Icy Communication
With his fellow Mongolians heading back to Mongolia, The Nephew notices the stranded Afghan split on where to go. His home has fallen into crisis, and his Russian, limited, stands no benefit with personal travel around the Soviet Union.
The Nephew didn't hear anything further about his uncle. Only radio silence and icy communication from his superiors that certain dialogues had been investigated. One of theirs, disguised as any worker in the factory, in fact, on another payroll, employed by the far-reaching Soviet apparatus. A system that had brought work and security for people all over the USSR, near its borders, and elements of inner prosperity. These workers often came from worse conditions, worse off places, and sought refuge in the snowy north, looking like grey slush, lacking sunlight. Everyone had no identities other than comrades, emphasizing communism, not individualism. A collective harnessed by Soviet authorities, ironing out differing differences.
Still, The Nephew toils for wages, working long shifts, living in monotony, and hearing nothing from his Uncle, perhaps a professor no longer. The power to silence and censor came with the power to give and protect, a strange blend for some but comforting for others, uninterested in life without pure liberty and pure choice. The Nephew realizes and understands how people have decisions made for them and how people have decisions made by themselves. He collects his wages, saving them then distributing them to any family back home, unsure of their whereabouts, and hopes to return to Mongolia soon. All the workers will have a week off soon.
That week takes ages to arrive, and supervisors and leads observe the workers, meeting quotas and underperforming in standards. Some of these workers from places outside the Soviet Union attest that lacking innovation or competitive research resulted in this decline, this sapping of great industry into degradation and deprecation. The funny thing about men, per The Nephew's observation, is how talk sparks new ways, new methods, and new approaches to old systems. Like an imperfect, grey machine that has systematic malfunctions, those errors can be corrected. This talk happen infrequently, privately, for the frequent, public talk pertained to their holiday.
Many workers soon could return to their families, but few had any families to visit or places to go. The Nephew, with his fellow Mongolians, heading back to Mongolia, notices the stranded Afghan, split on where to go. His home has fallen into crisis, and his Russian, limited, stands no benefit with personal travel around the Soviet Union. He looks lost, counting his earned wages. The Nephew could equally return to a risky crisis back home. At least someone could be with him, who would see an unknown place in familiar company. He invites the Afghan to join them.
Boarding one of the sleeper trains, destination Ulaanbaatar, a day's train ride away, he offers the Afghan some cigarettes, a sign of subtle friendship between the workers, who takes one. Once on the train, heading towards Mongolia, their brown duffel luggage put away in a luggage compartment, they smoke in a smoking area, sharing stories. Newspapers, playing cards, and cigarettes, all available for purchase at the factory, came along on the train ride, a means to keep workers preoccupied, yet a means to preoccupy this Afghan. The Nephew took the initiative, teaching him more card games, how to read Russian from the newspaper, and, of course, learning about this place called Afghanistan. Once ruled by the Mongol Empire long ago, times have changed for their people, both feeling the influence of the USSR.
The Afghan smokes. He has a story to tell. He has a future within his mind. He knew a place that may never be home.
