The Second American Revolution - The Building of an Empire

by Kenneth Szulczyk

  At first, Jerrick felt completely lost in Moscow. Lidya’s parents had an extra apartment in the far, far south of Moscow in a 1970s Soviet neighborhood. All the apartment buildings were rectangular and five stories tall and constructed from concrete that emanated a dreary, dirty pastel white.

  Small apartment had one main room, serving as the bedroom and living room, a kitchen, a tiny hallway, and a bathroom straight from the Middle Ages.

  After Jerrick had placed his luggage on the floor in the hallway, he entered the bathroom for the very first time and almost tumbled to the floor in shock.

  Jerrick thought to himself ‘what did I get myself into?’ Bathroom was small, and had all the amenities, a bathtub, sink, and toilet, but long pipes ran from the ceiling to the floor in two corners, and smaller pipes ran along the inside wall connecting all the plumbing to the fixtures.

  Finishing his business, Jerrick returned to the living room and saw Lidya staring out the window into the courtyard.

  Jerrick was tired from the long flight from the United States, but he was not sleepy. He gazed at Lidya, and she was looking good.

  He approached her and embraced his arms around her.

  Lidya faced away him, and Jerrick started kissing the nape of her neck, tasting the sweet nectar of honey.

  She turned to him, and they both started kissing on the mouth.

  Then they both quickly undressed, and Jerrick made hot, passionate love to her on the bed.

  Afterwards, Jerrick became thirsty and said, “Let’s get a Pepsi.”

  They both dressed and walked outside.

  Jerrick didn’t believe it. He was completely lost and asked, “Lidya, how do you remember where you are? Everything looks the same. Everyone lives in these rectangular, five-story buildings, and all these buildings are white.”

  “Don’t worry Jerrick, you’ll get used to it.”

  “Everything looks monotonous.”

  “This was a gift from Secretary Khrushchev, the leader of the Soviet Union in the 1950s. He started the large-scale construction of these apartments. Russians call them Khrushchev’s slums in his honor.”

  As Lidya and Jerrick strolled towards the main street, he saw the stores. All the buildings on the main street were also rectangular and five-stories tall, but to add a different hue, some buildings were painted a dull yellow or dreary pink color. First floor contained the stores and businesses while the upper floors were living quarters.

  Approaching the entrance to the store, Jerrick saw several old Russian people hobble out of the store.

  Jerrick walked up the one-step to the stoop of the door and grabbed the handle. He would open the door for his lady.

  Just then, a middle-aged, heavy-set Russian woman locked the door from the inside and flipped the sign on the door. Afterwards, she walked into the interior of the store.

  Jerrick jerked on the door, but it wouldn’t open, and he shouted, “What the fuuuu.” Then he caught himself before cussing in front of a lady.

  “Ahhh, I’m sorry Jerrick. It’s one o’clock. All the stores and shops close down for lunch between one and two.”

  Jerrick muttered, “Really?”

  Lidya and Jerrick would return when the store re-opened. They walked around the neighborhood, killing some time.

  Jerrick noticed the Russian women, and they were drop-dead gorgeous. They could be models.

  Jerrick brushed his lips with the back of his right hand several times, ensuring he didn’t drool on himself. He thought, God’s cruel fate would be born an ugly woman in Moscow, Russia.

  Jerrick noticed the older Russian women; they hunched over and hobbled as they walked. They also had long crooked noses, and faces covered with warts and moles.

  Jerrick blurted, “Why do the young Russian women look so vibrant and healthy while the old women don’t look so good?”

  Lidya stopped walking, turned to Jerrick, and said, “Russian life is hard on a woman. She must cook and clean for her family, and take care of the man. In America, you have all those conveniences. Life is easy and simple. Did you notice anything missing in the apartment?”

  Scratching his chin, Jerrick paused in thought. What could be missing?

  Then he asked, “I give up Lidya. Surprise me.”

  “Wait until you wash your clothes. I have a big surprise waiting for you.”

  Thinking about it, Jerrick noticed something missing from the apartment, a washing machine. Jerrick loved surprises, but surprises, wrapped up in a box with a pretty bow, not surprises that entailed hard work.

