The Cold War

Russia, 1973.

It is a bitterly cold, and hostile country. Clouds of eerie, gray mist, slowly rolls across the vast, bucolic landscape of rural Votkinsk, as thirteen women load heavy baskets of swede, leeks, pumpkins, and cabbages, from the large garden onto a truck, ready to be taken to the market. Whilst a man, dressed in a hefty winter uniform, and carrying a rifle, though not a military officer, he however, appears to resemble one. He stands awatch from on top of the deck of the truck, supervising the workers, whilst another man sits quietly in the cab, smoking a cigarette, with a rifle spread across his lap.

Ludmila Provenskova, Mila for short, is one of the workers in the field. She is happily married to Viktor, who has been stationed in Perm, on his second two year term doing military service, whilst Mila works at the large, produce garden, and taking care of their two children, Ljuben, and Alexa. She has just one close friend at the garden, Yulia, whom she confides in occasionally, but most often, she works diligently, and abidingly, without causing any trouble or antagonism to anyone.

She does her days toil, and each afternoon, both her and Yulia, cycle the three and a half miles home together. However, this day takes a turn for the worse. It was something both she and Yulia had always dreaded, similar to other such times they had seen before.

Mila whispers to Yulia. "My hands are getting cold Yulia. I can't feel my fingers. Look, they've gone bluey-white" as Yulia and Mila quickly look vigilantly to where the guards are posted near the truck, before Yulia catches a glimpse at Milas' fingers.

"You didn't bring any mittens Mila?" asked Yulia. Milas' knuckles are close to ceasing, and showing obvious signs of chilblains. The affected areas on her fingers are angry, reddened, itching, and swelling fast. Sleet now begins to fall intensely, as she tries her aimless best to open and close her frozen and painful hands.

Both women's faces are glowing white. Their pinkish cheeks slowly fade to purple, whilst ice crystals begin to form across their eyebrows and over their tied head-scarves, underneath their thick woollen hats. It was the end of the growing season, and winter had come early. They had to get the last of the remaining crop inside, before they, like some of the vegetables, perished.

"Here have these" Yulia hastily offers, as she removes her wool and leather fingerless mittens. "Quick Mila, put them on, before the guard see's you."

"But Yulia you can't, your hands will freeze" exclaimed Mila sheepishly, as her face exuded astonishment.

"I'll be ok, take them, put them on, quickly Mila!" as Yulia conceals them in her hands, giving them to Mila, as she spies the guard standing on the deck of the truck catch what the two women are doing. He remains standing there idly, with his rifle in his hand, and casually walks away. Nonchalantly, he decides to light a cigarette, as other women begin carrying baskets of produce, walk towards him and onto the truck at the rear.

It begins to sleet heavier now, almost to a white-out; while the remaining women continue filling their baskets before they carry them towards the truck. As the sky almost begins to go dark, a squadron of eight Lavochkin La-9 fighter planes, flying in formation, scream overhead.

"Are you ok?" whispered Yulia. Mila, her shoulders to her ears. She has had enough. To her, living a life of humiliation felt like a prison.

"I don't know, I hate it here" replied Mila shaking her head. "I didn't know what he was going to do when he saw what we were doing."

The other workers were already busy carrying baskets of produce from the garden. They were handing them across to another woman on the truck who began stacking them four baskets high from the front and working their way towards the back as the officer stood on the bed of it overseeing them.

Another one of the other women, Tsenia, is a quiet woman, a Light Being, and someone who, in general, keeps to herself. Although strong, for this virulent emissary, not for a second was she under any obligation to abide or conforming by anyone, let alone...