My job!

 

 

"These Americans are devils in flesh and bone", said Valentina Mikhailovna, with such a rigor that one could feel the spiritual pain caused to her by the Americans. She worked as the janitor at a cafй. She was old and retired, but very energetic. For a woman of 70 she was too well spirited.

She liked to talk, while she worked. She could talk about politics, as if she had been a political analyst with the "Carnegie center" all her life. She was born and brought up in the Soviet Union and she had lived through the Stalin era.

"They say all that shit about Stalin! Yes he was strict. He liked discipline. But in the Soviet Union everybody had a job."

 Finishing her sentence she just replaced the decorations back on the last of the tables that she had just cleared. Then she turned to Phil, the administrator, and further said: "With all this democracy and capitalism and all that American rubbish, we have been turned into an army of slaves."

She started changing her rubber gloves and looked at Phil to make sure that he was listening closely. She probably never knew that he was a very good listener. He knew that all what Valentina Mikhailovna said was just the Communist rhetoric, on which her generation had been brought up. She had been trying to fit into the new realities, but from her on job monologues, it was clear that she had a hard time settling in.

She once again started her lecture in political science: "What have these Americans done? What have they achieved? They print their dollars and spread them around. I bet if one could gather all these dollars in one place, one could buy out America, at least 3 times."

Finishing the latest sentence, she again looked at Phil, who was still standing there and listening with apparent interest. He had been working all night and near to the end of his shift, he was probably enjoying listening to the political beliefs of the common Russians.

Valenina Mikhailovna knew that he was a German and probably thought that he had to be anti-American, keeping in mind all that American domination ever since the Second World War. She probably never understood that Phil listened to all-that, not to enhance his political views or to start hating the Americans. He listened, because he thought that at least that way he could help the old woman, who lived alone and had no one to talk to at home. He was sure that talking to someone helps in off loading your thoughts, which if untold could become a source of depression. He pitied Valentina Mikhailovna, because firstly she had to work, to earn her bread, in such an old age and secondly, even having a grown-up son and a daughter she still lived alone. He knew the consequences of loneliness and he also knew that in Valentina Mkhailovna's years it was near to impossible to make some change and avoid loneliness. The least he could do was to listen to her, every morning, while she cleaned the cafй and that was what he was doing.

Valentina Mikhailovna had finished with the tables and the counter and had grabbed the broom to start sweeping the floor. The radio was playing. Valentina Mikhailovna heard the song about love, where the lyric went like this " Love me from dawn till dawn."

As if being in disagreement with the singer she said: "Yeah! Yeah! Ask for love. You need too much love. You God damned frustrated creature."

This showed that not only politics and politicians worried her. She was in total disagreement with the present. She lived in the past and she cherished her memories. She awaited nothing good form the life that she lived and all that she could do was to express her dissatisfaction and she had been doing that the best that she could do.

Half the way through with the floor she just stopped and asked Phil: "Are you a medical student?"

He asked: "Why are you asking so?"

She said: "I was wondering if you could tell me what I need to do to control my blood pressure?"

He said: " Well I'm not a medical student, but I heard that the best way to control blood pressure is to use less salt. Or you can use fresh garlic, it helps a lot."

She listened carefully and said: "I never knew about Garlic, but you know in my age a lot of things just don't simply help."

Finishing her sentence she raised her right arm and with a strong expression of pain on her face said: "All my joints ache when I get up in the morning. Earlier there was a balm, that my mother used to use and it helped. But now if you go to the pharmacy, you see a lot of medications, but none of them really helps. It is all rubbish. They have these imported medicines and creams and everything, but its all not suitable for our people and our climate. Only a Soviet medicine can help a Soviet person."

Pronouncing those last words, her eyes got brightened and Phil could see the pride that she took in being Soviet. She had again started sweeping the floor, but then if she remembered something she stopped and said: "They now even sell counterfeit medicines."

Phil said: "Yeah! It's a tragic fact, but what can you do about it?"

Valentina Mikhailovna said: "It's not only tragic, it's a criminal act. Don't nobody care about people any more? What happens if you use such medicines? You die! And those who sell this poison are responsible for the deaths. But nowadays no one thinks about the well being of the common people. All these people in power only think about making money. As long as this illegal trade is profitable for someone in a position, no one can stop it."

Phil nodded and she continued: "Back in Stalin's times no one could even think about such activities. Stalin would had never allowed no one to fondle with the lives of the people. Back then these people would had been sentenced to death, because Stalin loved his people and the people loved him. Who cares about common people now?"

Again that same protest in her voice and to an extent, that protest was right. Phil didn't know how it would have been back in Stalin's days, but he knew that at present the government and the bureaucracy were so much corrupted and inhumane that such socially dangerous problems didn't bother them at all.