  They started walking again.

  “Women in America used to cook and clean and take care of their men, but our grandmothers don’t look this bad.”

  “Jerrick, when I mean cook and clean. I mean women make the food from scratch: flour, eggs, and butter. When I said clean, a woman gets on her hands and knees and scrubs the floor with a rag.”

  “Oh,” Jerrick uttered, speechless, definitely not ready for that surprise about washing clothes.

  Lidya and Jerrick walked farther until they had noticed three Russian men sitting on a bench, drinking vodka, straight from a bottle.

  “Damn, it’s only noon, and those guys are already drinking the hard stuff.”

  “Welcome to Russia. Most men are alcoholics here. They drink all day and don’t work.”

  In Jerrick’s hometown, most men were druggies and/or alcoholics too, similar to Russia.

  Passing by, Jerrick smelled a strong order emanating from the men. They haven’t touched a bar of soap in centuries.

  Jerrick noticed the dust and dirt caked into their skin, making the men much older than they actually were. They looked worn down, beaten.

  “Jerrick, you can learn your first Russian word today, Troyka!”

  “Troyka, what’s that?”

  “It means a group of three.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “How many drunks do you see over there?”

  “Three.”

  “Three men have enough money to buy a bottle of vodka and share it. They have plenty of vodka for them to get drunk, but if they had a fourth person, they wouldn’t have enough vodka.”

  “Wow, I see your point. Lidya, I don’t understand one thing. Young women look so attractive here. They fix themselves up. On the other hand, Russian men look terrible. Why is that?” Jerrick asked, wanting an answer to this dichotomy.

  “Competition! Women compete for the good men. You know, a man with a job and doesn’t drink alcohol. They’re hard to find around here. Why do you think I brought you here? I imported my own man.”

  Jerrick smiled because a man felt good when a sexy, attractive woman had thrown a compliment in his direction.

  Jerrick added, “I wish American women thought that way.”

  “What do American women want in a man?” Lidya asked teasingly.

  “I have no idea. Probably most American men are in the same boat with me, quite clueless.”

  At two o’clock, Jerrick and Lidya finished walking around the long Soviet neighborhood. They stood in front of the store.

  Jerrick hopped up on the step, and the door easily opened. Then he held the door open for Lidya.

  She sauntered in first, then Jerrick.

  Jerrick experienced his second surprise of the day. He thought the bathroom was bad, but the store was not much better. Ancient store had old and worn floor tiles. He wasn’t sure if the tile pattern were dirt or dark colors. Walls looked like they had not seen a coat of paint in a century. Perishable food was stored in old, refrigerated glass showcases and coolers, and the coolers’ compressors rattled loudly.

  Lidya noticed the shocked expression on Jerrick’s face and said, “Welcome to a Russian state store.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Right Lidya?”

  “No, you’re standing in an authentic state store, right out of the Soviet Union. Only difference is this store has products on the shelves. W
hen I came here as a little girl, I always saw bare shelves.”

  Jerrick noticed one cooler had sodas while the other four coolers had various types of beer and liquor drinks.

  Both Lidya and Jerrick headed to the soda coolers.

  Jerrick noticed one brand of soda, a ½ liter of soda with the Soviet Union’s hammer and sickle blazoned on it. He asked, “What’s that?”

  “Soviet Lemonade. You wanna to try it?”

  “Sure, I’m game.”

  Jerrick grabbed two bottles, and they approached the cashier.

  Nobody stood in line.

  Cashier sat on a chair reading a book.

  Jerrick and Lidya stood at the cash register.

  Jerrick noticed the Cashier had no cash register. Instead, she had a box of money and an abacus that Jerrick only saw in books. He actually stared at an actual abacus that looked old with years of dirt and grime embedded into the wooden disks on the metal racks.

  Woman sat and read her book, and she didn’t show the slightest interest in her customers.

  Jerrick glanced quizzically at Lidya. Then he cleared his voice. That way, the woman would know someone is in line.

  Woman continued reading her book.

  Then Jerrick hollered in English, “Excuse me, can you do your job!”

