An elderly couple kindly invited us into their home. They gave Anika and I tea and food and were excited to have visitors. They called a government office and said an agent would come talk to us the next day. They were very kind, and the lady reminded me a bit of Great-grandmother. We were happy to sleep on their living room floor, indoors for the first time in two weeks. We wore only our underwear and a single blanket, but felt a little too warm.
Surprisingly, the Soviet government was efficient. The immigration agent arrived with a pair of soldiers before lunch. She was a tall, thin, angry-looking lady. Anika spoke to her, since she was older and understood Russian better. In the back of the agent’s car, she explained, “In the Russian immigration system, young men and women live in different buildings. I told her our last names are the same because we’re married. That’s the only way we can stay together. She got you a job loading trucks, and I’ll be a cook. We’ll have a small apartment in Volkhov. Once we’ve been here two years, we can join the Soviet Army.”
I objected, “That’s almost forever!”
She shrugged. “I know, but it’s the only way.” She cheered me up with, “We’ll have a week off work, since this is our honeymoon. Imagine warming each other up in a real bed, or maybe even a hot bath!”
I switched to Russian and said, “I love you, wife!” I kissed her. The next day we heard the government of Ostnordia had fallen. Our nation was no more. We consoled each other with cheesy potatoes, caviar on toast, vodka, and lots of sex.
A week later we were overjoyed when Father knocked on our door. It was great to see him again, but we had some extremely difficult explaining to do.
Leave a Reply