OH, THOSE RUSSIANS by Gloria Moress

Mikhail did not stand as the other man entered, but remained, chin in hand, gazing out of the window at the dirty brown water below. The Omsk office didn’t have the views of St Petersburg, but it was necessary to present in person, however briefly.
Kerensky cleared his throat, an unnecessary annoyance. Mikhail was well aware of his bulk, hovering in his peripheral vision. He swung the chair around to face his opponent, his recent friend.
“Have you made a decision?” Kerensky asked, finally.
Mikhail let the moment hang between them, then announced mildly, “The answer is no.”
“But how can it be? You owe me this, at least.” Kerensky had the characteristic large head and hands of the Northern Slavs, giving him a presence that belied his average stature. In the rough clothes of a miner, he was an imposing figure, but Mikhail remained unpeturbed.
“I owe you a great deal, but this is something even I dare not attempt. The Duma is vigilant, and they will protect their interests. Already you have the contracts for Eastern Siberia Coal and Bering Petroleum. If I give this to you, I will be condemned,” Michael explained.
“But you know what it will mean if one of their cronies gets this contract. It will undermine every move I have made to form an energy cartel that will help propel Russia into the 21st century.”
“Still, I cannot. The favouritism I have shown you in the past has placed me at risk”
Kerensky’s eyes narrowed. “At risk! If it weren’t for my grandfather, there would be no more Romanovs. He only let your grandfather live to use as leverage against the Bolsheviks. Otherwise the Soviets would rule this country, not your hand picked Duma!”
“The Duma have been useful to us both, my friend. They have helped us achieve a great deal so far,” Mikhail countered. “Without them, the infrastructure to move the coal and oil out of this god-forsaken place would still be in its infancy.”
“But now you need to protect yourself, I am left out in the cold. I should have known better than to think you would help any but yourself. Your kind never has. You care neither for your friends, nor your countrymen. They should have shot your grandfather beside Nicholas. At least you can be proud of carrying on the great Romanov tradition of keeping Russia in poverty simply to maintain power!”
He slammed out of the office, but the air remained charged with his fury. Not all his accusations were true, mused Mikhail. Russia had moved forward, not at the pace of her neighbours, but the people were benefiting by manufacturing the technology designed in Poland and Germany. The factories meant jobs, and wages, which put food in the mouths of the people. What more did they want? Millions of Asians lived the same way, their economies marching along quite nicely, without so much as a murmur. The Russian economy would move along better, too, if not for the protests and strikes. He would deal with the insurrectionists more harshly if he didn’t have to maintain a high human rights profile in order to trade with the west. The people had housing, if not always heat, they had water, if not always power, and vodka, if not always bread. He chuckled to himself. Vodka had proved a better opiate for the masses than even the Orthodox Church.
Would things have been so different if the Bolsheviks had succeeded? He didn’t believe that graft and corruption would have remained absent from the communist system, and the workers and peasants would have been elevated in their status. He had heard tales from Kerensky’s grandfather, Alexander, that there had been internal struggles and dissent since 1912, when the Bolsheviks split from the Mensheviks. George Orwell’s Animal Farm portrayed the dilemma beautifully. Anyone who thought they would be better off under the rule of the people ought to read it. Human nature in all its naked ambition, greed, and lust for power depicted so cleverly using farm animals as characters. The workers, like the beasts, had their place, and no matter who ruled them, there they would remain.

Lucky Day by Gloria Moress

I don’t believe in luck. Every cat I own is black, and I have thirteen now Nero has gone. I don’t notice ladders so I can’t tell you if I walk under them or not; and I’ve certainly broken a mirror or two in my time. Not by looking in them, I must hasten to add, so maybe I am lucky. I have put shoes on tabletops and if I spill the salt, my only worry is the waste.
So I must be forgiven for my cynicism when that young man came to the door and announced, “It’s your lucky day…” dragging that monstrous contraption of a vacuum cleaner behind him. Sarsaparilla seized the opportunity to shoot through, and I momentarily envied her. Still, good manners must prevail, so I showed him my polite old lady face, and let him in.
He flipped through a series of glossy placards in a ring binder, talking nineteen to the dozen about “extra features”, “extended warranties”, “unsurpassed performance” and “powerful suction”. I perched on the edge of the armchair, which seemed to encourage him, although it was from necessity rather than interest as Licorice and Sambo were curled up in the seat and Cola was draped along the back. I absently stroked the cat on my lap, Taxi, so named because he was black and white and the later it was at night, the harder he was to find.
The young man had paused in inquiry and I had no idea what he’d last said.
“Well!” I offered.
“So would you like me to demonstrate the turbo suction of the power head on the deluxe model?”
“Why not?”
He emptied his little containers of dust and dirt and dutifully vacuumed them back up, looking to me for gushing displays of awe and appreciation of the “superb cleaning power”. I simply raised my eyebrows, shushing Goblin away when he looked as if he was going to use one of the piles for kitty litter.
“Do you have any questions, ma’am?”
“My main problem is these wretched creatures.” My gesture encompassed twenty-six eyes in shades from pale gold to emerald. Morticia turned an ear back in disdain. “Will it get rid of pet hair?”
“Absolutely!” His eyes gleamed.
“Here’s a spot,” I pointed, “and there. What about upholstery? They shed awfully at times.”
He busied himself getting rid of every last cat hair in the room.
“And the curtains. You did say it could do drapes?”
He almost fell over the elephantine hose in his eagerness to demonstrate this “unique feature”.
“Does it do hard floors? Sweeping gives me a crick in the back nowadays.” I guided him to the kitchen, where he zealously vacuumed, including the corners and awkward places between the cupboards and stove when I asked to see how the attachments worked. Even Felix was persuaded by the massive roaring machine, abandoning his post by the pantry where he spent his days picketing for constant access to food and stalking past us, tail high. Golliwog and Smithy watched from the windowsill with bored derision.
He continued talking about easy finance and payment plans as he packed away his kit. I opened the door and eased him out, pushing Darth and Cinders back in with my foot and using their imminent escape as an excuse to shut the door all but a crack.
“Thank you young man, it is indeed a magnificent machine. I’ll talk to my family about it. I have your card.” I gently closed the last inch of door.
“Well pusses, what do you think?” I asked as Piewackit pressed herself against my legs, her little stuttering motor a relief after the roaring Hypomax Superfilter. I looked at the spotless floors. The carpet hadn’t been this clean in years. Yes, he had done a good job with his contraption, and now I could sit with a nice cuppa.
Perhaps he was right, and it was my lucky day, after all.

Fun in the Sun

(Note: This is a response to a group exercise for which we all volunteered a word or phrase, then wrote a piece which included them. The words were: there, ninny, fast,Timbuktu, Oh my Lord, amble, horse, doggedly, run, lousy)

I stood ankle deep in the hot sand and looked at the camel.
"You've got to be joking! How am I supposed to get up there?"
The man spoke slowly, as if I was a complete ninny, "He lies down for you," he explained, tapping the beast into compliance.
"Are you sure this is the fastest way to Timbuktu?" I asked as I climbed onto the animal's back. "Oh my Lord!" The camel lurched to its feet and ambled forward. It was a long way down.
"Haven't you got a horse?" I hung on with dogged determination and prayed that the thing wouldn't break into a run. My skin was burning and the combination of heat and camel odour was making me queasy. This was turning out to be the lousiet holiday ever.