Лениничка
Leninitchka (Little Leninist)
The Story of a Fish Out of Temporal Water
Prologue
*** *** ***
The Russian
Federation, Saint Petersburg, Vasileostrovsky District.
Just off
Novosmolenskaya Embankment No 2. August, 1999. 7:30pm.
*** *** ***
The summer
evening sun shines warmly on a city that is a shadow of its former
self. The gray and oily waters of the Neva host a sea of trash &
debris. Fish heads wrapped in old newspaper rot in a heap on the
sidewalk outside the window from which they were thrown. Unemployed
gopniki squat and drink on street corners. Life goes on in the
Khruschyovkas and Brezhnevkas that were supposed to be temporary
dwellings until Full Communism could eliminate the housing shortage.
In a cruel twist of fate, these gray concrete obelisks instead wound
up outliving the Soviet State that wanted so much better for its
people.
From the lobby of one such tower block emerged a massive mullet headed blonde woman in a worn maroon track suit. Ducking to step through the threshold, her tree trunk legs carried her across the parking lot, over the river, and to the walking trail off the Novosmolenskaya Embankment. Ordinarily there would be a Tramway Cable Car or Trolleybus at the busy intersection of the Embankment, Odoyevsky Street, and Nalichnaya Street where the Primorskaya Metro Station stood, but the Saint Petersburg Transit Workers Strike was still in full swing. Although it was inconvenient having to take an hour walk across the Vasileostrovsky District instead of a 20 minute tram ride, she stood in full solidarity with the Transit Workers Union. Walking by the crowd of striking workers gathered at the station, she raised a fist in the air, chanting along with their demands until shortly after rounding the corner of the Embankment and beginning her journey eastward.
The farther Celina Zielinska got from her flat, the more people stopped to take notice. Random passersby would proclaim “Wow you’re tall!” before asking “How tall are you?” or “Do you play basketball/volleyball?” to which she would dryly respond “Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.” followed by “2.2 meters.” or “I was gold medal basketballitsa at 1980 Summer Olympics and Coach the Saint Petersburg Spartak. My sisters played volleyball.” in a deadpan manner as if she had answered these very questions every day, multiple times a day, for years. Even as a teenager in the 1970s, these three sentences plagued her every public outing. Celina hated it. The entitlement people feel towards her is baffling, as if they have every right to stop her on the street to ask questions or document their sighting of her. Behaving as if she were some sort of sideshow attraction. Though hate it she did, it was easier to simply answer their questions in the hopes their curiosity would be satisfied and they would leave (rather than to ignore them and risk a public confrontation with some jackass’s fragile masculinity).
A few blocks East along the Embankment she turned south and crossed the 17th Street Bridge over the Smolenka River. Passing the Resurrection Orthodox Cathedral, she saw a distant crowd gathered in protest. Bigoted shouting from religious fanatics were just barely audible over the sounds of the river bank. The bellowing haggard voice of the Father condemned fae folk as consorts of the devil and enemies of traditional values to thunderous cheers and applause. Her brow furrowed and eyes narrowed as she muttered a few choice curses under her breath, heading southeast towards the University Embankment off the Neva River. Passing what were once community kitchens and laundry facilities now replaced by Kentucky Fried Chicken and coin operated laundromats left a bad taste in her mouth.
“Excuse me, Coach Zielinska?” Celina’s train of thought was broken and she turned to see a young woman wearing a Spartak Jersey. “May I have a picture?” Her heart warmed and a smile crept its way across her hardened countenance, bringing out the laugh lines around her piercing Baltic blue eyes. The previous anger at the rise of religious fundamentalism, multinational conglomerate junk food, and the privatization of public utilities and social services washed away.
“Of course, child.” With more difficulty than she’d like to admit, her enormity knelt down on to the concrete for a photo. Even while kneeling she was almost a full head taller than her young fan. Ordinarily she wouldn’t stop for photos, but they were making good time. Besides, genuine sport fans who could actually recognize her and call her out by name were different than gawking curiosity seekers or overzealous amazon chasers. Without fans in the seats, athletes would just be playing to an empty room. Where’s the fun in that? Half the appeal of athleticism is in the exhibition.
“Thank you, Comrade Coach!” the girl beamed.
“You are most
welcome. Do you play?”
“I just watch. I am small for
a girl my age,” she lamented. “I always get picked last and
nobody passes me the ball because I’m too easy to block.”
“Do not let that stop you. You know of American Basketballer Mugsy Bogues?” The girl shook her head. “He is only 1.6 meters tall, but mighty. Have you heard of Debbie Black?”
“No, Comrade Coach,” she answered back with curiosity in her voice.
“She plays Basketball with my Cousin Margo in America. She is also only 1.6 meters tall, but her relentless defense earned her the nickname ‘the pest.’ Not much taller than you, and you are still growing.”
The girl’s eyes lit up. “So, there is hope for me yet?”
“With hard work and good teammates, anything is possible!” Celina said in the cheesiest inspirational Soviet PSA voice she could muster. “You won’t win trying to play like Michael Jordan or Uljana Semjonova. But you can learn from Mugsy and Debbie. What you lack in stature or reach you can make up for with nimble quickness and dexterity.”
“How can I do that?”
“You can snatch the ball from the larger players much easier than they can snatch it from you, if you focus on taking advantage of how close you are to their dribbling hands. Focus on ball control, outmaneuvering the bigger players, and assisting your teammates. See if you don’t get more play time that way.”
With starry eyed determination she proclaimed, “I will, Comrade Coach! Thank you Comrade Coach!” before hugging the middle aged basketball legend tightly and running off with a spring in her step.
Slowly and carefully, Celina’s hulking form stood upright once more and she quickly checked her pockets. Once assured everything was still in its place, she resumed her journey south bound along 17th Street until the red bricked building of the Leningrad Communist University loomed ahead in the dimming twilight. The majority of the building had been repurposed to teach marketing and liberal economics to rapidly transition the former administrators of state to be business administrators. The old ironworks sign was still there, but now draped over it was a banner reading “Northwestern Management Institute.” Yesterday they brought up builders of Communism. Today they bring up builders of Capitalism. But a small corner of the building was still rented out by the old Communist Party (despite being an illegal organization since 1991) and served as a union hall, radical library/bookstore, and general meeting hall for community organizations and support groups. One such group was meeting there tonight.
Celina walked past
the main entrance and turned down a narrow alleyway until she found a
set of double doors slightly propped open with a cinder block. Taped
to the door was a dog eared sign reading “Malyenkiye People’s
Solidarity Group Meeting Today! All Malyenkiye Welcome!” She
stood beneath the awning, unsure of herself in the moment.
“We’re
here,” she said, reaching into the pocket of her tracksuit,
wrapping her long slender fingers around the tiny figure inside.
“You sure you want to do this? No pressure. I do think it could
be helpful, but I also understand you are a very private person by
nature. This will only be helpful if you genuinely want to
participate, if you feel forced then it will not be of any benefit.”
The miniscule pocket passenger squeezed her thumb in reassurance.
“Very well, here we go.” With that she opened the door, ducked
her head down to scuttle through the threshold and entered the old
Communist University.