Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 87 Died Early

The morning mist drifted in from the river bend.

Ivan Mikolayovic pushed open the rusty door of the railway dispatch room and coughed.

He was carrying a military green canvas water bottle with a dent in the body, which was caused by a truck door hitting it when he was on a business trip in Donbas in 1985.

He didn't repair it; he kept using it, just like that winter uniform. The cuffs were worn shiny but it was always clean after washing. It had been mended many times, but he still refused to replace it.

"Old Ivan is here again," the guard said, half-jokingly.

"You don't expect the station to start operating on its own, do you?" Ivan snorted and strolled past him.

He walks slowly because of his bad legs and knee problems caused by a work injury he sustained years ago.

But he never complained of pain; he would only apply alcohol several times when the pain became unbearable, as a form of relief.

The dispatch room was empty.

The director went to Simferopol for a meeting just the day before yesterday.

Several young people were either slacking off by smoking or lining up to call and report their pay stubs for the next month.

Ivan sat at the table in the far corner and wiped the dust off the edge of the work surface with his own rag.

The telephone on the table is broken; one of the buttons is missing, and it can't be fixed no matter what I try.

The stove crackled and popped, and as Ivan listened to the sound, he was reminded of the days when he was building the railway in Brest-Litovsk.

He was only in his early thirties at the time, working from dawn till dusk, his back aching, but he never felt bitter.

Because we firmly believe that the free development of each individual is the condition for the free development of all.

Later, he stopped relying on the Soviet Union, but he still held onto that hope.

Like a habit, or an old talisman, not for blessings, but simply to avoid going completely insane in this absurd world.

"dad."

At that moment, the door was pushed open, and it was Oksana.

She looked haggard, wearing a faded nurse's uniform, a knotted cotton scarf around her neck, and a canvas bag slung across her shoulder.

"Why did it end so early?"

Ivan placed the kettle by the stove, unscrewed the lid, and a puff of white steam rose from the spout.

"The hospital is closed, the pipes have burst, and the whole building smells of blood and sewage."

As Oksana spoke, she turned around and carefully closed the door. "The doctors all went to the city hall to protest, so I came over first."

She didn't mention that she hadn't slept all night.

Ivan knew she was on the night shift, knew she had been standing for ten hours, and knew she probably hadn't even had time to eat.

But he didn't say any of that.

He simply nodded, as if he could hear the rhythm of wheels rolling on the rails in the distance.

"The fire is almost out," Oksana said softly.

She pulled a coal briquette from the corner and threw it into the furnace.

The firelight suddenly brightened, illuminating my face, making me look as pale as the frost that had accumulated outside the window overnight.

Ivan opened the drawer next to the table, took out a tea bag, put it in a cup, poured water from the kettle, and handed it to his daughter.

Taking the cup, Oksana pursed her lips, hesitated for a long time, and finally spoke:

"Dad, Pavlo's medication has been stopped."

She said this as if a huge weight had been lifted from her chest.

"The supply of imported drugs has been cut off."

"We can't even get our hands on the counterfeit ones."

"Yesterday a doctor said that if he is not arranged to go to Kyiv for dialysis and tissue matching as soon as possible, his condition will worsen."

Ivan's hand holding the teacup trembled slightly.

"That son of a bitch government. They don't care about anything."

"Hospitals are like markets, and doctors are like businessmen."

“We need money, Dad. Lots of money. At least $20,000.”

Ivan remained silent.

He certainly knew what that number meant to them.

That little bit of money called "wages" was only deposited every few days, and by the time it reached my hands, it wasn't even enough to buy a bag of potatoes.

Kabenvanets are no longer accepted in the market; even roadside liquor vendors require rubles or dollars. "I can try borrowing some from my colleagues."

He said in a low voice, knowing full well that it was just an excuse, and even he felt uneasy about it.

Oksana was well aware of this as well.

So she didn't reply, but slowly took an envelope out of her bag and handed it to him.

"What is this?" Ivan frowned slightly.

“It was written by Lieutenant Colonel Lavrentiev.” She paused. “He said he remembered you.”

“He’s managing something right now. Dad, he said if you’re willing to help him arrange a car just once, he can give you this money.”

Ivan's face immediately darkened.

“How many times have I told you? I don’t do that kind of thing.” His tone was icy. “Even if the document comes from above and has a huge stamp on it.”

Oksana lowered her head, not daring to look at him, but her voice trembled slightly.

"But that's you. You've always been you."

"You're so stubborn, even when your mother goes into the operating room."

She couldn't hold back any longer and tears welled up in her eyes.

"I only have my child left, Dad."

“Pavlo can’t wait any longer, he really can’t.”

A long silence fell over the room.

The coal in the stove was almost burned out, with only a few clusters of dark red sparks dancing at the bottom.

Ivan didn't reply. He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the empty railway tracks.

The track leads eastward.

Not far away, a row of old trucks were parked, covered in dust, and filled with unidentifiable military supplies.

During these days, he heard countless stories.

Some people used railways to transport weapons, some smuggled military radios, and others secretly moved decommissioned missile parts.

Anything is possible, as long as you have the means.

And he was the last link in that transportation track.

After thinking for a long time, Ivan finally spoke.

“When I was young, someone wanted me to change the position of a train car on the list, just the position, it wouldn’t affect safety.”

"I didn't agree."

"As a result, he found someone else, the train derailed, and seven people died."

“I sat in the dispatch room all night, thinking about the faces of those seven people and their families.”

“Dad, I’m not asking you to hurt anyone.” Oksana tried to calm herself down. “This time it’s different. There won’t be any accidents, and no one will die because of it.”

Ivan did not turn his head.

He stared at the rusty rail, as if trying to see his entire life through it.

Seeing that her father remained silent, Oksana could no longer suppress her anxiety.

"Dad, now that things have come to this, what are you still insisting on?"

"How can you face anyone in this state?"

"The people? The system? The party? Which one?"

She gritted her teeth, tears streaming down her face again, but she continued speaking:
"Do you know that they were the ones who first took down the flags, then put on suits, stood on the stage and said: From today onwards, we will engage in market-oriented and modern governance."

"The Soviet Union is long dead!"

"But why are you still so stubborn?"

"Dad, why? Why?"

Ivan did not answer.

The room fell into a deathly silence.

After a long while, he slowly sat down, his fingers tracing the slightly curled corners of the letter.

Next, fold it back up and put it back in the drawer.

(End of this chapter)