Secondhand Time: The Last of the Soviets

by Svetlana Alexievich

Everyone dreamt of a new life…Dreams…People dreamt that tons of salami would appear at the stores at Soviet prices and members of the Politburo would stand in line for it along with the rest of us. Salami is a benchmark of our existence. Our love for salami is existential…Twilight of the idols! The factories to the workers! The soil to the peasants! The rivers to the beavers! The dens to the bears! Mexican soap operas were the perfect replacement for Soviet parades and live broadcasts of the First Congress of People’s Deputies. I stayed in college for two years and then dropped out. I feel sorry for my parents because they were told flat out that they were pathetic sovoks whose lives had been wasted for less than a sniff of tobacco, that everything was their fault, beginning with Noah’s Ark, and that now, no one needed them anymore. Imagine working that hard, your whole life, only to end up with nothing. All of it took the ground out from underneath them, their world was shattered; they still haven’t recovered, they couldn’t assimilate into the drastically new reality. My younger brother would wash cars after class, sell chewing gum and other junk in the subway, and he made more money than our father—our father who was a scientist. A PhD! The Soviet elite!