Noon was getting closer in a small town in Belarus. Pavel was one of the small-town people who would choose to step outside his modest abode. He’d been living in the exact same flat of the exact same building for no more than 51 years, 4 months, and one week and a half. At that point in his timeline, enjoying a retired life free of obligation and with almost no responsibilities, his daily conducts were not too plentiful.
With 2 children living and working in the bustling Belarusian capital of Minsk and with a wife who’d been deceased for nearly a decade, Pavel had to do his best to occupy his time in a way that would keep him sane and busy until he would eventually transcend into the realm of those who have their names carved in stone.
Once the waking-up process had been completed with all the bathroom necessities, Pavel would drink a black coffee made in his tiny kitchen. It had always been the same black, sugarless coffee he’d been enjoying since Soviet times. It always did the trick, and the magic of its taste was so imbedded into Pavel’s morning routine that he’d never thought once about experiencing a different style of coffee. That’s how darn satisfying that coffee was for Pavel. It fit him just like his skin.
The breakfast, unlike the coffee, had a sense of diversification. Depending on the day, Pavel would feel the taste and texture of toast with butter and apricot jam, bread with cheese, yogurt, or fish cooked in a frying pan with basil and some tomatoes.
.
After the breakfast experience, the retiree from Eastern Belarus would relocate to his living room and sink into his couch. The TV in front of him was a modern-day flat-screen model with high resolution. It was the newest piece of equipment from his apartment and one of the few components of his home that didn’t date back to the previous century. It was a gift from his beloved children, a token of appreciation to the man who hadn’t beaten them as kids as much as other men in town did, back in the days.
After one or two hours of watching local news channels and browsing through a whole array of TV networks, Pavel would eventually decide to step outside his manhole and get in touch with the street, the neighborhood, and the people.
Around noon, on a chilly day of late September, Pavel walked outside through the block’s heavy entrance, dressed in shorts and a white tank top, wearing foam slippers and a cap bearing the emblem of the CSKA Moscow football team. The rays of sun, ambassadors of day and light, invited him to go with the flow of his surroundings.
The bench sitting outside the rectangular gray building was empty. Pavel’s outside journey would take a pause after only a few steps, and he would sit on the wooden bench, which hadn’t had a paint job in decades. A few planks were also missing, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He sat there once again, as he did countless times, and took a pack of cigarettes out of his shorts’ pocket. After lighting a fag, he unfolded his newspaper to read whatever subject matter was inscribed on the paper. The Narodnaya Gazeta, as the newspaper was called, never managed to bore good old Pavel, who had been a subscriber for quite a while.
Time went on, and Pavel was the sole bench sitter, undisturbed and unmoved. His thick glasses assisted him, as on any other day, to go through the various texts of the gazette. People would come in and out of the block made in the brutalist style of its era, and most of them would greet the man with the newspaper. He would mutter a quick “hello” or simply nod his head, having his face still glued to the paper.
However, certain characters were an exception to the rule. There were a few lads who, once found in Pavel’s presence, the old man would immediately interrupt whatever form of activity and switch his attention to the fellow person. Pavel would do that only to those few select people with whom he developed a refined sense of mutual comradeship and with whom he shared a wide array of ideas and beliefs. And they would also share more or less the same defects, which were the aspects that made their friendship last indefinitely. One of such distinct lads was Aliosha, who didn’t hesitate to tease the man on the bench once he’d set his eyes on him.
“Good morning, you old shoemaker. prick! You get to live today as well, if my sight doesn’t fool me. Alas!” Spoke Aliosha, adding his usual banter, indicative of a connection that went a long way.
“Good my ass, you factory wretch. My arthritis is already butchering me!” Replied Pavel.
“It’s what we get for living so long. Otherwise, what’s the point?” The sarcasm was spot on, as the man gave a sly giggle. He then took a seat next to his good buddy, equally ancient as he was.
“What are you up to?”
“You ask that like you don’t know the answer already. Smoke what’s left in my pack and fill my head with vodka until my mind swims in it!”
“You still buy cigarette cartons from that Uzbek lad at the market?”
“From whom else should I buy? That rascal gets the best stuff.”
“Same, comrade. If I’d pay the full legal price for a pack of fags, I wouldn’t have enough money for a spot in the graveyard. We can’t even afford to die nowadays.”
“Like living is any cheaper. But here we are, you decrepit pal.” Aliosha went on, with a cackle, while patting Pavel on the shoulder.
“Anyway,” Pavel looked at his buddy with a cunning interest, “you mentioned something about some vodka, didn’t you? You got any of that?”
“Well comrade, I don’t have the sacred liquid with me right now. But I do have a generous homemade stash in my flat. My neighbor brought it to me this morning from his village nearby. And what better way to taste his product than in the company of a sick old bastard like yourself?”
“Well, in that case, I see no reason for sitting one more second on this nasty bench.” And just as a magic spell, that statement compelled both of them to stand up right away. “Давай, товарищ![1]” Spoke Pavel once again, as a signal for their march towards Aliosha’s abode.
The apartment belonging to Pavel’s friend was only three streets away. So the two fellas having a considerate age were not too challenged by their casual walk.
~◆◆◆~
The sunny weather outside combined with a common yearning for the spirited beverage put the two buddies in a glamorous mood. One by one, while on their way, they passed every single block constructed in the same style of Soviet brutalist engineering. From a distance, one might say that those socialist edifices would be completely identical. But that would be a false thing to claim, for each balcony had a distinct mix of items displayed inside, which could be easily observed from the street. Jars in various ways, shapes, and forms containing marmalade, vegetable stews, and pickles put on stands were almost smiling from the other side of the window frame. Such a puzzle of organic potions could hardly be missed by any beholder walking by those shoebox-shaped concrete structures. The bedroom and kitchen windows also had their own personalized elements, represented mostly by curtains in different colors and patterns, some more traditional than others.
