’ll be going now.”

And she left.

The guys had nothing to say to her. They sat around a while longer, saying nothing more about the mujna. They finished their drinks and dispersed, carrying those who’d had too much and couldn’t walk on their own.

In the morning at nine o’clock the light blinked on the remote, as was promised.

Granny Katya was drinking tea. The remote lay in front of her, winking invitingly with its red eye.

Granny Katya finished her tea slowly, crossed herself, smiled dreamily at something, reached for the remote, and pressed the button.

And the mujna began.

Translator’s note:

The word used in the Russian text for the titular event is “муйня.” There’s no direct translation of that word into English. Closest would be some combination of “bullshit” and “f*ck-knows-what.” I opted to go with the transliteration of the original because I felt a foreign concept would only add to the notion that the impending event is confusing and unknowable. Some substitutions I’d also considered were “kerfuffle” and “havoc.”