About The Victor of the Cold War and The Emperor's New Clothes , livre ebook

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204 pages

English

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The Untold Story of the Cold WarRaya is a naive but spirited girl growing up in Warsaw Pact Eastern Europe. As a young adult in the nineties, she buys a one-way ticket to the United States, eager to pursue opportunities away from Eastern Europe's disintegrating society. What Raya discovers, however, is that the black and white polarity in Cold War Europe was just an illusion, and that one hemisphere is by no means better than the one she left behind.Inspired by true events, About the Victor of the Cold War and the Emperor's New Clothes is a fresh and bold exposition of one of the most defining periods of the twentieth century with a unique perspective on capitalism as the perfect economic solution to modern civilization's prosperity. The book is also one girl's quest for the truth amidst the noise of mass media and political doctrines, as she experiences life on both sides of the Iron Curtain, from one extreme ideology to another, in search for the answer to a utopian society.

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Historical fiction

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Publié par	Distributed by eBookpartnership
Date de parution	01 janvier 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781839523670
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0050€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

First published 2021
Copyright © Avrora Kepler 2021
The right of Avrora Kepler to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the copyright holder.
Some theories and statements in this book are not backed by academic research or empirical data analysis. The work is based on true events and is a reflection of the author’s personal experiences and perceptions. All names in the book have been changed in order to protect the identity of the real characters on which the stories are based. The author has tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from her memories. In some instances, she has changed some of the identifying characteristics, the order of events and the settings in an attempt to reinforce the intended impact of the story in question. All names of people and institutions are confidential and any perceived resemblance should be treated as coincidental.
Published under licence by Brown Dog Books and The Self-Publishing Partnership Ltd, 10b Greenway Farm, Bath Rd, Wick, nr. Bath BS30 5RL
www.selfpublishingpartnership.co.uk

