The fourth crucifixion of Christ

The coach spit as he chewed purposefully at his plug of tobacco. Today the team was to run an out-and-back, circling the grimy cone placed on some distant corner. It would not be easy and some on the team would definitely fail. “Hit ‘er hard today, boys, and ye best not look back or yer end up like Lot’s wife and the rest of ‘em suckers in Sodom.” He drove slowly behind the bouncing crew, blaring the gospels from his Bible on cassette. It scratched its way through Matthew over the car’s factory speakers. “Ye best be back ‘fore the holy Christ dies a fourth time or it’ll be Steven’s luck for you,” He paused then spit, the wad catching at the top and rolling down both sides of the window.

To

Zipped up, holed in, and sunk beneath, he marched forward, beating a path over a crumbling and worn road. With the right clothes, anything was possible. From this vantage point the world was a tunnel, and he just needed to get to the other side, to that circle of light, ball of warmth. Reaching forward he grabbed ahold of hope and a flame and breathed in the swirling, dancing mountain air.

Building a mountain of shit and coal

A shovel and a pair of flip-flops, his shirt tucked in and hair catching the black dust in the air he strained against the weight at the end of the stick, laying the coal gently in a pile. The air was thick with the sparkling specks and he thought about the layer resting on his lungs. An afternoon here couldn’t be much worse though than a cigarette or two, which his father puffed on between shifts. There was only one shovel. They had cleared a space for the winter’s fuel by stacking the mountain of manure even higher in the shed, up to the rafters and electrical wires hanging above. His father had climbed barefoot up the stack of dried bok and mud to clear a landing space for the bricks his son heaved. There would be heat for food and heat for the comfort within the walls beyond.

Vodka Huddle

The path was dusty and shone brilliantly with colored speckles of broken glass. His feet crunched happily as the smell of samsi and gamburger rose to meet him. A few drops of rain fell from a wisp of a cloud above, confusing the flowers in the mid-day sun. Through an opening in the trees he saw three well-dressed men, cross-legged in the grass, a small shrine of vodka and glasses arranged neatly between them. Was it a lunch break for businessmen? Or a session of a local pensioners club? He wondered why they didn’t sit on a bench or at least a blanket. He hurried on, not wanting his lunch to get cold and not wanting to get caught in the rain.

Coming up in the world

There was a knock on the front gate. “Mojzna!” A man yelled over the wall. “Keeringeez,” his mother answered, waving him inside. It was Pasha, the man they had hired over the summer to do some ornamental repairs on the house. He stepped through the gate and crossed the parking pad towards the table where the volunteer and his host mother sat, finishing a quick meal of noodles and samsi. Pasha would show up in the mornings, earlier or later depending on the number of juuz-gram cups of vodka he had consumed the night before, and begin his work adding a veneer of cement to the walls and spackling paint with his hand crank spray can. Each day he had worn the same grease monkey blue shirt, rolled up pants and flip-flops, his cigarette papers and bag of tobacco hanging in his front pocket. But not today. Today he wore a clean white cap and a factory made cigarette hung from his bottom lip. Pasha was coming up in the world.

He's got game

It was that time of year where the days were hot and the nights were cold. The two young men had hopped a marshrutka to Bishkek and were standing in the middle of a two-story mall waiting for a phone call. “She’s beautiful, right?” His brother scrolled over a picture on his cell phone. “Sure. How do you know her?” “She’s a friend.” When she showed up it was two girls – the date and a friend for the brother and his wingman. They walked along the street until the evening chill pushed them inside for hot soup and tea. The night lingered with conversation about school and life in the city. When it was time to go, the men walked them to the bus station and the brother pulled her in for a kiss, turned for a peck on the cheek.