AU: When Are You From?

Pavel Andreievich Chekov was born in Taganrog in the year 1899 to Anna and Andrei. The family relocated to Saint Petersburg (which would become Petrograd in 1914) in 1905, primarily so Andrei could look for work that would put his engineering background to use. Pavel, a bright boy and a diligent study from a very young age, was able to obtain a decent education in spite of his family's low social status.

Anna Chekov died of a heart condition in 1908. Andrei frequently worked twelve-hour days, leaving Pavel largely to his own devices. The child had full access to his father's books and devoted most of his time to supplementing his education.

In 1911, Andrei, through forged connections and a great deal of luck, managed to enroll Pavel in the Imperial Saint Petersburg Academy of Sciences after the boy impressed the Academy's leading physicist with his knowledge. Pavel remained a good student and was on track to become a professor of physics himself before he started to show an active interest in Imperial Russia's tumultuous political situation. He found himself caught up in the tumult and aligned himself with the Mensheviks, put off by the extremist Bolsheviks.

When World War I erupted in 1914, Pavel, unlike most Mensheviks, supported Russia's involvement in the war, convinced that it was the duty of the Russian people to defend their country in spite of the incompetence of its leaders. As Russian morale plummeted throughout 1915 and the war placed an even greater strain on resources available to already desperate civilians, Pavel became increasingly disinterested in his studies. The country was dying slowly and studying physics wasn't helping him save her.

Pavel enrolled in the Imperial Russian Army shortly after his sixteenth birthday. His education quickly earned him the rank of praporshchik in the engineering division. There were few benefits to being a commissioned officer; the army was suffering from the same scarcity of food and clothing as most Russian civilians. His position saved him from active combat, but not the continuing demoralization of the army as the war stretched on with no end in sight and bodies piled up along the eastern front. A sense of fatalism descended on the army and, and in 1916, Pavel was just one of a vast number of soldiers to desert the war efforts. It seemed clear that Russia wouldn't survive the current state of affairs unless change took place.

He returned to Petrograd and his father late in 1916; both Chekovs joined the discontented masses, firmly allied with the Mensheviks. Pavel quickly grew disillusioned with the riots and protests, seeing that they were accomplishing little. As 1917 rolled in, he returned to the Academy, convinced that both the war and the riots were futile. When things failed to improve with the overthrow of the Romanov dynasty, the boy gave up on politics altogether and immersed himself in physics. The world of physics, unlike everything else, was in an exciting state of change. Its horizons were limitless. Pavel threw himself into the study of atomic theory and the new and radical field of quantum physics.

***
Background aside, Chekov is still Chekov. He's still a genius, he still has some military experience, and he's still going to be sassy in the right company.

That said, this is a Pavel who has been exposed to far more human ugliness than the one the City is used to. He isn't an idealist. As much as he would like to believe in peace and equality and a society where everyone is fed and clothed, he has grown up in a world where none of that happens. The vast majority of Saint Petersburg's workers (and students) were living in poverty, especially after World War I commenced and inflation made it impossible for a laborer to afford the most basic goods. There are idealists among them, but hopelessness is far more common. This Pavel has given up on hoping that Russia will overcome it's past and present, at least within his lifetime.

He isn't more introspective or philosophical than usual, but his philosophy is fatalistic and most of his insights are disheartening. On the bright side, he's better with words than his normal counterpart. Concentrating on one language instead of trying to collect a number of them has improved his ability to convey abstract ideas with some semblance of eloquence.

action // video

[Chekov, currently outside in the snowy, picturesque City, is very pleased with his lot in life. He might not be home, but home is no place he wants to be. This place is superior in all ways, and he has learned so much more about quantum physics than he had ever thought possible thanks to the scientific advances made since his time (and far beyond).

Still, the snowy evening evokes memories of Saint Petersburg before the start of the war. Perhaps it's nostalgia that prompts him to make a post to the network. Naturally, he addresses the network in Russian. It's the only language he knows, after all, and the various translation devices in the City haven't made the language barrier insurmountable in the two years he has been here.]

This is the first time I have been reminded of home in some time--not that that is something to complain about. Christmastime has been joyless there for years now, but, when I was a boy [as if he isn't still a boy] and my mother was still with us, we had very pleasant celebrations. Small, of course, but even borscht and pagach is a feast when served with enough pomp.

As my father is fond of saying, "Although there’s nothing to eat, life is fun."

My favorite thing about Christmas was the stories that my mother would tell. They were the same stories every year--I could have told them to myself, but they would not have been as good--and still I could never hear them enough. My favorite was about Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden. It is a long story and I wouldn't want to bore anyone by telling it. My mother teased me sometimes, saying that I was made out of snow and magic and given to her and my father as a gift the same as the snow maiden was. That is nonsense, of course, and I told her that, but she knew that I liked to hear the story anyway.

The ending is sad, and that is no surprise. The Snow Maiden falls in love and the warmth of her heart melts her into a puddle. I suppose this only proves that Russians celebrations are melancholy even when life is not unpleasant. I prefer to think of it as deep, philosophical introspection rather than inherent sadness and an acceptance of futility. I think that is what the novelists talk about when they write about the Russian soul.

Anyway, there is no Christmas at home any longer. The Bolsheviks have done away with it. That will not stop families from pretending that borscht and pagach are a feast, or mothers from telling their children stories.

[He shifts and brushes some snow out of his curly hair.]

My apologies for rambling. This is a good time of year for nostalgia--a good time to remember what we have lost, and maybe to feel the echoes of joy still left from good memories.

[And off goes the video! Chekov lingers in the snow a little longer before going home.]


[COMMENTS]