4.11 Stalin Mansions

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11. Stalin Mansions

Sitting next to Boris in the car, Olga realizes she has seen no dogs or cats.

   “Boris, love, don't anyone keep pets here?”

   “Pets? Little brother Eduard has guppies, mice and crickets he studies for biology.”

   “No, sweet, I mean dogs and cats.”

   “Before Revolution.  But during Civil War people were starving and ate them, and when our Soviet took over we realized it chance to get rid of capitalist affectations.” He slows for intersection.
   “Affectations? Darling! Li’ll’ puddy cats and cute poodles are a lady's sign of success, don't you know?” Olga is not serious; she just wants to provoke a response and does.
   Boris replies: “We think keeping dog or cat unhealthy – infection passed to human, allergy from fur. Pet gets abandoned and becomes wild city animal that have to be trapped and disposed of. And eats up food. And … the excretions?  We do not miss dog or cat pet at all.”
   Boris turns the car right, parks then adds “Also, Olenka, you should consider the animal position. Why make animal a social parasite? Dogs were tamed long ago and serve well helping to hunt and farm. We communists want a world without social parasites: where we-all animals serve good purpose and enjoy independent and socially collective lives. I think dogs have fine future. My mama, who is psychologist, tells of experiment in communication that late Professor Pavlov's group is doing. Animal communication! Dogs are intelligent and it is expected we may teach them mathematical sound language based on bark frequencies but cats too stupid.”
   He gets out of car and goes to open door for Olga but she gets out herself commenting: “Darling, don't make a social parasite of me!” They stand by the car; it is warm and the sky is white with clouds.

   Olga's apparel is as usual faultless and haute couture: green velveteen dress with pleats on sides and front and back, and the hem is midway between ankle and knee. A frilly white high collar covers neck and two decorative pockets form outlines over small breasts. Her sleeves come down to wrists where furry black cuffs look cute. Sheer silk stockings give a tan tint to calves curves and brown strap shoes on platform heels complete her fashion look.

   Boris in light gray slacks and black wool sweater with open V giving hairy view of chest stands in brown moccasins gazing at Olga, like teenage boy in love. He never tires of her view starting with her hair artfully arranged in brow bang to give a selfish bad girl look. Hers is a face some might call hard and cynical, dominated by flat oriental eyes under darkened emphasized eyebrows. Her small dainty nose, rather thin lips widened by cerise lip shade, and firm little chin round out a picture of the charmant chanteuse.

   “Well, do I pass muster, darling? Dost like? Am I swell to thou?”

   “What is this ‘pass the mustard’, Olenka? I do not comprehend.”

   “No matter, darling, I tell you later.” Abruptly she claps right hand to top of head. “Oh, Boris precious, my hat! In the car!”
   He opens car door and she gets out a black toreador hat with fine mesh veil slit in front. Using car window as mirror she sets hat on head and adjusts veil then they cross to far sidewalk connected to road by a low curb. The pavement is gravel-covered cement blocks nicely laid. She has good eye for art and artifice.

   She looks about and notes rows of city housing coming off this main road, which is right-angle dead-end for the side roads on which sit blocks of 3-story apartment buildings. It is on the north border of Khabarovsk, and beyond the pavement she can see bushes, rocks and open lots that verge into forest of foothills of mountains now blurred by clouds.

  These long residential buildings - thinks Olga, recalling the American board game "Monopoly" which she used to play with her dad as a kid - look just like the Monopoly buildings on a game board. Looking left and then right she counts a 5-block housing development each block having its long 3-story building looking like a military barrack for officers and each one in a different pastel brick.

                                                       

The building on the block where Boris lives faces them. Its frontage shows sash windows at regular intervals and spacious landscaping with bordering lawns and gingko trees. Except for Boris's model T Ford parked car, the area is empty and impresses Olga with its peaceful residential aura.

   “What is this?” Olga asks, indicating the apartment houses with wave of right hand.

   “What you see is ‘Stalin Housing Project’. Our esteemed leader wants the people to enjoy spacious housing but he does not like the high building, city planning projects of America; he wants our people close to Nature.”

   “Are these buildings typical?”

   “Not yet, Olenka. There are many pressing matters – national and science, five-year plans - and, with war looming, Comrade Stalin is preoccupied. This is demonstration housing; our city Soviet pushed hard for it and got the materials but had to promise volunteer labor; so five years ago everyone from Old Grandma to near toddler gave time and energy as Marx and Engels wrote ‘From each according to ability, to each according to need, balanced by availability'.

   “Like a little Japanese improvement, eh Boris boy?” But her joke does not connect.

   “Because I am up and coming diplomat, child of the Party, selected by our esteemed leader, and my parents are scientists we occupied premises earlier. But still too many live in pre-Revolution housing like you saw in other part of city. If our young Union will only be left alone by the capitalists and not involved in war, we can build for all.”
   “Boris, from where I stand it looks like that Hitler man ain't going to allow it.”
   “Olenka, our leader trusts Germany because, after all, its regime does profess Socialism so we think that Mr. Hitler could be useful ally and we sell Germany wheat and oil and buy her technology and expertise. In alliance with Socialist Germany we should be able to persuade the capitalists to leave our new experiment in peace.”
   Olga does not like politics. Once you got Boris started, she thinks, he can't stop haranguing about it. She tiptoes up to his lips and kisses him. "Let's go, Bo, and see your family.

                           To read on, now, click 4.12 Olga Meets Family