This small stone, thrown so casually, would topple the mighty Russian tzardom and change a way of life. But then again, change is one of the two constant things in Russia. Change and cold. Russia became the Soviet Union. What belonged to the well-off few, now belonged to all. What were once the estates of royalty and glamorous nobility now became collectivist farmsteads and industrial centers working day and night for the progress of the new nation. Everything that was old was cast down, everything that was new – embraced! Individualism was vilified, collectivism was admired. An ideal was wholeheartedly brought to life!
Cyril Ilarionovitch was lost in his thoughts as he was staring blankly in his glass. Not long ago he was homeschooling the young heirs to a vast estate that belonged to a Kniaz. He was teaching them French, Geometry, Etiquette and other subjects that were privy to the nobility only. Now he, a man of learning, was working in a tractor factory like many others. He was happy with that, for he had been close to the now despised nobility and anti-revolutionaries. He had been teaching their children, and people were shot for much less. But he missed the little ones, and their little faces full of curiosity.
Across the room in the run down inn sat Dmitry Suvorov. He had been a small peasant boy, a little over seven, when he and his class were told that their teacher had to change schools. A new teacher would come to tell stories of even more interesting and fun things! Now Dmitry was twenty-seven, a young man. He was overseer at the tractor factory near Volgograd. He had finished high school and had achieved much, all thanks to his hard work. Him - the son of a peasant. Now everything is within his grasp, there are no limits to what a person of low-birth can achieve. Now, there is no such thing as low-birth for all are equal, all are entitled to the same and all were working to fill their quotas and help bring about a bright socialist future for their children. He was brought up with the belief that the proletariat of the world are brothers. His teacher told him that he had a duty to all workers around the world and he firmly believed in that duty. He would teach his own son that duty as well.
Both Cyril and Dmitry stood up, and picked up their coats. It was time to head home, for tomorrow there were quotas to fill. Once they noticed each other, Cyril saluted his overseer with Dmitry responding with a salute as well – “Good evening, comrade”.