Valentina Mikhailovna had already finished cleaning the floor and had taken to window washing. She held the bottle of glass cleaner in her left hand and newspaper in her right and washed the front window. As she was wiping the glass, she saw a homeless passing by. Her eyes followed the homeless all the way until he disappeared around the corner. She ceased the circular motion of her hand and said: "We never had homeless in our country. This is an American menace. Only there could you see people sleeping under cardboard boxes in the street and eating out of garbage. But for us it was something unimaginable. Everyone had a job and a home in Soviet Union. Stalin brought the country out of the crisis after the war. Nowadays everyone blames Stalin in every kind of wrong doing, but they should first see what have they done themselves. They have brought people down to such a low state of life. Why do we need all this democracy and capitalism if all what we get out of them are homeless and drug addicts? What good is such a system?"

Phil tried to defend democracy. He said: "You know what they have here is not democracy. They use democracy's name to cover up all their wrong doings."

Valentina Mikhailovna kind of agreed with him, but then looking at the newspaper that she held in her hand she showed Phil the Governor's photo and said: "Thief! Look at this thief. All he does is to steal state resources and enrich him. He then poses in front of the camera as if he is the greatest leader. But believe me back then Stalin would had sent him to jail, at least, for what he does."

She again started those circular motions on the front window. She was old but she did her job honestly. She spent a good amount of time on cleaning those huge glass windows. She'd rub every spot till disappearance. As she was cleaning the window, she noticed municipal janitors clearing the snow on the sidewalk. She noticed that one of the cleaners was piling snow right under the cafй's window. She suddenly busted out: "What the hell do you think you're doin', you damned lame shit head?" she spoke so loud that her voice was even audible out on the street, because the cleaner picked up his head and seeing Valentina Mikhailovna waving her fist in fury, probably understood her reason of protest or even heard her continuum. She was saying: "Three damned young healthy assholes can't even do their job rightly. You suckers now pile up everything under my window and then I'm gonna clear your mess with my old weak hands."

Oh God! She was really furious. She continued waving her fist and saying: "You dumb fucks get the municipal money and I'm gonna do your job!?"; while the young janitor had already started shifting the snow away.

Then if Valentina Mikhailovna cooled down a little bit, noticing the change. She started washing the window again and simultaneously asking God's forgiveness. She said: "Oh God all mighty forgive my old sinner soul. I didn't mean to yell, but what can you do when you see people doing their jobs so lamely. God of heavens forgive me."

As she uttered those words, her voice got so low and tender as if she could see God in front of her and didn't want to annoy him. Her honesty in readily asking for God's forgiveness, for her harsh and indecent words, showed how deeply she believed in God. It was strange for Phil to understand because he knew that Soviets were forced atheists and back then in Stalin's era, God just simply didn't exist. She had to be an atheist all along, so how could she become such a firm believer in only a few years, especially the late years of her life. But she was asking for God's forgiveness wholeheartedly and honestly.

She kind of switched from hyperactive to passive mode. She stopped her circular motions and turning to Phil said, in such a calm voice as if she never raised her voice in the last hundred years: "See I get very disturbed when I see such young people, who try to get rid of their work as if it were a burden. I always ask myself 'why do people tend to work dishonestly?' but always when you ask any of such… "; And pointing to the municipal janitors she continued: "lames, they say that for such low wage how can one work honestly."

Finishing the sentence, a paradoxical expression appeared on her face and just after a small breather she changed her expression back to the regular pragmatic grin and continued her explanatory monologue: "See if the wages are low and you think that they don't justify your labor, then why do you agree to work? It's better not work then to work dishonestly."

Well she did have a point in that. The thin line between honesty and excuse-laden laziness had really long been erased from the minds of the growing up Russians. The ideological shock, which the nation had suffered as the result of the fall of socialism, clearly left people to think that life extends as long as tonight and tomorrow morning is something abstract and most probably non existent. This short sightedness had filled the brains of the growing up generation of Russians with just one thing: "Fun for Free"

She again broke the silence and said: "I've got troubles with my blood pressure. Last night I couldn't sleep well and now in the morning these lames have disturbed me. Like everyone else I also have my own problems and those problems didn't let me sleep last night."

She again turned to the window, but catching a glimpse of the look in her eyes, Phil understood that she wanted him to ask her about her problems, so that she could find a way of spilling it all out and continue working.

Phil intentionally took the bait, because he knew that talking kind of charged up Valentina Mikhailovna's energies and he had nothing against it. He asked: "What kind of problems do you have Valentine Mikhailovna? Is there something in which I might be able to help you?"

She stopped her hand and resting on her elbow said: "My dear! Not only you, but also no one can help in such things. Life and death are a divine prerogative."

She stopped for a while, as if thinking that who gave God such a prerogative? Then she again continued: "My son's father-in-law died. Yesterday we drank down his memorial service. You see I'm not a drinker. I always have a hard time after drinking. I'd never have consumed alcohol, but you see at such occasions it's a sin not to do so. This would have meant that I didn't respect the deceased."

She so readily justified her drinking, as if it was a social crime, which she had committed, because she had to. Anyway Phil held nothing against drinking or memorial drinking and probably she could read it in his expression, so she continued: "Maxim Petrovich was a very nice man. He was an army officer. He was a man of principles. He brought up a very cultured and well-mannered daughter. His wife died earlier and despite his handicap he did all that he could to educate his daughter."

Phil interrupted: "Was he a WW2 veteran or an Afghan veteran?"