  Lidya grabbed Jerrick’s arm, hushing him up.

  Old woman thrust her book down and replied, “Nye ponimaiyu tebye!”

  Jerrick didn’t understand, and Lidya started speaking Russian to her.

  Old Russian woman grabbed the abacus. Her fingers slid disks lightning fast, tabulating their total for two sodas.

  Then she said something in Russian.

  Lidya whispered, “5,000 rubles.”

  Jerrick pulled currency from his pocket and handed it to the cashier.

  Then they hurried out of the store.

  Jerrick gulped down half the Soviet lemonade and was surprised. It was actually quite good, but it tasted like ginger ale! Apparently, the brilliant Soviet planners didn’t get the correct flavor.

  “Lidya, why did you grab my arm in the store?”

  “I didn’t want you saying anything rude to the woman. They know some English cuss words.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. We might still be in there if I didn’t speak up.”

  “If you had offended her, then she wouldn’t sell us these drinks.”

  “Really?”

  “Is this how Russians do business?”

  “Jerrick; you must remember; the Soviet state controlled everything for 70 years. No one had any incentive to get anything done. In America, if you get bad service, you can always go somewhere else. Here in the Soviet Union, you get awful service here, then you go to another state store with bare shelves and lousy service too.”

  Jerrick snapped, “How did the Russians get anything done?”

  “They didn’t. That’s why the Soviet Union had collapsed.”

  Lidya glanced at Jerrick strangely. He was supposed to be smart, and she was teaching Jerrick the obvious.

  ***

  Jerrick lived in Moscow for three weeks, and he would meet her parents tonight for dinner.

  Lidya stopped by the apartment at four to pick up Jerrick. Her parents lived further out of town in the suburbs, approximately 10 miles away.

  Jerrick became nervous because Lidya’s dad looked like a powerful, imposing man. A man used to getting what he wanted. Jerrick hoped he made a strong first impression.

  As Lidya approached the neighborhood, the roads became worse, transforming into dirt, uneven roads filled with potholes. Car’s suspension creaked and groaned each time Lidya hit one of the potholes.

  “This car is ready to fall apart,” Jerrick joked.

  “Welcome to brilliant Russian planning.”

  Jerrick noticed several homes. They were not mansions, but the homes were two-stories, tall, and new. Then he noticed the styles. One home looked like a castle complete with turrets, and small octagon-shaped towers. Other homes were Italian style, two stories tall and shaped like a box. Each side had exposed balconies complete with potted trees and plants scattered throughout the porches and patios.

  Jerrick blurted, “Lidya; these homes are nice, but why are the streets so crappy?”

  “This place was originally for dachas.”

  “A dacha, what’s that?”

  “During the Soviet Union, everyone lived in those cramped apartments in the city, but some people owned land outside of the city. They put up a hut, which we call a dacha. People would get away from the city on the weekends and grow vegetables in their gardens. When the Soviet Union had collapsed, people built homes on their land. Then they moved here, renting out their apartments in the city. The Russian government never got around to paving these streets.”

  “Ah, I see. That’s weird because rich neighborhoods in the United States have the best roads and sidewalks.”

  Lidya suddenly stopped at one of the houses.

  Jerrick didn’t see the house because a six-foot solid, blue fence hid it while apple and pear trees poked above the fence, displaying their unripened fruit.

  Lidya and Jerrick climbed out of the car and approached the fence.

  Jerrick asked in jest, “Look at this fence. Are you guys expecting robbers and thieves?”

  “No, this is only what my father could find. Solid metal sheets for a fence.”

  At one spot on the fence, Lidya grabbed a door handle and pushed the door open.

  Jerrick glanced inside and saw a cozy, one-story house sitting in the middle of the property, hidden behind the fence. Apple and pear trees surrounded the house. In the far right corner, a garden of tomato and cantaloupe plants was growing.

  Approaching the house, Jerrick saw Lidya’s dad sitting on a recliner on the front porch. Photograph didn’t exaggerate one bit. He was a large, imposing man.

  As Lidya and Jerrick walked onto the porch, her dad quickly stood up and held his hand out for a handshake and said exuberantly, “Zdrastivutye!”

