Death of a Dissident - Alex Goldfarb [155]
Before the funeral, our closely knit circle was nearly torn apart by another controversy, Sasha’s last surprise. As we were discussing the arrangements, Akhmed Zakayev declared that Sasha should be buried in a Muslim cemetery because he had converted to Islam the day before he died. It turned out that on November 22, just before Sasha lost consciousness, Akhmed brought a mullah to the hospital who said an appropriate prayer. As far as Akhmed was concerned, Sasha died a Muslim.
I did not know about the mullah, and I was furious with Akhmed. Sasha had never been in any way religious; in fact, he told me that he did not understand those who were. His only passion was to win his battles and to make his point. True, he often said, “I am a Chechen,” but I said that too. That did not make me a Muslim. That was a statement of solidarity, not at all an expression of faith. Not to mention that on the last day he surely was not thinking clearly.
“I know why he did it, Akhmed,” I said. “He felt guilty for what Russia had done to the Chechens and wanted to make a gesture. Like a German would want to become a Jew after the Holocaust. But it was a mistake. This will not help your cause. With what’s going on in the world, let’s face it, Russian propaganda will do everything to shift focus from the murder to the conversion. You are playing into their hands.”
“I am not playing,” said Akhmed. “Everything was done properly, so he is a Muslim.”
Akhmed was a stubborn man. Yet that stubbornness is why the Russians will not win the Chechen war unless they kill off the entire stubborn population.
“I am not an expert in conversions,” I said, “but I am an expert in biochemistry. With the amount of sedation he got on that day, I can’t be sure he was rational.”
“Acts of faith are not rational,” said Akhmed.
The matter was deferred to Marina.
“Let everyone believe about Sasha whatever he wants,” said Marina wisely. “You can have your service in a mosque and we will have ours in a chapel.” Marina ruled that Sasha would be buried in nondenominational grounds.
On December 8, in the pouring rain, as the police kept the media off-limits, Sasha was laid to rest in Highgate Cemetery in London, his grave surrounded by the tombs of famous Victorians and a few atheists, including Karl Marx and the physicist Michael Faraday.
Death surrounds life like a frame around a painting: it signifies completion and bestows definition. A life recently concluded is a freshly painted picture framed for an exhibition, no longer subject to change, additions, or redactions, no second takes, not even final touches. The life is complete, and signed. Yet this frozen set of forms and colors is forever at the mercy of its viewers—hanging on a wall, it is subject to debate and to criticism.
Sasha’s life, as soon as it had ended, became more meaningful, more awash with significance than it had been before November 1, 2006.
As I was coming to grips with his death, I realized that in Sasha I witnessed a miracle of transformation, of the kind when black turns white, right and wrong change places, death and salvation reverse punishment and reward. Within six short years from the time he fled Russia, a scared and confused member of a corrupt and murderous clique, he became a crusader, and then died a torturous death for it. In a different type of witness, his conversion would perhaps evoke ecclesiastical reference. I can simply say that Sasha turned out to be a greater man than most.
For Marina, there was no framing. “He was so superreal, he charged me so much, that I just continue running on that energy as if we are still wired to each other. I don’t think it will ever stop.”
CHAPTER 15 THE HALL OF