A Goddamn Moskal

“Frankly, I couldn’t care less.”

The young man inside the kiosk exclaimed, with the same monotonous tone he always expressed. It was as though he’d seen a lifetime’s worth of suffering, in the span of sixteen years, something Anita wasn’t to keen on understanding, having lived through pergatory herself.

“How can you be so indifferent towards this whole thing? I can do nothing but marvel at the despair you are to bring upon us, sweet child!”

“Oh ha-ha, like you don’t know there’s no hope for us. I like to think I do my part for society, I’m working right, but where is that gonna take us?”

Anita had brief chuckle to herself as she tried humouring the poor boy.

“If you think the world looks bleak nowadays you should’ve been around during my ol’ days. The difference is night and day. This whole town might as well be a themepark in comparison.”

“Where as your hometown might as well be a dinosaurexhibit?”

“Just give me my coffee and the newspaper, you little rascal.”
She smiled riley as the boy turned around and had a chuckle to himself while pouring her cup full and handing it over on a thick slab of newspaper.

“Ill see you tomorrow, Akim.”

The youth raised his hand in a salute as Anita crouched into her old rust-bucket, the ignition took a good couple of seconds before the engine started running, whereupon she had to rev it maniacally to keep the engine from stalling. She wasnt happy with her purchase, but what little funds she had, she spent on rent and taxes and food. She skid procariously on to the road and was on her way. She would always take this route to work every morning, it was a detour if ever there was one, and she would always arrive on the minute with no time to spare. Perhaps she might have been wiser in taking the mainroad to the office, but she couldnt help the urge to indulge in conversation with this young man, hed seem like the brother she lost so many years ago. She would more often than not leave him on top of their conversations as to not appear harsh or degrading. She had no idea how the boy felt about the whole thing, but she felt confident with the presumption that he’d let her know if he was uncomfortable. Perhaps he liked having someone to empty his frustration unto, and Anita was more than willing to exchange patience for conversation. They boy’s features took her back to her old country, her home, she wasn’t quite sure who he reminded her of, but she could definately tell that there was something there. She grouched in knowing he would not be there once she got off work, and in his place would be his father, a harsh, yet kind man who always seemed keen on expressing himself as the happy owner of a well-visited kiosk.

On her way to work she had to pass through a large intersection which connected all the major sections of the city, the aorta that kept the heart of the city pumping and pumping. All along it’s four-lanes to the tightest of backstreets glew hazy street-lights, many going off from time to time. Anita would often have her headlights beaming as a minor precaution to whatever might lurk underneath those dying lights. She suddenly stepped hard on the brakes and slid uncontrollably towards the busy crossing, figures, she always forgot the terrible traction around the intercrossing. A testament to the amount of traffic it recieved each day. She tried steering towards the sidewalk so as to skid her frontwheels against the harsh stone. This was an everyday occurance, she couldn’t help herself in this particular situation, perhaps she was just to busy thinking of something else, or maybe taking the same route each day simply didn’t register inside her memory. And just like always, the car grinded to a halt just before crossing the border of the stop sign. She sighed like always and waited for a clearing before taking a left turn and enjoying a pale blue sky, slowly emerged above the apartmentblocks, heralding the coming of dawn. A serene morning greet that embellished the start of what was always an awful day. Of course there was always a small silver lining, Akim was the current.

The lunch room was empty as usual, always first on hand and always the last to abandon ship. She prepared coffee for her coworkers and neatly arranged all cups in order of appearance, these days Artiom seemed first on deck among the skippers, always arriving a few minutes following Anita's arrival, his dull menacing exterior wasn’t much appreciated by Anita, or anybody else forced to suffer his company. She felt a terrible weight over her chest when she thought about the thirty minutes she would have to endure in Artiom presense before Putra should arrive and, hopefully, crack a joke or two about his day, even just the thought of having to go through the process of her outburst the other day. She would stay silent, she thought. She would sit there, reading the tasks for the day and sip her cup as slow as humanly possible. Whoever did the planning and wrote the daily reports had a habit of assigning cleaners to the same department as yesterday, Anita had sent her messages concerning this issue ever since she took over as head of her unit. Whether or not she recieved Anita’s mail or if she simply ignored them, Anita didn’t know. They had no actual personal interaction. It was frowned upon, exposing yourself with cleaning equipment in full swing, it revealed the inner workings of the office, something the politicians wanted to keep hidden. All contact with maintenance and janitorial was held through an internal postal service, an unreliable function through which messages were ignored, or sent to the wrong recepient. The use of actual phones had been prohibited by the prime minister as a precaution to malicious spying amidst workers. Adding to that, the courier looked hateful on every ocassion. Several minutes passed by in total silence. The only thing making it’s presence known was the ceiling fan. Right up to the point where the phone rang. Phones connected to the national grid was only ever used for purposes that didnt directly involve government matters. There was no way to contact anyone outside the office, you could only receive incoming signals, carefully monitored by a state bureau. She picked up the phone in sudden haste and greeted with a simple hello.

