Fish Change Direction in Cold Weather by Pierre Szalowski Page B
Authors: Pierre Szalowski
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longer, ‘God, I’d like to do her!’ that she saw, but, ‘What a lucky guy!’
As they walked, she thought again about the night before and the lovely, ordinary little meal they’d had, like a real couple. She’d cooked, he’d done the washing up, and
they’d talked about other things besides ice hockey.
‘I left Russia because I had no future there. Under communism, researchers were the elite of the country. They were offered big apartments, good salaries, good working conditions. But
after the collapse of the Soviet Union all those privileges disappeared. I shouldn’t tell you this, and you keep it to yourself, but not everything was so bad under communism . . .’
Julie had promised she wouldn’t tell a soul. But she didn’t tell him that as far as she was concerned, the fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of the Soviet empire suited her
fine. For one thing, she was very happy that millions of people would now know what it was like to live in a democracy. But the most important thing was that, thanks to Gorbachev and his
perestroika, Boris had been able to leave the country and move in across the street.
Then Boris told her about the rationing that had been their daily bread until 1990, how you could only buy goods from the state shops, where poverty was rife.
‘It was awful, inhumane – just like Canada Dépôt!’
Seeing Boris so sad, as he recalled all the worst things about daily life under communism, Julie decided to suggest to her Russian a little trip together, to the very place where he had thrown
in the towel earlier.
Clinging to Boris’s arm like a mussel to its rock, Julie knew just what to do. She was better than anyone at defending an individual’s rights, since she herself had
so often suffered from a total disregard for her own rights.
‘Can you show me where it says that I can only buy two gas canisters?’
‘It doesn’t say so anywhere, Miss! It’s an order from the manager.’
‘I want to speak to the manager!’
‘There’s no point, he’ll only tell you the same thing.’
‘I want to speak to the manager!’
‘You have to take others into consideration . . .’
‘Well, we’ll see about that!’
While Boris looked on, stunned, Julie began to empty the shelf of gas canisters. She left the floor manager no option: he grabbed his walkie-talkie and now the entire store knew what was going
on.
‘I’ve got an emergency over in Camping Goods! Will the manager please come to Camping Goods!’
Boris, worried, rubbed the back of his neck and turned to Julie, who was still filling the shopping trolley.
‘Ten canisters should get us through the night . . .’
‘Don’t you start, you’re not in Russia any more!’
‘Now what?’
Boris turned and found himself face to face with the manager, who was looking around, disappointed not to have more of an audience. In fact, there was no audience at all.
‘You again! I thought I explained how things work here! So, you take two gas canisters, you go to the till, don’t forget your Canada Dépôt tokens, and you don’t
come back until tomorrow!’
Julie chose that moment to turn around.
‘Are you the store manager?’
‘Bambi!’
Now the manager was looking left and right, relieved he didn’t have more of an audience. For a moment Julie stared at the gas bottles, then took one and jiggled it in her palm.
‘Tell me, Freddy, does your wife work here too?’
Freddy understood right away. You can be store manager at Canada Dépôt and like pretty girls. That’s not a crime; at worst, it might be a sin. But if the wife finds out,
it’s not a crime, it’s far worse than that.
‘So how are your fish doing?’
The cashier immediately recognised Boris and greeted him with a big smile and a wink. Julie did not appreciate such aquariophilic familiarity. The manager’s gaze was darting around the
shop, terrified. Was he afraid his wife might show up, or was it that a customer might notice he was
As they walked, she thought again about the night before and the lovely, ordinary little meal they’d had, like a real couple. She’d cooked, he’d done the washing up, and
they’d talked about other things besides ice hockey.
‘I left Russia because I had no future there. Under communism, researchers were the elite of the country. They were offered big apartments, good salaries, good working conditions. But
after the collapse of the Soviet Union all those privileges disappeared. I shouldn’t tell you this, and you keep it to yourself, but not everything was so bad under communism . . .’
Julie had promised she wouldn’t tell a soul. But she didn’t tell him that as far as she was concerned, the fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of the Soviet empire suited her
fine. For one thing, she was very happy that millions of people would now know what it was like to live in a democracy. But the most important thing was that, thanks to Gorbachev and his
perestroika, Boris had been able to leave the country and move in across the street.
Then Boris told her about the rationing that had been their daily bread until 1990, how you could only buy goods from the state shops, where poverty was rife.
‘It was awful, inhumane – just like Canada Dépôt!’
Seeing Boris so sad, as he recalled all the worst things about daily life under communism, Julie decided to suggest to her Russian a little trip together, to the very place where he had thrown
in the towel earlier.
Clinging to Boris’s arm like a mussel to its rock, Julie knew just what to do. She was better than anyone at defending an individual’s rights, since she herself had
so often suffered from a total disregard for her own rights.
‘Can you show me where it says that I can only buy two gas canisters?’
‘It doesn’t say so anywhere, Miss! It’s an order from the manager.’
‘I want to speak to the manager!’
‘There’s no point, he’ll only tell you the same thing.’
‘I want to speak to the manager!’
‘You have to take others into consideration . . .’
‘Well, we’ll see about that!’
While Boris looked on, stunned, Julie began to empty the shelf of gas canisters. She left the floor manager no option: he grabbed his walkie-talkie and now the entire store knew what was going
on.
‘I’ve got an emergency over in Camping Goods! Will the manager please come to Camping Goods!’
Boris, worried, rubbed the back of his neck and turned to Julie, who was still filling the shopping trolley.
‘Ten canisters should get us through the night . . .’
‘Don’t you start, you’re not in Russia any more!’
‘Now what?’
Boris turned and found himself face to face with the manager, who was looking around, disappointed not to have more of an audience. In fact, there was no audience at all.
‘You again! I thought I explained how things work here! So, you take two gas canisters, you go to the till, don’t forget your Canada Dépôt tokens, and you don’t
come back until tomorrow!’
Julie chose that moment to turn around.
‘Are you the store manager?’
‘Bambi!’
Now the manager was looking left and right, relieved he didn’t have more of an audience. For a moment Julie stared at the gas bottles, then took one and jiggled it in her palm.
‘Tell me, Freddy, does your wife work here too?’
Freddy understood right away. You can be store manager at Canada Dépôt and like pretty girls. That’s not a crime; at worst, it might be a sin. But if the wife finds out,
it’s not a crime, it’s far worse than that.
‘So how are your fish doing?’
The cashier immediately recognised Boris and greeted him with a big smile and a wink. Julie did not appreciate such aquariophilic familiarity. The manager’s gaze was darting around the
shop, terrified. Was he afraid his wife might show up, or was it that a customer might notice he was
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