by Terri Dixon
Part XXXIV
We all have our ways of handling fear and managing trying; jumping in or climbing down, a direct approach or a delay, joyful or miserable, a spirit of adventure, or God help me, get this thing over with.
-Kristin Armstrong
After losing my buzz and all of my tea, I was suddenly famished. Boris and I went to the dining car to eat while the train finished its journey. The dining car had the same elegant atmosphere as bar car. It too was decorated with lavish curtains and fine linens. Boris and I sat down, and we were immediately approached by a waiter. Of course, the waiter spoke to Boris and not me, but I’d come to accept that as customary on Russian trains. I didn't like it, but there was apparently nothing I could do about it.
I don’t know if it was the surroundings of the dining car, or the time in Russia, but I had the strongest craving for cabbage. I ordered a big bowl of Borscht, with lots of sweet black bread. Russia served sweet black bread everywhere. I hadn't had a chance to eat much while in the country, but that bread was delicious. I couldn’t get enough of the cabbage. I had two bowls of Borscht, and about a half of a round loaf of the sweet black bread. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten a whole meal, so I ate like there was no tomorrow. Besides, with my stomach feeling queasy, I figured I could use a little food in my belly.
Out the window, it was daylight finally. The land was blue, glowing in the noon light. The eerie blue silhouetted skyline of St. Petersburg appeared on the horizon. There it was, coming up faster than I’d anticipated. Land of the Tsars, the Northern Capital, Russia’s European city. To me it was magic.
Moscow was modern and functional. It was where the current government resided. It was modern and sleek, dirty and bustling, loud and smelly. St. Petersburg was mythical and exotic, frozen and filled with canals, larger than life and elegant. Peter the Great had built this city to be like so many of its European counterparts. Instead, he had created a one of a kind jewel that had been nicknamed the Venice of the north.
It was strange how the sun was due South because of winter, yet the city to the North glowed blue as though the sun was sitting right in the middle of it under a color wheel. I wondered how long the light would last. Days had been short for us before, but now we were bordering the Arctic Circle. Daylight couldn’t last long in the frozen north of St. Petersburg. It was mesmerizing. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the horizon and the mystical town that was rising up like a blue Phoenix from the death of the Russian winter.
Boris looked out the window as was I. “There she is. The Star of the North. That’s what we call her here in Russia. She’s had so many names that it’s tough to keep up. Leningrad, Petrograd, St. Petersburg more than once. Such an important city that everyone wants it to be named after them. I wonder what they’ll call it next.”
“Surely you jest,” I scoffed. “There is only one St. Petersburg. I would think that after that whole Soviet debacle that people would realize that even if you change its name, it is still St. Petersburg. A rose by any other name you know.”
“Ah yes, Shakespeare. Why is it that your people are so fascinated with England and Paris and Shakespeare, but you have little to no interest in Dostoyevsky, Tsars, and Russia? Are we that boring?”
“Not to me. I don’t know. I suppose it’s just easier to teach the same old stuff. Not much changes in France and England these days. Shakespeare has been the same for over 400 years. Maybe with all of the changes that go on in some parts of the world, it's easier to follow them.” I thought about that one for a moment. “Did that sound as absurd to you as it did to me?”
“Yes.” Boris looked out the window at the approaching city. “She is beautiful. I hope that I have time enough to show some of it to you.”
“I guess we won’t be going anywhere until the airport is up and running.”
The voice came over the speaker again. “We are approaching St. Petersburg. We will be arriving at St. Petersburg Moscovski Station in approximately 15 minutes. Please have your luggage ready for departure upon arrival. Thank you for traveling on the Nikolaevsky Express. Thank you for your patience with the weather conditions during our journey. We apologize for the inconvenience. For travelers who were planning to fly today, there will be delays and cancellations. There is more inclement weather predicted for the latter part of the day. The airport is closed for the day. Thank you.”
“Looks like we’ll have some time on our hands,” I said. “I don’t know if anything will be open for you to show me, but we can try. That is if there are no police looking for me.”
“I don’t think you will have to worry about the weather. Russians are used to getting around in the snow. We are well practiced on the northern roads. As far as Kostov's men; I do not know where they are or if they have any idea where you went.”
“I would love it if I had some breathing room. I've never been this far north. How cold is it?”
“Damn cold. Most of the time in January, it doesn’t rise above -20 very often.”
“Is that Fahrenheit?” I asked.
“No, Celsius. In Fahrenheit that would be about -5.”
“That doesn’t make it sound much better.”
“Damn cold is the only way I’ve found to accurately describe it.”
Great. Damn cold is the only way to describe it. How about friggin’ dark too.
By the time we left the train, the southern sun was setting for the day. Tania was coming around from her drunken stupor. She’d missed the brief daylight while she was passed out. I didn’t have the heart to talk about it, for fear she’d flip out again. I felt it was best if I helped her get her things together.
St. Petersburg Moscovski was another grand train station. I wished that we had those in America. The one that people traveled from where I lived was just a platform in Waterloo, a small town about thirty miles north of Fort Wayne. It was a far cry from the glass domed enormous multi platform lavishly decorated wonders that I’d been seeing in Russia. The wonderful thing about traveling in Russia was that everywhere I went I felt special. I felt like a celebrity every time I got off of a train in one of those lavish train stations. It was amazing. I felt that even though I was traveling on a budget, I was traveling first class, or so I thought. I wondered suddenly if I’d been traveling like a queen and not known it. Peter had made the arrangements.
I caught up with Boris' quick pace as I pulled my bag along the platform. Tania lagged behind, barely able to function after her recent inebriation. She would catch up eventually.
It was only for a brief second that I wondered why Boris was walking so fast when he left the train. It was colder than I’d ever felt on those platforms. Suddenly, I felt as though my lungs were freezing. It was difficult to breathe. Oh, my God, it was cold. I nearly ran to the station door. Tania caught up quick once she hit that cold as well.
We caught up with Boris in the main terminal building. It was beautiful. It was elegant. There were marble walls and painted ceilings. There were sculptures and paintings on the walls. It was almost like being inside of an art museum, only it was much colder and a lot busier. Boris looked around the terminal. He was looking for his sister.
“Now what?” Tania asked as she stopped and held her head and squinted at the lights.
“Now we find my sister,” Boris answered. He was still looking around the room.
“If you tell me her name is Natasha, I’m going to hurl,” Tania groaned.
I had to admit, the Bullwinkle cartoons entered my mind every time I heard or thought of the name Boris.
The Ring of the Queen
XXXV
Big sisters and brothers... I am telling you, it never changes.
-Janet Jackson