 Olha Mykhailivna shifted her weight to her other foot and hoped nobody would notice. She looked over the crowds, chanting and with their posters, and wondered if any of their feet hurt as much as hers did. "Of course not," she thought, "They've got plenty of places to sit over a hot cup of coffee, while I have to stand here and work."
She tightened her arm, grasping her shield more to calm herself than to feel empowered. The protestors were more polite than she expected, but who knows what a crowd can do? "Hmmpf. I'd give up this old building behind me if I could just find a man who knows how to massage a tired woman's foot. That's all it would take; just one 'how does this feel?' while he kneads the soles, and he can have the world."
"Then again, not. Who would take care of mom after I got fired? And Inna would get to him first anyway if he has a light. She must be dying for a smoke."
Olha studied the crowd, thinning now that dinnertime was coming, and after that, the big rally on Maidan. Still, with hours to go on her shift, she knew that there would be plenty of people to get on her nerves.
Camera flashes went off. Blinded for a moment, Olha checked herself before she moved her hand to wipe her eyes. Someone had reached out and put orange roses on a nearby shield, prompting what was supposed to be a touching moment. "They're getting too familiar. The captain won't like it."
Olha surveyed the people left in front of her. They were university students, mostly, and a few girls tried to look fashionably revolutionary while hanging on their boyfriends' arms. The older people had taken care of themselves, and gone home or wherever older protestors go before they yell their lungs out one more time. "Doesn't anybody have a job in Kyiv these days?"
Changing feet again, Olha felt once more like she was guarding a castle in a goldfish bowl. The captain had put it succinctly enough. "We're making sure that no hotheads get in here and do something stupid." The word had come down informally as well; the ladies were protecting their paychecks as much as the administration buildings, no matter what the outcome. "So let the protestors sing what they want; they're not going to get through, are they?" This worked. The future was uncertain enough, and standing in front of a pile of bricks was easy, except on feet. And on the nerves.
Militia training included being trucked around, standing for hours, and learning full well how to use a baton and shield. What it hadn't included was being stared at, feeling like a goldfish-castle guard and being photographed for posterity every time the expression on your face changed. Just for one second she caught herself thinking, "Maybe in a parallel universe I'm married to a masseur," while some foreigner with a camera on a long stick caught the merest flicker of a smile before the reality of standing on Luteranska Street for hours caught up with her. "Idiot. Can't he see that I'm working?"
At last the captain signalled for the front row to fall out. Instead of filing off to the right, though, they were instructed to filter through the row behind them. "Aha, more room so there aren't any more orange flowers attached," she thought. Maybe it would keep down the photo opportunities.
After Olha retreated through the ranks of militia women guarding the building, she found Inna enjoying the absence of a nicotine fit for the first time in hours. "You don't know how good..." Inna said, while offering her the pack.
"Thanks, but until one of those can take care of my feet, I'll hold off," she replied.
"Let's go. They say they've set up a place for us. There's coffee inside, maybe a chair, too."
Olha walked in, and then almost ran for the nearest chair. "Oh, these feet! Finally."
Inna's eyes disappeared behind a cloud of smoke; then reappeared as a smile broke out beneath them. "You got soft sitting behind that desk. I told you that you needed to get out and run."
Behind them the protesters broke out into another round of chanting, weaker now and with fewer voices. By the coffee pot, someone mimicked, "we have a lot of night sticks. And we know how to use them."
Nobody laughed.
The long hours of standing silently had taken their toll on Olha's mood, and instead of talking, she found herself sitting next to Inna, lost in her own thoughts.
"I'd better call my mother," she announced as she swung her feet back onto the floor and turned away. "She'll be wondering why I haven't phoned yet today."
The phone rang twice, and a loud voice could be heard through the tiny speaker. "Yes, mom, everything's OK. Yes, we're eating just fine."
Olha made a mental note to see if they were going to be fed.
"No, the protesters seem healthy. Meningitis? They're too far away to cough on me, mom. Yes, they're noisy, especially when they're chanting. No, mom, there haven't been any problems; there are a lot of us. No, no, we haven't seen anybody acting strangely after eating oranges. Yes, I'll stay away from them." As if drug-laced oranges were going to wind up in the militia's stocks. First, there would have to be oranges, she thought. "No mom, I haven't seen Ludmyla Yanukovych. No, I can't say 'hi' if I see her; I'm working."
"Yes, I know about the payment problems. They have to send someone into the building to process the papers first, and then we'll get paid. No mom, nobody's going to burn down the building while we're guarding it, nobody's getting in until there's a political agreement."
"Look, this is just a break. I'll call you as soon as our shift is over. Yes, I'm staying warm. Of course, the borscht is healthy and tasty here, too. No, it's not as good as yours, but it's OK. Look, I'll call as soon as I can. I've got to go now."
Inna dropped all pretence of ignoring the conversation. "When you find some borscht, let me try it, too."
"She's just being Mom. But you won't believe this. She says that Ludmyla Yanukovych gave a speech in town today, and says that there's an outbreak of meningitis in Kyiv. Worse, yet, kids on Maidan are eating oranges laced with drugs."
Inna blew a smoke ring. "Well, how much do you think those kids are getting paid to yell all day?"
"Probably about as much as you and I are at the moment. Think about it. We can't get paid as long as we guard the building from people getting in. And if we don't guard it, who knows what will happen to the paperwork to let us get paid. The serious parts are over, or we'd have our guns."
"If it were serious, we'd still be at home, and they'd have guys doing this."
Behind them, the order to fall in was passed. As the troops came to order, the captain started speaking. "Ladies, your replacements are delayed." No groans from the line - but everyone sank visibly. "The trucks are needed to bring them here, so we're sending some of you back to Vasylkyiv now and will shuttle detachments back and forth in groups." Everyone stood still, looking forward stoically and trying not to show their hope that they would be going back first.
"Since some of you allowed yourselves to be caught by surprise with flowers on your shields, you have the opportunity to redeem yourselves by staying until last. Be ready to take the line again in ten minutes. Fall out."
Eight minutes later, Olha woke up, seated, with Inna gazing at her through a cloud of smoke. "How do you do that?"
"What?"
"Sleep and wake on cue."
"It's a talent, I guess."
They fell in just as the order was being given. Outside, trucks had appeared, and were idling. The covered beds, previously empty, now had stacks of files and paper boxes against the far wall. One row had a tarpaulin being thrown over it, but it was too short.
Olha's squad filed into the front of the boundary and assumed their previous positions. The last rows filed off, and mounted the trucks. Inna heard the order for a path to be made clear for the vehicles, and watched them pass out of the corner of her eye. A protester standing on a jeep caught something with his flashlight, and just outside of Olha's sight, the crowd tried to stop the moving trucks. She sighed inwardly, and ignoring the incident unfolding, went back to work, standing guard and shifting her feet.
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