Budapest » [Clintasha]

Chapter One: Childhood

My name was Natalia back then, Natalia Alianovna Romanova. They always give me a new forename, but the surname seems to stick, or stay to the roots at least. I was Russian too, I'm Canadian now.

I was an orphan and fell into the hands of a generous and caring middle aged gentleman named Ivan Petrovich Bezukhov after being deserted by my birth parents. Ivan worked as a chauffeur for the upper class and was paid handsomely. We lived inside of Stalingrad (now known as Volgograd) on the banks of the Grand River Volga, in a comfortable well-furnished establishment that overlooked the tremendous span of the astounding body of water. The river was a pure shiny blue mirror that spanned as far as the horizon; it looked like a sheet of polished stainless steel that reflected the skyline, with buildings, factory chimneys and antennae that looked like sharp pins piercing the sky protruding above it on the opposite bank.

The city would grow blisteringly hot in the summer, with lengthy raw days, full of light stretching out into the evenings. In the winter it would be plunged into a big freeze and buried beneath a thick blanket of dusty white snow, sitting at hostile kelvin temperatures for many short dark days on end. The climate was stable, but could vary greatly.

I always loved the winter as a child; I loved the way every silhouetted shadowy building's windows brightly burned with light when the early darkness crept into the town like a dense fog. Each window was like a brilliant beacon, a lighthouse to a boat out at sea. Their warm lights shined out in the bleak blackness as vigilantly and as proudly as the powerful ancient stars that deigned the midnight sky overhead.

I used to love how every pathway, road and pavement was coated with a glistening glaze of ice, a thin sheet of irreproachable crystals that sparkled in the daylight and caused the pedestrians and vehicles to stumble and slide on its treacherous surface. You could always tell the tourists from the indigenous folk by how well they coped with the cold.

I once marvelled at how the city looked when it was drowned in snow, deluged in its thick fluffy winter coat of white. Everything would be tainted with its unforgiving touch; nothing could escape its glacial grip, its icy hold extended to every rooftop, every windows frame, and every doorway. Being Russian, we always prepared the roads as a precaution, right from the tail end of autumn. The roads were always functional, and sprinkled with a light dusting of grit, that monstrous beastly trucks would lay down as they chugged down the roads. Everything was showered in snow, and it sparkled under the cold light of the white heatless sun, devoid of radiating heat amidst the earlier season.

For hours on end I would stare catatonically out of my bedroom window, bathed in the warm orange glow of the candle light that sat upon the windowsill, that casted a hazy warm reflection in the frosted flimsy metal crossed window pane. I was completely captivated by the wonderland that the city became, hypnotised by the dainty dance of the snowflakes as they gracefully twirled and effortlessly floated to the ground, becoming one with their brothers and sisters as they reunited as a sea of white.

The skies would be veritably ablaze with the jewels and diamonds that embellished the night sky, but they would unfortunately be barely visible amidst the fluffy weightless veil of the puffy snow clouds that hung, suspended, over Stalingrad.

"Natalia!" Ivan would say, with his hands cynically sat on his hips, "Are you still up?"

To which I would gleefully reply "Yes Ivan, isn't it beautiful?" My voice was still full of passionate and naive childish wonder.

Then he would laugh heartily, not able to find the heart to tell me off for how amazed I was at the natural world, and come and stand next to me and share the splendorous view with me. We would watch for hours until the air was completely dry of snowflakes, and my eyes grew bloodshot, sore and dry from forcing myself to remain awake just so I could watch them glide.