Consequences Unforeseen

Foros, June 12th 1991 - The early hours of the morning.

 

Foros June 12th 1991 – The early hours of the morning.

They never did meet on the beach again. Neither of them anticipated this outcome and in fact they were both looking forward to continuing their jovial interludes and enjoying further beers together.

For her part Raisa was relieved to have her husband converse on lighter matters than the current crisis looming ever worse in Moscow. In fact she reflected that he had become better natured over the past couple of days and was glad of that.

This Bill Douglas guy had a brilliant sense of humor and seemed to understand the nuances of Soviet character and dry, though not sarcastic twisting of words. She always admired her husband for his knack of pulling double entendres from almost any controversial statement or anecdote.

It was close to one in the morning when the call came from his chief of staff as they were finishing yet another good cognac together and she tried hard not to let her disappointment show, for it was obvious something was going on that required his immediate return to the Capitol and the Kremlin.

The President slammed the phone down with disgust and cursed under his breath. He spluttered, “Fucking retarded bastards, all of them.” He paused to let his breath come back and continued, “They see the pain, the hunger and the unrest growing daily but still they resist the sanity of what I am proposing. For God’s sake the Republics want their independence and God alone knows we cannot continue to support their financial needs; but fuck me if those assholes in the KGB and old guard give a fuck about any of that!”

She raised her eyebrows once again, this time in concern but remained silent. He was on the brink of changes to the constitution which in times past would have seen him ousted and shot as a traitor to the Soviet Union.

She felt he was the only person who could avert civil war on a scale beyond that of the revolution. The potential for carnage and genocide could never be estimated. It made her shiver just to give the thoughts a presence in her soul.

She walked to him and hugged him from behind. She could not see them, but she knew the tears had welled up in his eyes. But for the effort he was making she knew he was close to breaking down.

“When are we leaving then? Was all she said finally, even though she knew the answer: First light no doubt and off to the airport at Simferopol where the big jet was probably already being given final preparations for their departure.

He didn’t respond, but nodded his head first in agreement but then from side to side with a deep and heartfelt sigh of anguish. “Fuck them all,” he muttered and pulled her with him inside and to bed…

Bill Douglas of course knew none of this, and he was in a lighthearted mood climbing up into the hills on a night permeated with almost exotic scents rising in the hot air from the trees and flora surrounding him.

He had consumed a bit too much of a different beer – the Obolon that his Uncle John preferred – so he decided to take the long winding climb up the tracks designed for the Churchgoers and tourists in years gone by.

No critters seemed to be out and about tonight either, such was the silence. Not even the usually loud and crackling crickets were entertaining the hills with their rising and falling waves of noise. He wondered what predators were lurking about in the trees to give such a ghostly tinge to the atmosphere.

The moon was rising late tonight as well, showing itself as a huge sliver of silver on the horizon. He paused in a clearing and climbed a rocky outcrop to take it in as it rose quickly into the purple of the night sky and begin to cast shadows through the trees below him, and turn the rock of the cliff face a shimmering bronze and silver.