Apron And Shawl And Housedress, A Story Published In Supersition Review

In Moldova inside of a Soviet shop during the early 90's, I would sometimes buy bread, rice or sugar, if available. At that time, Soviet shops still doing business were seeing supplies of goods steadily decrease. Eventually, they dried up and this shop, among many, closed.

These labels are specific to Moldovan goods such as sunflower oil, red wine, and bottled water.

Even when the shops were open, shelves were often bare. I got to the shop pictured below early one morning. When the clerk's back was turned I shot this photo as rapidly as I could. 

It surprised me to see how stocked it was. But note how dark. These shops were always dimly lit. To worsen matters, especially in winter, there was seldom electricity throughout the city at that hour. To get my picture, I relied on morning light, shooting with 400-speed film, through the shop's open door. 

By afternoon, all loaves of bread, as pictured, and all the baggies of rice, sugar and kasha were gone. 

Note the abacus, a tool that Soviet clerks, the majority of them women, used with skill. It still boggles my mind that this was in 1993. 

At that time, depending on which city you were in, walking about with a camera and shooting pictures could get you arrested, assaulted or deported. 

Money was in the form of coupons. None of the banks had currency of any kind, and they were often closed. 

It would be another year before Moldova had its own form of currency, the Lei.

For those who are teachers, or want to be, and anyone interested in what life was like for young and old in Moldova, neighboring Ukraine and throughout the former republics during the early years of the  Soviet Union's collapse, Apron And Shawl And Housedress is a story you will, I hope, enjoy. 

It's been included in my book, Off To The Next Wherever published by Fomite. https://www.fomitepress.com/off-to-the-next-wherever.html 

It was first published in Issue #13 of Superstition Review, at Arizona State University. 

Here below are the story's three opening paragraphs.

 Apron And Shawl And Housedress

 I was a burden. Had nothing to offer. I’d been sleeping in the same clothes for three weeks, sweating through fever dreams and the realization there wasn’t a quick fix to improving my health. I’d started in September as a guest professor in Bălţi, a Moldovan city that had never hosted an American resident. I’d been warmly received, yet in my third month on the job I’d come down with double pneumonia.

I fumbled my way to Elena’s kitchen. Hard afternoon light heated her small table. When there was electricity, Elena liked to make Plov, a mixture of rice, cubed beef and carrots. I found her seated and thumbing through a beat-up copy of Time I’d given her.

It was one of the days everyone under her roof had to speak English, rather than Russian or Romanian. I began to speak but stopped when tinny music came from the speaker of the state radio system wired throughout the building. The electricity was on. Usually, the state played Moldovan folk music. This afternoon was no different....