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1905. Russia of dragons. Chimneys and fields as far as the eye can see. Vlasov, worker and alcoholic. My son Pavel is sleeping, and my wife hopes the evening passes quickly to deceive the day that will inevitably come.
Under the pretext of setting the clock perfectly on time, I want to try and steal the iron hung from the damaged pendulums. I manage it, but with force and the opposition of my wife, whom I push strongly enough to make her fall to the floor. Pavel attacks me and defends her. He is much more agile than I am; I couldn't face him with beatings. I am too worn out by alcohol and it's better if I go to the after-work club to continue wearing myself out. A triumph of accordions and off-key organs weighs down the already crimson air of the club. What did that king say? "My kingdom for a horse!" I am forced to beg, "My iron for a glass of vodka!" Another one.
While we sing to forget, those of the revolutionary movement are organizing the offensive against the Tsarist bastards, starting with the factory. They will surely come to ask me to lead the uprising. I am as strong as a bull when I don't drink. In fact, I accepted. In return, they offered me a vodka, even though that bastard bartender kept the iron. Meanwhile, Pavel has hidden some weapons under a loose floorboard. They will be needed for the revolution. Unfortunately, someone saw, and someone talked. In the factory, during the clashes, they shot me dead with a pistol. When they carried me home, my wife, perhaps, expected it even if she couldn't grasp the reason that had driven me to fight. They prepared a bed for me, a shroud, a candle. Some woman cries for me. Pavel! Now you must take care of your mother and the Revolution. Take the reins, my son! Comrade Lenin said we must take to the streets with the sickle and the hammer!
The Tsarist police have no mercy for an alcoholic worker who died for freedom. The informant said the weapons are with Pavel and so they come to check. The colonel suggests that I talk but I am not a spy. My mother is worried and her heart prays for me to reveal everything. "My son! Satisfy them and get out of this mess! The weapons are here, colonel! I'll hand them over!" A mother's heart is like that, even if it often conflicts with the heart of the son. They arrest me and put me on trial with a rag of a defense that's worth less than a mare. The regime's whore with the theater monocle is more interested in the allure of the public prosecutor than in a mother torn apart by labor, a cold widow, and a son with a foot in the grave. They condemn me to forced labor, imagine that. What is justice? Mom, I forgive you, but now it's your turn to take to the streets to fight for freedom.
Mom! The comrades will come to free me. The day of the revolution is near and they have prepared a plan for my escape. Rest assured, we will fight together! Comrades from the fields and workshops, let's take the sickle and bring the hammer, we go down to the square and fight with it, we go down to the square and overturn the system!
Unfortunately, I also catch a bullet and only manage to gain the ground. The one that will cover me. Mom! Mix my blood with this mud! The mud of this land to be saved, this land to be reborn! Grab the red flag and tear the sky of our beloved Earth!
Mother Russia, I have given you a husband and now also my only son. I have few tears left to shed before the Tsar's blade cuts my poor life. Let this red flag triumph and not fall into the hands of the tyrant. With my strength, I can do only this. Please, take me away with you!
Mother Russia has gone deaf too soon. Also blind. Lenin lived little and Trotsky was eliminated. The daughter was raped by the tyrant...
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