It was a mild Soviet Transcaucaucan afternoon
And Nakivechka pulled herself out of her bubbling jacuzzi
She put on her robe and swung a black scarf over her head
Revealing only her dark, eager eyes.
Her two children came running to meet her.
“The microwave is broken” they cried whilst the older sibling, Yesmut,
held on to a bag of unpopped microwaveable popcorn.
“Yesmut, Yilma! Go see if Alkisenko has a microwave and return this to the video store.” said Nakivechka, handing over a cassette and touching her upper brow that she had electrolysed that morning.
“Get with it mom, Alkisenko moved to Tadzhikistan and now sells fax machines.” retorted Yilma, the younger one, intently looking at his mom who was dripping from the jacuzzi.
“Ok, forget it” she said, patting Yilma’s flattop haircut. “Tonight we will have Bokehra. Yesmut, you will go to Nagorno-Karabach and find Allilev. Here is some money. Take your motorcycles and be back quickly!”
“But Allilev is Crimean!” The two protested.
“Crimean, Mylastokian, Bylorussian or Semjem, you will go to Allilev and get the bokehrá.”
The children left quickly without looking back. Nakivechka sat down on her red bean bag and picked up an issue of CosmoRussia. She indexed to the article on “Careers for single Aberbaijanis” and she smiled thinking of what a surprise Yesmut and Yilma were in for.
(An "Under the Whale" reading circa 1986)