‘Today is the anniversary of my father’s death. He died in 1991. This is the first time I won’t be able to visit his grave in our hometown of Tarusa. I was very close to him. These are the moments I really feel that something has gone wrong.’

Russian author Maxim Osipov (58) is sitting on the terrace of the university’s Faculty Club and places a pack of Amphora Original pipe tobacco on the table. ‘You’re not allowed to smoke here, I suppose? I don’t want to start off my career in Leiden with an incident.’ As of this month, Osipov is a guest author in Leiden. He gives lectures on Russian literature in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Tonight, he will deliver a lecture in the Academy Building (see box).

Despite the pain (‘I miss my friends’), it was imperative that he and his wife flee Russia, he says. ‘The idea of living the rest of our lives in a fascist state did not appeal to us at all. It was clear that we were not getting enough air anymore. When you can no longer breathe, you need to get out of there. The war in Ukraine was a clear sign that it was time for us to leave now.’

Osipov speaks in no uncertain terms of the developments in his country. ‘What’s happening right now is truly a disgrace. We have a lot of sympathy for the Ukrainian refugees we meet, but we also feel shame. The project of Russia, which has been in the works for a thousand years, is a complete failure. You can argue that it’s leaders who start wars, not the people, but that is a lame excuse. It’ll take a while to figure out exactly where the blame lies. Is it rooted in Russian culture itself?’

According to him, the war should end in a victory for Ukraine.

‘This conflict could even lead to a civil war in Russia. The chances of the country falling apart are quite high.’ According to him, the West should increase pressure on Russia. ‘Stop buying Putin’s gas. Billons of euros still flow to him every day.’

HOSPITAL

Osipov only started writing stories later in life. He used to work in Tarusa in a hospital with few facilities, where he managed to set up a cardiology department after much opposition from the authorities.

All the goings on at the hospital also made it difficult for him to leave. ‘I still try to provide as much support as possible, but I have much less influence there now. We can’t even send money.’

The bizarre situations he sometimes experienced there prompted him to write. ‘I was already keeping a diary and scribbling down brief notes.’ Later, those finger exercises developed into stories. ‘That happened by accident, at least that’s is what it seemed like. A good friend of mine died in 2005. I let his wife read extracts from the diary that related to him, just to share it with her. She was not allowed to show it to anyone else. However, she let everyone read it.’

That eventually led to a publication with a publishing house.

Among other things, his work outlines the idiotic rules imposed by authority figures in Russia. For example, amputated limbs must be buried in a cemetery. However, patients who undergo amputation do not collect their severed leg at the hospital afterwards. ‘At one point, there was a pile of seven legs in the mortuary’, he writes. Ultimately, those legs ended up in the grave of a deceased homeless person. Thus, the body parts were disposed of at state expense and without witnesses.

URGE TO WRITE

When he has about half of a story finished in his head, he starts writing, Osipov says. ‘Suddenly, the urge is there. It’s almost like an alcoholic who needs booze. Once I start writing, I’m working on it 24/7. It just happens and I can do it anywhere. It’s not a disciplined craft for me, and that might be a problem, actually.’

His second collection of short stories translated into Dutch, Kilometer 101, will be published by Van Oorschot in mid-October. The title refers to the location of Tarusa, which lies 101 kilometres south of Moscow. That number is important: undesirable people, such as dissidents and released prisoners, were required to live at a distance of more than 100 kilometres from Moscow.

‘My great-grandfather was a doctor as well and was imprisoned during Stalin’s regime.’ He was falsely accused of having planned a murder. ‘After his imprisonment, he lived in Tarusa. There, a special community of ex-prisoners and artists emerged.’ 

For now, he is only focusing on short stories, but he would also like to write a novel. ‘I don’t have the stamina for it yet. Or maybe I’m just too lazy.’

As a guest author in Leiden, he hardly has time for it, in any case. ‘I did teach medical students before. But now, the aim is to impart a love of Russian literature and to make students fall in love with the books. That’s quite different from explaining in dry terms how the heart works.’

RETURN

As he walks to the station – he has another appointment scheduled with his Amsterdam publisher – he talks about the possibility of returning to Russia one day. ‘Of course it would be fantastic, but I doubt it’ll ever happen. I don’t expect to visit Russia again until political activist Alexei Navalny is free. That will change many things.’

Navalny was poisoned with the nerve poison novichok by the FSB secret service, and survived that attack. Nevertheless, he returned to Russia and was sentenced to a total of 11.5 years in prison.

‘It was a miracle that he survived the poisoning. In order to remain politically relevant, he had to return to Russia. Resistance from abroad doesn’t work. Navalny is very important to me and others, a symbol of protest. He’s a brave man.’

Upon arriving at Leiden Central Station, a pleasant surprise awaits: his train does not leave for another 15 minutes. ‘Aaah, that means I can have a smoke after all!’ Finally, the pipe is lit.