Words to Live By - A Countryhumans SovAme Story

Act I, Chapter V - A Time When We Come Together

July 1936

Moscow, Soviet Union

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The Olympics are meant to be a time where politics are put aside, and countries join together for some friendly competition in sport. However, during periods of political strife they become tools of propaganda, places to exercise your ideology and "morals" in the face of others. Though I admit I've been guilty of this before, namely in 1980, in 1936 the thought of someone boycotting the Olympics was near-unheard of. Using them to display your supremacist ideals, however, was about to become a staple of that year's games.

I was drinking Russian tea at my close friend's kitchen table while she watched the soup she was cooking for dinner. Ukha, she called it. Fish soup.

"Funny that you call that tea of yours Russian tea," Soviet said, "I've never heard of it!"

I chuckled, "I expected that. I've been drinking this stuff since the 1890's, but I still have no idea why they call it Russian! It's a southern thing as far as I can tell. I make it in mason jars back home. Nothing compares to some good sweet tea, though," I smiled as I said this, glancing out the window to Moscow, framed by garish wallpaper and red curtains. The entire apartment was decorated with wallpaper like that, but she seemed to love it. The kitchen table itself was a bistro-style table, though a bit bigger, and the kitchen counter was littered with things that could not find a place in the cabinets. I found myself wondering how she cooked with such a cluttered kitchen.

"Interesting," she said, taking my mind off of the mess, "Make me a cup of that and we'll see. I should make you some real Russian tea, I've got a samovar in here somewhere..."

"Oh, I think I know what that is. The Russian Empire made some for-," I cut myself of sharply as I heard her take in a quick breath. I wasn't sure if I should speak of the Russian Empire with her.

"Yes," she murmured quietly after a moment of tense silence, "the one I own was my mother's."

I stared at her back as she ladelled the soup into two bowls, feeling guilty.

I shouldn't have brought that up.

She brought the soup bowls over to the table, and I could see her trying to brighten up her expression.

"So," she said, bringing the conversation back around to playful chatting as she placed the bowls down, "the Olympics, eh?"

I felt myself smiling, grateful for the lightening of the conversation.

"Yeah. Held in Berlin, with that creepy German."

We both laughed. 

"Yeah, I'm not going to be competing this year, the same as last time," she said, but she didn't seem dejected in the slightest.

"What is up with that, then?" I asked.

"Oh, I'm still working on some things with this country. We don't exactly have time for that kind of stuff."

I nodded understandingly. Apparently, another reason was that she and many Communist party leaders thought of the Olympics as "tools of Capitalism," but she didn't say that.

"I know how it feels," I said, "it took ages to work out just one of the major kinks in my country, and we've still got some big problems."

She nodded, "I imagine it did, with that Civil War you had."

I nodded, but glanced away. I hated thinking about the Civil War. I felt some unwanted anxiety bubble up in my stomach as I thought of the way it had ended, of him, but I felt Soviet's warm hand on mine before I could break down. She must have noticed the automatically sickened expression on my face.