Easter Morning

It’s a cold, rainy Easter morning in Bishkek. If not for the clouds it probably would have been light when I left my apartment this morning, but it was still dark.

I’m a little wary when I leave the apartment these days. A few nights ago I was trying to fall asleep when I heard a loud argument out in the entry, next to the elevator. The argument was accompanied by loud banging and thuds so I cautiously opened the peep hole in the door and looked out to see what could be going on. A man in black underwear was standing in the entry next to his girlfriend and both of them were arguing with another man who was just outside the steel fence that separates the apartments from the stairways and elevator. The man in the underwear was swinging a large stick and banging on the fence as he screamed at the man outside. The woman kept screaming “Oo-xha-DEE! Oo-xha-DEE!” “Go away! Go away!” I unlocked my door and opened it wide enough to get my head out and I growled in English, “Hey! Knock it off! I’m trying to get some sleep in here!” All three of them seemed shocked that I had yelled at them in English and I closed and locked my door again. The argument stopped. I watched through my peep hole as the man outside went down the stairs and the couple returned to their apartment.

This morning I pushed the elevator button and waited while the car travelled the six floors to my level. I kicked a box of matches out of the corner of the elevator into the entry way as the door was closing. On the main floor I looked at the wall to see the words “Don’t litter” written in Cyrillic letters, my confirmation that this was, indeed, the main floor. Someone had thrown a beer bottle into the corner of the hall, breaking the green glass and sending it all over the floor. The odor of urine was stronger than normal. Some of the local drunks use the hall as a bathroom at night because some of the building residents leave the heavy steel door cracked for convenience. I pushed the large, green, steel door open without pulling the latch back and stepped out onto the porch. I listened to the sound of rain on the tin roof for a moment as I looked down the long, black alley toward the road.

Slava was already waiting on the street as I walked down the steps. “Unusual,” I thought. “Slava’s never early. Am I running late today?” I walked down the dark alley toward the glowing tail lights and I unzipped the pocket of my jacket and took out my flashlight. I wanted to check my watch to see if I’d left later than normal and I needed the small light to see my watch in the early morning darkness. I turned on the flashlight and then began to pull my sleeve up over my watch, but it was a struggle since I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, a sweat shirt, a fleece jacket and my parka shell. It was just too many layers to move easily and so I struggled with it, the flashlight shining on my wrist and glaring in the dark.

I didn’t see it. I knew it was there, but I didn’t see it. A 500 pound block of concrete to keep cars out of the alley blocks the entrance. I was paying too much attention to my struggle and the glare of the flashlight. My left foot stopped. My body continued to move forward. My right foot was just planted too hard to move. My body continued on its way, only now it was going down toward the dark muddy alley path. I caught my fall on the knuckles of my right hand, jolting my elbow hard. The palm of my left hand was next, catching the ground in an effort to keep my head from smacking hard into the heavy mud. My left leg had rolled onto the top of the heavy concrete block and there I was, looking like I’d just finished a pushup in the dark drizzle. A man walked past just at that moment and he laughed as I recovered and stood up. I limped to the shuttle and opened the door. “DO-bray OO-truh,” Slava said with a half smile. “Good morning, Slava.” I sat on a double seat and stretched my left leg out and nursed the pain in my right elbow.

When the shuttle arrived at the gate I got out and looked down at myself in the light of the morning to see what the damage was. My trousers were covered with dark mud. The palm of my left hand was caked with mud and the knuckles of my right hand were bleeding through the mud that was caked over the scrapes.

I paused to pick up a few cigarette butts and a large pile of candy wrappers in the parking lot outside of Liberando’s before I pulled the heavy door open and walked in. “Man, what happened to you! You look like you fell down!” Ruben was just stating the obvious as he pulled on his jacket. “Nothing big happened last night,” he added as he hurried out the door. I looked around the room and whimpered to myself as my elbow throbbed.