Dammit, I missed another day! I have no excuses this time, good or otherwise. I was just having a lovely day with RZ, and forgot.
Last night, though, I had an incredibly vivid dream that merits Doodling. I dreamed that I was a young girl in the Soviet Union, and that there was a famine, and that everyone was being relocated forcefully to labor camps because there was no work to be had where we were. I was on a train, grouped with a bunch of other children who had been taken from their parents.
One of the children was a small baby who’d been taken away from her mother. She had a few little trinkets, pins and heirlooms, on her person that could help in reuniting her with her mother in the future. One of them was a small coral-colored pin with an imprint of her mother’s thumbprint carved into it. The adult women who were our guards and the “bad guys” of the dream were trying to collect anything of value from us, but I managed to give them a different pin, and hide the coral one amongst the baby’s clothes, so that she wouldn’t lose it.
Later, that incident backfired on me, when I got in trouble for something else. Everyone was very hungry all the time, being as we were in the middle of a famine, and the supervisors were withholding food from us. But, some of the other children had found a half-finished wheel of cheese. And it just so happened that I’d been concealing a knife in my sock the whole time. I produced the knife and began to cut pieces of cheese from the diminutive wheel and distribute them to the children.
But I was caught. At first, I thought to use my knife as a weapon to stave off the supervisors, but then thought better of it. I was badly outnumbered, and had noplace to run, being on a speeding train. I surrendered the knife, and was ordered to move to a different car, both as a punishment, and because I was to find the baby from before and give the coral pin to the supervisors, who had discovered my little treachery.
As I walked down the jolting train aisle, peering amongst the various babies, searching for my old friend, I heard whispers that Lenin was on board. I looked up, my heart racing with anxiety and anticipation. And sure enough, there at the end, was the man who had brought the Revolution to us, who had changed all our lives so much.
He didn’t look like the Lenin of reality or of ideology. He didn’t have the signature goatee or the Asian eyes. He wasn’t standing straight, reaching for the glorious future, declaiming on the indomitable forces of history. He had close-cropped, scruffy white hair. He was unshaven, slouching. He looked confused and sad.
Trembling violently, little 12-year-old me stood before him and began to cry with emotion, and said, “Господин Ленин, спасибо за все, что Вы сделали для нас — Lord Lenin, thank you for everything you have done for us.”
And then I woke up.