“It would seem like I attracted a less than favourable condition this thursday, and as such I will have to refrain from working for today.”

“That’s fine, just keep in mind that you’ll have to report your ailments and such once you get back.”

“Thank you kindly, Anita.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She hung up the phone and smiled in relief. She observed the clock and awaited Putra in a state of bliss. Artiom mustn’t have any clue the kind of atmosphere he creates. This big, ugly, vulgar excuse of a human being. How his booming, rustling voice sent Anita’s thoughts into a hazy resemblance of childkillers and rapists. Something she wasn’t to keen on remembering. “...Anita.” She couldnt help but think she’d heard her name pronounced like that before. In a sly manner, as if the pronouncer knew more than he wanted her to know, as if he was above her. She shrugged it off as soon as she heard footsteps outside the breakroom. The door opened and Putra greeted Anita with a warm smile. She looked noticibly more joyous today than the day prior.

“So you wanna talk about yesterday?”

“No, Putra, please I just wanna focus on work today.”

Putra spoke with considerable worry, afraid he’d strike a nerve still sore since yesterday. But when Anita gave her response, she did so with warm and kind understanding of his worry. Putra went on like always in the belief that all was fine;

“So… like everyday then?”

Anita gave him a smile and pushed his work order towards his side of the table. He had a quick gander and mentioned the obvious;

“Two people on the same spot again?”

“I’ve sent so many memo’s up to that old hag and she still hasn’t made any kind of response, we’ll just keep doing things our way and fix all this paperwork afterwards, like always.”

“Sounds good I guess. Where’s Pavlov?”

“Sick, not sure for how long.”

“You think he’s got that flu that keeps going round?”

Anita shrugged her shoulders.
The hours passed slow as they always did. Every fifteen minutes she gave the clock a wearisome look and braced for another fifteen. At ten to eight Putra came back in a hard sweat, and flustered whilst he poured himself a glass of water.

“Are you working overtime up there, Putra?”

“Goddamn… Hakim… said he got... the claps... I’ve had to work two floors…”

“How long’s he been to the bathroom?”

“No idea… maybe… an hour?”

“Well if he’s gonna get the day of tomorrow, which I expect he will, I’ll jump in for him.”

“Good…”
Putra tried calming himself before heading off for the showers. Anita finished off the shift in a slight hurry before heading on outside into the cool winter breeze. She took a good couple of deep breaths before lighting herself a fag. An armed sentry standing nearby politely asked for one as well and she answered his approach. He gave an irritable comment on having to stand on post in minus forty degrees C for six hours straight, but still seemed positive to the overall pay. Anita agreed on all his points and hurried through the freezing winds coming down in constant sweeps. The car puttered like always before jumping into an aggresive reving, she punched the choke to keep the car from stalling whilst she went out to clear the windscreen. Everyday she had to suffer the harsh cold, just like everybody else. And much like the common illusion of the nation, she thought things would be improved come tomorrow. The one glowing light in the winter dark however, was the easy traffic. Which almost seemed to negate the horror of shaking inside this cold steel vessel for the entire ride. The tight rows of streetlights bore a close affinity to hollywoods mainstreets, she kept on thinking. Fantasizing about rolling down an american highway in an old 50’s chevy with an open top roof and a rumbling V8 roaring infront. Warm winds sweeping past her scalp, palmtrees lining the streetwalks.
Reality check.
She came back to consciousness as a rusty green sedan came speeding out of an adjacent road at the upcoming crossing, ahead to her left. She hit the brakes in a blind panic and pressed herself into the cold spring seat, holding her breath. Her car slidding calmly towards a head-on collision, she could do little else than brace herself. Her initial calculation assured her that she wouldnt get out of this car alive, or in the best scenario, in a wheelchair. Her heart beat like a warriors drum. However, she was wrong. The oncoming car collided with a sign post ahead of Anita in violent display of tragedy meet weekday. She sighed lightly but remained stiff as a board where she sat behind the wheel. As her her car slowed to jogging pace, she calmed herself. Her car hit the wreckage infront with a slight thud. She composed herself and felt her entire body tremour in a mix of reassuring relief and terrible fright. Her pale hands felt stuck to the wheel and when her hand met the steel door handle, she noticed burnmarks on her hands. She chuckled nervously to herself. And like a grim reminder of ruthlesness, she heard, in the snowy mist behind her, the blaring horn of a truck approaching, louder, louder, intensifying with every milisecond that passed until she saw the beaming headlights pierce the haze merging behind the car and shower her in a spectator light.
Her heart siezed and she closed her eyes to the coming event.