As their feet brought them closer and closer, Pavel and Aliosha came across a nuanced spectrum of human typologies. There were the youngsters in tracksuits, sipping on their beer cans while perched on a fence or on one of their cars, raising suspicions concerning the nature of their intentions. There were also some promiscuous teenagers, belonging to a more elaborate class, clad in clothes belonging to Italian, French, and English brands. Pavel’s generation often regarded such spoiled youths as western decadent brats. But on that day in particular, the two pensioners weren’t bothered at all by those flashy appearances.
Suddenly, the duo’s conversation and peace of mind were interrupted by a rowdy dog that began barking aggressively towards them. The little wretch was no more than a stray hound who took refuge under a rusty Lada 1500 that was left to rot in front of the block next to Aliosha’s.
“Does that withered hag neighbor of yours, Polina, still give leftovers to this cancer of a dog?” Inquired Pavel.
“Yes, she does. That granny lives with 5 cats and 3 nasty Pekingese devils that seem to hate everyone, except their babushka benefactor.”
“Пиздец блять![2]” Cussed Pavel almost in disbelief. “Shouldn’t there be a limit? These apartments aren’t the most spacious, are they?”
“Not really, no. Just a 2-room cramped residence. And here’s what’s more. Nobody likes that spiteful lady, I’m telling you. I chat with that block’s administrator from time to time, and the man told me that each occasion he comes to her apartment to talk about certain matters, the whole place stinks of cat piss the moment she opens her door. One time he even saw a turd in the hallway, belonging to one of her animal companions. And based on what others say, the old woman seems to be cranky 24/7. It should be time for her to die, but I guess not even God wants her up there.”
“If she’s so disliked by everyone around here, I might make a deal myself with the administrator and volunteer to take that old bird out of her own misery. But I guess she has to wait in line before I take care of this dog maggot.”
“Classic Pavel!” Aliosha couldn’t refrain from laughing. “That’s why I find your presence so dear.”
“Well, Aliosha, this reminds me of my days back in the army where this wise Georgian fella who used to…”
*SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH*
A deafening roar struck the whole place, reducing the entire town to silence. Even the barking wretch ceased to bother the two old pals, who also forgot about the annoying hound altogether. They had something else to worry about.
Overhead, a mammoth of a rocket flew menacingly, splitting the bright blue sky in two. Struck by horror and despair, nobody could tell where the metal projectile was heading or from which point it was coming. It was beyond anyone in that community to figure out that mystery. Meanwhile, a general stampede took over the streets, as a lot of people were screaming and running to any indoor spot where they could feel safe. Rockets flying above one’s head were not an everyday occurrence. And the more seldom such objects of destruction could be seen in action, the more intense would be the awe of the beholders.
Soon enough, the haunting sound of a firm alarm filled every corner of that Belarusian settlement. After less than one minute of that dissonant and poignant lullaby, police cars showed up on the streets. The vehicles had megaphones attached so one message could be amplified. A gruff voice delivered the following statement through those megaphones.
“THIS IS A STATE OF EMERGENCY. WE ORDER EVERYBODY TO RETURN TO THEIR HOMES. I REPEAT. THIS IS A STATE OF EMERGENCY. WE ORDER EVERYBODY TO RETURN TO THEIR HOMES. WE MAKE NO EXCEPTIONS. EVERYBODY MUST COMPLY.”
There was not a single trace of human emotion in that speech. The complete lack of intonation combined with the overall sinister sound of a low-toned robotic voice compelled everyone around to follow the strict orders without any doubt.
“Screw it, let’s go.” Pavel told Aliosha with complete indifference.
Aliosha nodded to Pavel, as if completely oblivious to all the dreadful atmosphere. There wasn’t a single trace of the peace and tranquility that had been the norm only 10 minutes prior.
While others were either distraught or panic-stricken, Pavel and Aliosha didn’t lose their cool one bit. They simply resumed their walk and traversed the tiny distance left to Aliosha’s flat. Not a single word was muttered while their steps carried them all the way to the doorstep, while the alarms were still screaming incessantly.
The apartment where Pavel’s friend lived was not too different from the Perestroika days. The same embroidered carpets decorated the walls, and, unlike Pavel, Aliosha still had his timeless tube TV, where faces of folks like Nixon, Brezhnev, and Mao had been once seen. The equally timeless fridge didn’t hold many things inside. But it did have the bottle that made the two friends’ eyes gleam.
2 crystal glasses were used for that occasion. Pavel and Aliosha took one sip of vodka and then broke their silence once again. Their conversation went on with their usual banter, gossip, reminiscences of the past, and bits of cynical philosophy. Not one word was muttered about the so-called “state of emergency” going on outside.
Another rocket flew menacingly overhead. And then another one. At the same time, with every missile passing up above at hypersonic speed, another glass was filled with vodka. The two lads just carried on, undisturbed.
“Do you think they’ll actually get us this time?” Said Aliosha, as if to express a faint interest in the mysterious situation.
“Brother, many tried. Napoleon and Hitler fell flat on their asses. I don’t think anyone nowadays will be any different. Now, pour me another one!” Asserted Pavel, without any hesitation.
The day just carried on.
[1] “Let’s go, comrade” in Russian (davay, tovarishch)
[2] “Fucking hell” in Russian (pizdets blyat)
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Illustrations by Andy Vansen