You tug on the scarf around your neck in an effort to block more of the icy wind blowing straight into your face. You had known beforehand that the weather in Russia wasn't the warmest, but this is worse than you could have imagined, and it's not even winter.
A shiver ripples through your body as it feebly attempts to warm itself. Any body heat it creates is quickly blown away by the relentless wind. Despite the fact you're wearing a coat, the wind seems to howl right through you and chill you to the bone. You promise the deities of the elements that you'll never complain about the weather back home if the wind would just ease up, but to no avail.
What you wouldn't give for a warm taxi right about now. You opted to walk to your destination since, a) it's not very far, and b) it's cheaper, but you're starting to regret that choice as you continue to trudge through the biting wind. Loose strands of hair whip around your face making it hard to see, which is why you almost trip over something on the sidewalk.
"Oomff!"
You stumble forward a few steps, but manage to maintain your balance. It would've been really embarrassing if anyone had been around to see that, but luckily the street is empty. Your toe throbs from being stubbed on whatever it was you got your foot caught on, and you turn around to see just what in the world it was.
You don't believe your eyes. Sitting on the sidewalk is an oddly large white object with what looks like a scarf wrapped around it. You're about to move closer when the thing turns around. It has a face. There are definitely two eyes and a nose on the object, and you don't doubt there's a mouth under the scarf either.
"Привет (hello)!" it says to you. Well, that solves the mystery of whether it has a mouth or not.
"Привет," you say back. That's about half of the Russian you know.
"Это хорошо вне сегодня, да (it is nice out today, yes)?" the object asks.
"Um...Нет России (no Russian)," you tell it. That's the other half of your Russian speaking skills.
"English?" it asks in your native tongue. You nod. "Ah! I speak little English, so everything is alright, da?" You swear that it's smiling, even though you can't prove it without taking off its scarf.
"What are you...um...doing here...in the middle of the sidewalk?" There are about a million questions you want to ask, but this seems like a safe one to start with.
"I go home!" it tells you. Or maybe it's a boy.
"Where's that?"
"Right here." The white object turns toward a small house wedged between two large apartment buildings. It looks comically out of place compared to the buildings standing next to it. "Come! Very warm," he says as he starts moving toward the little house.
You're reluctant to follow, but it would be rude not to, right? Plus the cold is really starting to get to you, so the idea of going inside is almost irresistible. The round thing leads you to the front door of the little house and hops inside through what looks like a doggie door at the bottom. You hear a distinct click and the door swings open.
The thing you notice first is the temperature inside. The difference between it and the temperature outside is like night and day. You spot a roaring fire in a small fireplace across from the door and assume that's what's making it so nice inside.
You quickly swing the door shut to keep all the precious heat from escaping. The house is actually rather cute. It has simple furniture that's a little bit on the small side, probably to accommodate the size of the white object. You really want to know what the thing is so you can stop referring to it as "the object" in your mind, but you decide to make a little small talk first. After all, it was nice enough to invite you into its house. The least you could do is be friendly.
"Is this all yours?"
"Da!" he answers happily. "Ivan visits sometimes, but I live here all myself."
"Who's Ivan?" you ask as you sit down in a small chair by a small table.
"Hmmmm, Ivan...big man," the object's usually cheery demeanor changes to one of concentration as he tries to describe Ivan. "Very tall...likes vodka and подсолнухи (sunflowers). Does not fit through door well. Visits me sometimes...big coat and long шарф (scarf)."
"I see," you say. Your mental picture is of a very tall man with a big coat and scarf carrying sunflowers in one band and a bottle of vodka in his other. Without any other details it's a very strange image. "So, uh...what should I call you? Do you have a name?"
"Da! A name!" The thing hops up onto the table and lands with a rather loud thud. "I am Russia Mochi!" he tells you excitedly.
"Mochi," you murmur to yourself. He must be a mochi, but you have no clue what that is. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Russia Mochi. My name is (y/n)."
"Ah, (y/n)," the mochi repeats as if trying your name out. "Very nice. Very красивый (beautiful)."
You're not sure what he said in Russian, but it must have been something good. "Thank you," you say slightly embarrassed.
"Спасибо," he says.
"Excuse me?"
"Спасибо," he repeats. "Thank you in Russian."
"Oh," you say, finally understanding. "Okay. Спасибо, Russia Mochi."
