Waiting for the Electricity by Christina Nichol

thought about how if we sit in the dark long enough to become crazy, we can just sit in the dark some more and then become normal again.
    But mostly we raged against the darkness like Yeltsin against the weather and tried to do something about it. Malkhazi had once tried to make some light from scratch by building a windmill out of the remains of the abandoned tea factory. He spent months on it, but even he was surprised when it actually worked, generating enough powerfor eight-elevenths of his uncle’s house in the village. None of us were all that surprised however, when, two days after he got his windmill to work, the government announced that windmills were illegal. Without electricity we were forced to turn to petrol. But now we had run out of that.
    I made my way down the dark stairs into the dark courtyard in search of some oil coupons for the generator. I sat on an empty oil cistern in the yard, looked up at the cold stars coming through the sky like fax messages. I waited for someone I knew to walk by, but I just heard the complaints again.
    From my little brother Zuka: “The electricity went out and I only got to watch half the movie.” From my mother: “Why does only the governor get electricity?” From Juliet: “There’s no light by which to read at home, so I prefer to stay at the university.” From our neighbor, Sadzaglishvili: “My daughter’s boyfriend is stuck in the ski lift, so we’ve lost our chauffeur.”
    A few years ago a Western aid organization came to town, like a circus troupe in a novel. They called their organization Al-Anon and opened an office in Batumi to help all the wives and sisters of alcoholics. They always said the same thing: “Let go. Let God,” which was a very funny phrase. Al-Anon lasted for about three weeks before shutting down because they realized that we already live that way. Everyone lets God do everything.
    What about individual problem solving? I asked myself. What about having faith in our efficacy? But how is it possible to think deeply about solving the problems of our country when instead we are always thinking about electricity? Always wondering: If I leave the house I may miss the hour of electricity, and then I will have lost my chance to fill up the water bucket. If I leave the tap open, will I return in time so that water doesn’t overflow onto the floor and drip through the ceiling of the downstairs neighbors? Should I take a vacation to the ski resort on Mt. Kazbegi even though I might get stuck in the chairlift when the electricity goes out? Since there was never an electricity schedule we had to plan our day from moment to moment, and never more advanced than that.
     
    I raised my head and announced to the Great Toastmaster in the sky, “I’m tired of thinking about electricity. It’s a very boring subject. I will try to put forth individual effort. And if that doesn’t work out, then I will just give up for good, and toast Your name.”

7.
    O N THE BUS TO WORK THE NEXT MORNING , I SKIMMED THROUGH THE packet of my favorite English verbs: to strive, to aspire, to achieve, to succeed. Outside my office I glanced at the newspaper kiosk. FIGHTING RESUMES IN PANKISI GORGE; PRESIDENT SHEVARDNADZE VOWS TO GIVE UP CORRUPTION—AGAIN; ENVIRONMENTALISTS STILL OPPOSE BCT PIPELINE; MIKHEIL SAAKASHVILI, NEW WESTERN-EDUCATED DEMOCRAT, GIVES SHEVARDNADZE A FRIGHT.
    I leaned closer and read the last article. According to opinion polls this new Saakashvili was the second most popular person in Georgia. Last year he had accused the state security minister and police chief of corrupt business deals. Now he was telling parliamentary members that they needed to keep itemized accounts of where they had bought their Armani suits and Mercedes and explain how they could send their children to Swiss schools. The current government had scoffed at him, had called him a Bolshevik. Wow, he is similar to me, I thought.
    In the lobby, the panduris were humming and twanging