She said: "No he served in Congo. He lost his left leg as a result of a mine explosion. I always ask myself 'what had they forgotten in that God forsaken Congo?"

Then she took a deep breath and with an expression, as if she was about to undo the last of the Biblical locks, said: "You see the only reason is that we Russians are very nosey. 'Russian Vania' has to put his nose in other people's pie. Despite the price that we always had to pay, the nose keeps itching."

Then she quieted out for a while and continued her circular motions on the front window. She again decided to take a break and said: "Maxim Petrovich always said that one day we'll show the world that we are the best and asked me to believe him that that day wasn't far off. He believed that very soon we'd show them Americans that they are nobody in front of us and that they could dominate everyone but the Russians."

Now this anti American rhetoric again raised her emotions and like wise the blood pressure and her words once again succeeded in achieving the accompaniment of her hands. Waving her hand she said: "I think it's time to destroy this America: This kingdom of evil. These disciples of devil need to be sent to hell."

That waving hand got back to the glass and her circles on the glass got faster. Seemed as if the mere thought of American destruction gave her that extra dose of energy that she needed to hurry her job.

Phil was thinking that if the thought of such destruction energized her so much, what would happen if her wishes would some day come true? He was sure that Valentina Mikhailovna's worn-out heart won't cope with the over dose of excitement and the so dreamt about American disaster could easily become her own angel of death.

While Phil thought, Valentina Mikhailovna quickly kept moving forward on the front window. She had nearly washed the front and only had the side window left to go, before she could call it a day. Phil could see that the job was about done and was basically happy that he had pulled through with Valentina Mikhailovna's catharsis for another day, without showing any signs of boredom.

Right then, when Valentina Mikhailovna was moving from the front to the side window, an Afro-Russian girl, accompanied by two Russian boys, passed by the cafe. Looking at the passing girl, she kind of froze for a moment. Following the passing girl, with her eyes, she kept quiet for a moment, as if recalling something. Then she mumbled: "Mariana... what is she doing here at this early hour?"

Then if changing the focus of her thoughts from the fact of Mariana's early presence on the street, to her biography, she continued: "Her father was from ..... I just can't recall the name of the country. It's an African country and the name starts with letter M. Morocco... No! Mozambique... No! ", and then she really stressed her Winchester and the processor succeeded in finding the needed line in the geographical file.

She exclaimed: "Mauritania. That's where he was from. Mauritania!"

Phil asked: "Why do you say 'was'. Has he died?"

"No! He went back to his Mauritania, leaving the child with Lena: The mother."

She took that relaxing pose again and continued: "I remember he was tall and well built. He had very curly black hair and a very dark skin. So dark that it seemed purple rather than black. He studied at the medical school here."

Completing her sentence she got back to washing the window but continued her spiel: "As soon as he finished his school, he left and never came back. Lena wanted to go with him to his Mauritania. Stupid Lena! She just wanted to get out of the dying Soviet system. She wanted to go to his Mauritania. MAURITANIA"; and she stressed: "One of the poorest countries in the world. But for our hopelessly stupid dames, it makes no difference. They just dreamt and still dream of just getting out of their father land."

She was about finished with the window, but the story of Mariana, Lena and the Mauritanian had just begun and Phil knew that Valentina Mikhailovna was a result-oriented person. So he decided to control the flow of her narration. He asked: "didn't Mariana want to go with her father?"

She answered: "The poor child was too young when he left. She has probably never seen her father. I mean except for the photos probably."

Then she decided to uncover another aspect of the story. She said: "You see, Lena tells Mariana that she met her father in the university, where they studied together, but this is all lies. She never went to no university. She was a municipal janitor. She got her apartment from the state because of that job. She used to sweep the streets and he went to school. Then in his last year of school she got pregnant and soon, after the child was born, he left. Now she lives here with the child, still sweeping the streets and telling the child that she went to school!"

By then Valentina Mikhailovna had already finished the window and was replacing the stuff, that she used for cleaning, back in the drawers. She rounded up the Mauritanian biography saying: " I wish that Mariana wouldn't be so unlucky in her personal life as her mother was."

Valentina Mikhailovna had already replaced everything in the drawers and was putting on her coat, to leave, when the news started on the radio. The newsreader read the headlines and among those headlines was news about American bombardment overnight. This news returned Valentina Mikhailovna's focus on the political scene. She said: "Again this America. This damn country is showing it's military might against a poor helpless country and feeling proud. They should be ashamed of fighting with weaker opponents. Why don't they try this with us? Because they know that we'll answer adequately and they'll suffer as the Nazis suffered in WW2."

Then if she remembered that Phil was a German, she just cut short her speech and changed the topic saying: "Hell with these Americans. Who'd be working in the evening?"

Phil said: "I'll be here."

She just smiled and said: "Oh my dear! You need some rest."

Phil laughed and said: " I need money more than I need rest."

She said: "You need to take care. No wealth can buy you back your health."

She had already picked up her plastic bag and opening the exit she said: "Well see you tomorrow morning then!"

Phil answered: "See you! Good luck!"

She went out and he watched her weakly walking back to her world of expressionless memories as if she didn't want to.