  “Hello,” Jerrick replied, and reached out, and shook his hand.

  Her dad led them inside into the first room, the kitchen.

  Lidya’s mom slaved over the stove. Seeing the guest enter, she wiped her hands on a towel and approached Jerrick.

  She reached out to shake Jerrick’s hand and said, “Dobro pozhalovat nash dom.”

  Jerrick shook her hand.

  Lidya translated, “Welcome to our home.”

  Lidya’s dad led the kids to the living room, where Lidya’s grandmother sat on the coach.

  She didn’t get up, but she glared at Jerrick.

  After several minutes, grandmother asked something in Russian.

  Lidya immediately replied, “Nyet,” or ‘no’ in Russian.

  Jerrick asked, “What did she say?”

  “Grandma wants to know if you work for the CIA, and she doesn’t trust you.”

  “Oh, that’s interesting. You should tell her yes, and her name is in my file.”

  Jerrick saw a long table pushed against the wall with various types of food on it that Jerrick had never seen before.

  Lidya’s dad disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses.

  Then he sat at the head of the table. Next, the dad directed the guest of honor, Jerrick, to sit next to him.

  Then both Lidya and grandma sat to Jerrick's left. Luckily, grandma sat on the other side of Lidya, away from Jerrick.

  Lidya’s mom brought in plates of food, placing them on the table. Then she trotted to the kitchen for more plates of food.

  Lidya’s dad opened the bottle and poured out two shots.

  Jerrick noticed the label, Smirnoff’s Vodka.

  Jerrick asked Lidya, “Why is he drinking American vodka?”

  “Russians think American vodka tastes better,” then Lidya translated this information to her father.

  Her dad nodded his head
in approval and placed one of the shot glasses in front of Jerrick.

  Lidya said, “It’s Russian tradition to share a toast with the father.”

  Jerrick and her dad picked up the shots; her dad made a toast, and they both gulped down the vodka.

  Vodka burned Jerrick’s throat like liquid fire making its way to his stomach.

  Before the vodka settled in Jerrick’s stomach, her dad had poured another shot of vodka and proposed another toast.

  Lidya noticed Jerrick didn’t finish the entire shot and whispered into his ear, “Russians get offended if you don’t finish the whole shot.”

  Jerrick swallowed the vodka, making a large grimace.

  Lidya said something to her dad in Russian.

  Her dad removed Jerrick’s shot glass, and he just started pouring shots for himself.

  Lidya’s mom sat at the other end of the table, and then they began eating.

  Jerrick became impressed with the simple, delicious food. Russian potato salad contained sliced apples, making it sweet. Salty, marinated red tomatoes were quite good. Main entrée was monti: steamed noodles stuffed with ground beef, carrots, onions, and potatoes, a smart way to slip healthy vegetables into a good-tasting dish.

  Lidya’s parents wanted to talk to Jerrick, but they had a language barrier. They only spoke Russian while Jerrick only spoke English.

  Lidya did most of the talking and translating.

  Occasionally, Jerrick nodded his head in approval.

  After a few hours, Lidya drove Jerrick to the apartment.

  Jerrick wanted Lidya to come inside, but Lidya pulled herself from his arms and returned home.

  ***

  Jerrick heeded Lidya’s advice and went to the Moscow Institute of Business, located a few blocks over from the apartment.

  Approaching the building, Jerrick saw a dusty white building that looked more like an industrial complex than a place of education. However, he didn’t speak Russian, which limited his employment choices.

  Jerrick opened the front door and walked in.

  A security guard sat at a desk near the front entrance. He spotted Jerrick and knew he was a foreigner, rushing him to the director's office on the second floor.

  Jerrick didn’t wait.

  Director, Alexander Fedoseev, emerged from his office, eager to hire Jerrick.

  Institute taught courses in English, and native English speakers were rare in this part of Moscow.

  Director proudly showed Jerrick the building, giving him a grand tour of the facility.

  They strolled through the corridors, inspecting various classrooms and computer rooms. Although the exterior of the building looked like hell, the inside was clean and modern, talk about a first bad impression.