Secondhand Time: The Last of the Soviets

by Svetlana Alexievich

Right there on the asphalt, on top of some bricks, an old man sat playing the accordion. He was wearing his medals, singing war songs, with a hat full of change at his feet. Our favorite songs: “The fire burns bright in the little stove, / Sap drips down the logs, like tears…” I wanted to go up to him…but he was already surrounded by foreigners…They started snapping pictures of each other in front of him. Shouting things at him in Italian, French, and German. Clapping him on the shoulder: “Davai! Davai!” They were in high spirits, clearly having a lot of fun. Why wouldn’t they be? People used to be so scared of us…and now…Here you go! Nothing but piles of junk, an empire gone up in smoke! Next to all the matryoshkas and samovars, there was a mountain of red flags and pennants, Party and Komsomol membership cards. And Soviet war medals! Orders of Lenin and the Red Banner. Medals! “For Valor” and “For Military Service.” I touched them…caressed them…I couldn’t believe my eyes! I simply couldn’t! “For defending Sebastopol,” and “For Defending the Caucasus.” All of them were real. Precious. Soviet army uniforms, jackets, and greatcoats…peaked caps with red stars…being sold for dollars…“How much?” my husband asked, pointing at the “For Valor” medal. “Twenty dollars. Or, for you, I’ll do a grand—one thousand rubles.” “And the Order of Lenin?” “One hundred dollars.” “And your conscience?” My husband was prepared to fight him. “Are you nuts? What rock have you been living under? Th...