Aisha stammered as she translated the Russian words: Discipline and Obedience are the Foundation of Social Order. The school's headmistress, Irina Volkrov, slammed a ruler loudly on the desk.
“Not acceptable!” Volkrov barked in Russian. Aisha didn't flinch. She understood the school administrator’s speech, but never let on. She'd been listening to Russian speeches for sixteen months, ever since the occupation began. Her parents had taken the family to a mountain hideout at the start of the invasion, and they always tuned in to government broadcasts.
“We’re going down to the town, Aisha,” her mother announced one day. “The government issued a proclamation. Anyone who is not registered will be considered a combatant. Our status here, in the mountains, will no longer be regarded as passive retreat, but will be considered active resistance.”
“So?” Aisha was defiant. “We can’t roll over and just let them take our country. We can’t cooperate.”
“Aisha, we’re a family, not soldiers. If your father and I didn’t have children we might consider taking a chance and staying in the woods. But we have you and your brother and sister. We’re responsible for you. It’s inevitable we will be discovered eventually. Then what? What do you think they will do with you children? You’ll be taken away, put in a camp, and subject to harsh measures intended to make you compliant.”
“They will never make me compliant.”
“We are going Aisha. The time will come when you make your own decision, but you are only fifteen and cannot make it now. Your place is with the family. We need you. We need your help with Joshua and Ruth.”
That was a month ago. Her family was at first regarded with suspicion when they came down from the mountain, but her father’s story about being a naturalist and collecting specimens was accepted, especially after he joined the Cultural Ministry. Her mother set up a day care designed to accommodate children of Russian administrators. To all appearances the family had accepted Russian rule and was assimilating into the new social reality.
That is, everyone but Aisha. From the moment they abandoned their hideout she planned to leave home. She didn’t want to speak the Russian language, learn the Russian version of history. It hadn’t taken the new government long to print alternate books, to present their version of the conquest.
“You must study this text, Aisha,” her mother insisted. “You’re not obliged to believe it, but you need to know it, and be able to repeat it.”
“But Mom, what about Ruth and Joshua? What will they believe? Will this rubbish, these lies, become truth for them? I won’t be involved in it.”
“There’s nothing we can do, Aisha. We need to live, to survive. Maybe some day there will be an opportunity, but not now…”
“Do you see what it says here?” Aisha was pointing to a page in her new history book. She read aloud: "The United States rotted from within."
Aisha hesitated.
"Well, I guess that's sort of true. I remember the protests, and then the riots. Soldiers in the streets. I was young, but ICE became a dirty word. It reached the point where I was afraid to go out. Every time you left the house, I worried you wouldn’t come back. Yes, as a society we were falling apart, before Russia took us apart."
“You know, Aisha, this book does what almost every history book does. It takes the facts and molds them to fit a story. The story of Russia’s victory doesn’t have to be distorted very much to sound bad. It says here that we alienated our allies and stood alone. That’s true. Remember Greenland? Remember the tariffs? Remember Canada, the so-called 51st state?”
“But what about this section, Mom? This is BS : Mother Russia saved the country from itself. With the elimination of the hegemonic United States empire, world order became possible. Along with our trusted ally, China, Russia established a geopolitical reality governed not by East or West, but by a common planetary solidarity."
Aisha pointed with disdain at one sentence in the book.
“And here it is again, that damned phrase, plastered all over the school: Discipline and Obedience are the Foundation of Social Order. I pretend not to be able to read it in Russian, but I know that phrase by heart. Discipline and obedience. The end of democracy.”
Her mother’s gentle face registered concern and resignation. She placed her palm on the open book.
“You will destroy yourself and the family if you keep this up, Aisha. One person cannot stand against such a great force. This is the reality of our lives. You know, it wasn’t good before. Things had gotten out of hand. We were not good neighbors to other countries. Of course we love our country, our history, our culture, but his nation faltered long before Russia invaded.”
Aisha jumped to her feet.
“Mom! You either drank the Kool-Aid or you are a coward. They came at us when we were weak. We never gave up on who we were. We just had some bad elements. It would have worked out, but then they came. I won’t live under them. I won’t do it. I’m an American. I will live and die as an American and they cannot brainwash me.”
Aisha bolted from the room, ran out the door and down the street. She wove through a warren of alleyways until she reached the shell of a building. She pushed aside a collection of trash pails and opened a scarred, wooden door.
“Serge, are you here?”
From the shadows a slender figure emerged. He wore a turned-around baseball cap. Forbidden attire in the new regime.
“Aisha, you alone?”
“Yes. I think we have to move up our plans. Things are getting impossible at home. I can deal with school, but not my family, not their betrayal.”
“Have you contacted the others?”
“Yea. Elliot and Marsha are onboard. We’re ready. We’ve got the supplies, a good place. In the Shawangunks, far from the Appalachian Trail. Nobody goes there. There’s clean water, plenty of timber. Elliot’ll contact others and they’ll meet us.”
Aisha’s bold words belied the deep unease she fought. She didn’t mind putting her life on the line, but what would happen to her family? They would have to denounce her once she did this. There’d be no going back.
The only way back would be for the revolution to succeed.
“When do we leave, Aisha?”
“Now. We leave now. I’ve got clothes stashed over there in the bins.” She glanced at the corner of the cavernous warehouse. “A few dried goods, first aid, in a backpack. Are you ready, Serge?”
Serge lifted a small satchel he was carrying. “Everything I need to get up there is in this sack. I agree. We take off now, or we may never again have the freedom to do it.”
Aisha was startled by the effect his words had on her. The finality. She leapt forward and grabbed him. Then she quickly stepped away.
“Sorry, Serge. Just wanted to hold onto something human for a minute. I’m ready.”
She retreated to a corner of the warehouse and returned with a black backpack.
The young conspirators opened the heavy door that led to the outside and peered into the narrow passageway.
“Here we go,” Aisha whispered.
Serge glanced down at his companion. He'd never looked at her like that before, as a fellow warrior. Considered in that light, she was slight, not at all tall, and quite thin.
“Always it comes down to the person, to the individual,” he mused, as he pondered their odds. “If each one of us is not willing to take a chance, then who will find the courage?”
With full awareness of what they were about to do, of what they were leaving behind, the two teenagers entered the dim alley. They took the first step on a journey that might lead to their demise. Or, perhaps it was the first strike in a war that would lead to the resurrection of their country.
Please Note: I love the Russian people. I don't think I would have survived adolescence without Dostoyevsky. However, the president of my country cites fear of Russian aggression when he speaks of his need to 'own' Greenland. Given that context, Russia was a perfect fit for the story.
The story responds to Inkwell fiction prompt (#43), *Believe*. The inspiration for the story, though, came from recent events. I am deeply moved by the ICE killings of Alex Pretti and Renee Good. I am distressed by the constitutional crisis in which my country finds itself. Writing is one way I process my thoughts.
The one thing I cannot do is look away.
May there be peace in my country. May kindness and reason prevail.
Peace and health to all.