ISBN printed book: 978-1-83952-366-3 ISBN e-book: 978-1-83952-367-0
Cover design by Kevin Rylands Internal design by Mac Style
Printed and bound in the UK
This book is printed on FSC certified paper
‘If everyone thinks alike, then no one is really thinking.’
Unknown source
Contents
The Tailoring
The Clothing – New versus Old
The Procession
The Child that Spoke the Truth
The Emperor is Indeed Naked
The Tailoring
* * * * *
L arge gatherings in public places were unusual in those days. Except, of course, the centrally organised and approved by the Party jovial manifestations on the streets of every town and across the entire country, in order to mark and commemorate the triumph of communism over fascism and capitalism. Oh, how she loved those celebrations as a child, as she looked forward to wearing her favourite formal dress and getting her hands on a balloon and a mini paper national flag. She kept a vivid memory of a moment from her early childhood, hearing her father say how he dreaded going to those parades. That startled her slightly. She did not understand. It was all so colourful and jolly, the streets were full of people and everyone seemed happy and cheerful. She looked forward to them almost the entire year … the lyrics, the marching, the singing, the happy crowds … She was just a child, looking forward to the excitement of the parade and the flags and balloons that were generously handed out on the day.
This time however it was different. Different to what was customary for the comfortable, predictable and somewhat artificial environment that she grew up in. She was making her way amidst people as if she was in a daze. Several years had gone by and the childlike innocence had started to give way to edginess, impatience and the strong spirit inherent to an innately passionate person. She could hear the background humming typical for large gatherings, making her faintly aware that she was part of something she did not fully understand. She could sense the euphoria in the air. Euphoria flavoured with certain anxiety, driven by a restless crowd. No, there was no fear. The fear, so natural they say, for beings experiencing change. The restlessness was fuelled by childlike elation ensuing from someone’s initial encounter with something avant-garde and unknown, yet so compellingly engaging.
The numerous faces blurred into one as people began to chant coherently. She could distinguish the word ‘democracy’. She had heard it before although she was not really sure of its exact meaning. She had looked it up in the dictionary but struggled to make sense of what it was supposed to denote. Something about people and freedom of speech and elected state officials … ‘Why would they be better than the ones we already have?’, she thought to herself, ‘and would the freedom of speech mean that one would no longer have to whisper when telling government jokes?’ It did not really matter, as one could feel the rapture of irreversible change.
Contrary to common belief, the crowd showed no fear of the unknown or nostalgia about what might permanently be left in the past. Perhaps because this was progress, and progress was stifled by fear and stagnation, which some perceived as stability. Or was it that the crowd was chanting support for something that they did not fully understand? This was irrelevant as back then someone always took care of things in the end. People did not question, people did not debate. They followed what was prescribed, ordered and defined as the norm and this made things simple, logical, unquestionable. Surely someone else knew, someone else understood. Someone else would make sure things were done the right way and for the better in the end. Right there and then details and mechanics did not matter. All they needed to do was embrace what was happening and it would all become clear eventually.
The rhapsody of the situation grabbed her and she joined the chanting wave of support for what would make life better for them all. The flashes of elated faces surrounded her and made her somewhat dizzy. The stalls displaying old shoes, neatly lined up right next to each other or flung over rods and branches, the people handing out leaflets and pins and the standing adults, fringing the sides of the street while engaged in discussions, made the circumstances enchantingly fetching and she went along with it and gave in to the situation. Her whole life was ahead of her, eventually everything was possible and all dreams could come true. There were no nightmares and no one could hold back her zeal for life. What she still did not know back then, as she struggled so viciously to break away from childlike virtuousness, was that the world had cried more tears because of dreams that had come true than it ever did for those that remained unfulfilled.
Chapter One
T he bus was slowly making its way down through the narrow, undulating mountainous roads. The air outside was crisp and pure. The sky, undisturbed by city lights, was covered with myriad of stars, opening up the vastness of the universe and the mystery of what lies out there. The ground and the tall pines were frosted with pure, white snow which reflected the moonlight and radiated soft, magical glow resembling the aurora and framing an idyll that made modern life seem irrelevant.
Everyone was tired after the full two weeks of skiing and partying, far away from their daily lives and preposterous reality. They had a great time, uncompromised by the flaking infrastructure, limited supply of hot water and the aging furniture of the mountain cabins. There still was certain assumed worth, placed on one’s connection with other human beings and the unconditional fulfilment derived from it. Those days of cheap alcohol, boldness and dated skiing gear would remain with her as some of the best days in her life, as in later years she would struggle to come to terms with the vanishing notion of true friendship and fervently cling onto the idea that memories are one of the few things that no one can take away from us.
The bus was now moving faster as it was entering the suburban areas. Gradually the soft light, reflected by the snow, was being replaced by electric illuminations. The humming of the city was warning everyone that their time in the mountains was over and they were coming back to their banal existence as they knew it before they left. Times had gradually become harder however they still retained the spirit and confidence so refreshingly inherent to youth.
They had finally reached their university city. It was late and the roads were quiet. Few people were walking the streets, as the frost of February compelled most souls to remain indoors. She was complacently gazing through the window when a certain board, placed in front of a bureau de change caught her eye. Her quick glance at it subconsciously registered that the quoted rate for US dollar to local currency had doubled over their stolen-from-reality two weeks of winter fairy tale. ‘This is impossible’, she thought to herself and dismissed it as the bus continued moving along the frosted, glistening road.
They soon came to a stop, which marked the end of their two weeks of carefree winter spell. Everyone collected their bags, said goodbye and headed home. It was time to get on with their daily lives and reality. Nothing was unusual apart from the slight irritation of having to face the end of something that made her feel happy and secure.
* * * * *
The morning came quick and the buzz of a daily routine soon erased the euphoria that people usually carry with them after returning from a leisurely episode spent away from home. Raya gave the room one final look before putting on her shoes and leaving the flat. Everything seemed unchanged and ordinary as she stepped out of the seventies built, high-rise block. The market streets and the traffic looked somewhat chaotic when compared to the serenity of the mountain but she would soon get used to being back. She decided to walk in order to shake the slight headache. She loved morning walks. There is something welcoming and upbeat about morning city streets. They are lively enough to excite about the day ahead yet are not overcrowded, allowing us to embrace the ambience projected by a city that is just waking up. She continued down the road that led towards her university while gazing passively at the lifeless shop windows. And all of a sudden there it was again … the garish billboard standing in front of yet another bureau de change, showing the rate of the US