The mochi makes a face that you can't mistake for a smiling one before hopping off the table. Another loud thud reaches your ears as he lands on the floor. You imagine he must be really heavy to make a sound like that. That would also explain why your stubbed toe is still sore.
A bottle suddenly lands on the table and is quickly followed by Russia Mochi. You can't read the label on it, but you have a hunch what the clear liquid inside could be.
"Vodka?" the mochi offers.
"Oh...um, no thank you," you say politely. You figure it's best not to show up at the art museum under the influence of alcohol.
The art museum.
"Oh, dang it!" you say as you realize what's happened. "I was on my way to the museum."
"Museum?" Russia Mochi asks with some interest. "Which?"
"The Galeyev Gallery," you answer. It would be rude to leave after the mochi's been so nice, but you do have other things to do.
"That is close. You must go now, da?" It would've been impossible to miss the disappointment in his voice.
You bite your lip, torn as to what you should do. "I...I guess I could stay. The museum won't go anywhere."
Russia Mochi brightens instantly. "Yay!" He hops up and down on the table, and you're afraid the whole thing might collapse. "Come! I have something to show you!"
You follow the round mochi from the table to an armchair near the fireplace. He hops onto the arm of the chair leaving it open for you to take a seat. After doing so, he nudges a photo album that's sitting on a small table next to the chair.
"Look! Look!" he insists excitedly. "Very lovely, da?"
You don't reply because you're blown away from the amazing pictures inside. Many of the photos are black and white, but it doesn't lessen the beauty of the images. Each photograph is of a building, or group of people, or landscape that makes you wonder how such fantastic things could exist.
"What is all of this?" you ask awestruck.
The mochi chuckles softly. "It is my city, Москва (Moscow)."
You have a snaking suspicion as to what he said, and the next picture you turn to confirms it. "This is the Kremlin, isn't it?"
"Da," Russia Mochi says in a soft voice. "Very beautiful. Much like you. Very beautiful."
Your cheeks flare with heat at the mochi's compliment. You turn the page in an effort to lessen the embarrassment. The next few images aren't as nice, or happy, as the previous have been. Many of them are of soldiers and several show hungry, dirty looking people. One photo in particular catches your eye. It depicts a large man carrying a crying child away from a burning house surrounded by armed men in uniforms.
"W-what's happening in this one," you ask hesitantly as you turn to look at Russia Mochi.
"Ivan," the he replies. "He did not like what they did. He did not like, but he could not stop."
You look back at the picture. The man carrying the child, Ivan, looks thoroughly disgusted and ashamed, yet he's wearing the same uniform as the other men. Your heart goes out to him. You know what time period this picture was taken in without asking, and it wasn't a very bright spot in Russian history.
Russia Mochi has stopped grinning, and his eyes are finally open enough for you to see how deep and purple they are. You can also see all the pain and guilt inside of them too. This spurs you to quickly flip to the next page that has completely different pictures. These show emissaries and diplomats from around the world coming together in agreement. Including Russia.
A smile spreads across your face when you recognize the man, Ivan, in another picture. This time he's shaking hands with a somewhat uncomfortable looking man with glasses. He's doing his best to look dignified, but it's obvious that Ivan intimidates him. On the other hand, Ivan is all smiles. You look closely at the photo and can't help but think he and Russia Mochi look awfully similar.
"That American. Very annoying, but fun to laugh at," the mochi says, now with his usual cheeriness.
"I'll bet," you say in response. With his hair sticking up in the front like that you wouldn't be surprised if he got teased.
You and Russia Mochi spend time looking at the rest of the pictures in the album. Then you proceed to look at different newspaper clippings the mochi has stored in another book. You can't read any of it, but he translates as much as he can for you. It's like being in a history museum, only better.
That's when you notice the time.
"Oh no!" you exclaim. The little clock on the mantle says it's late. Too late for the museum to be open anymore. "We lost track of time."
"I'm very sorry, (y/n)," Russia Mochi says. He seems to almost deflate as he realizes that he's kept you from doing what you originally wanted to do. "It is not everyday I have a visitor. I was too excited to have you here, da?"
"It's okay," you say with a soft laugh. "Like I said, the museum isn't going anywhere. There's always tomorrow." The mochi regains his normal pep when he figures out you're not upset. "Now, tell me what this says," you say, pointing to a newspaper heading.
"Мир для России (peace for Russia)."
