A wild-eyed Russian fires a revolver above his head. And they’re off. Ivan storms into the lead with Dukat and Olga III in hot pursuit, knocking into the walls of the little plastic corridors they are enclosed in, each beast straining for that winning edge. Welcome to the wild world of cockroach racing.
A loft apartment in Berlin is playing host to an eccentric crowd keen to witness a new entertainment craze sweeping, or perhaps scuttling across, Europe.
A well-known actress watches, enthralled; a mysterious beauty tucks her betting slip under a strap of her silk bustier, while a crowd of sunglass-wearing artists roars ”Long live the revolution” and then ”Music maestro!”.
But the accordion player is not listening. Having given a rendition of a mournful ballad called The Bachelor Cockroach, she has put down her instrument so she can watch the big race.
”Ladies and gentlemen, our creatures should not be confused with the little cockroaches that haunt your kitchens,” says the master of ceremonies.
”These animals come from a long and illustrious lineage and follow a special diet. They have been reared with love!”
The race is being staged by Nikolai Makarov, a successful Russian-born painter who moved to the former East Berlin in 1975 but retains a wild beard which could find him well at home in a Tolstoy novel.
Earlier he had carefully transported the ”thoroughbred” cockroaches from his painting studio next door, where 120 of the beauties roam.
”They are a special breed — the Certamen currentium blattarum,” he says. ”Their Ukrainian trainer comes over once a week to put them through their paces. He also teaches them how to deal with the cameras.”
He is not kidding. In the rest of the world they may be stamped under foot, but these little beasts are stars and each one is described in loving detail in the race programme, accompanied by a photograph.
Ivan is ”an utterly aggressive, ruthless contestant who will once again show no mercy in his quest for victory”.
Olga III meanwhile is ”in excellent condition — who has not heard of the 26 victories of one of the most successful lady athletes in the world?”
But the smart money is on the frisky Dukat. ”Has speed and stamina, but lacks experience,” the programme said.
On the wall behind the glass tank which houses the competitors, hang the bodies of their illustrious predecessors.
”Tamara, 5/11/99 to 20/02/02. Discovered in a Moscow underground station. Had a very short career,” reads one, though surely the most tragic is another, Tamara, who was quite literally a victim of her own success.
”Squashed by the gold medal won at the Salt Lake Olympics,” said the inscription above a small black carapace set into the metal disc.
In the race itself, the competitors are, well, neck and neck.
Ivan, a giant at seven centimetres long, is holding off the challenge of Pionier (”a top fit tactician, but prone to false starts”) and Pamir (”an ice cold sportsman”).
”These cockroach races are a little bit of Russian history that I brought with me when I left,” Makarov explains. ”These kind of races were really popular among the czars.”
They were even immortalised in a book, The Escape, written in 1928 by Mikhail Bulgakov.
Makarov sees in the cockroaches something of the despair of emigres like him, and he just wants people to look on both of them — the emigres and the cockroaches — with a little more love.
There are raucous cheers from the finishing line at the end of the two-metre track. Pamir has won and Andy Hasse, an American who has come all the way from London just for this race, collects his winnings.
What made him bet 50 euros ($61) on a cockroach? ”It was the vodka,” he says. ”And the girl over there.” ‒ Sapa-AFP