Russia During the Cold War

The moment I stepped outside, it began to drizzle. Rain fell like clockwork in the mountains. I swear I can set my watch by it. Every day since I have lived in this lonely town, dark clouds would roll in and rain would fall at exactly 4:00 PM. Oddly enough my 3 o’clock train had yet to arrive. An unfortunate red light flickered on the word ‘Delayed’ above my platform, as the drizzle became a downpour. I fiddled with my crummy umbrella for a while, hoping that dreadful light would disappear. It would seem that a late train that has been ‘delayed’ has little hope of actually arriving. I started trotting back towards the shelter of the station, when the ear-splitting roar of a train whistle bellowed from behind me. I do not think I have ever been so glad to hear a train whistle in my life.

The rain was so heavy I could hardly make out the approaching train, however I noticed something distinctly odd about it. Every year during the holidays, I have taken the train from the minuscule town of Marble to Denver to visit my parents, and each year I have been stuck on some decrepit, ancient Amtrak train from the 1990’s. The trains screeching to a halt before me was a bright green coal-engine locomotive that resembled something of a child’s toy. This unusual spectacle made me hesitant to board the train, but at this point I did not have much of an option.

I practically jumped through the cabin door and plopped down in the nearest seat. In the compartment across from me sat an elderly couple talking quietly in what sounded like a Russian accent. I could only make out a few phrases of their conversation over the roar of the train, but from what I heard I could infer that the couple lived in Russia during the Cold War and had since moved to the United States in hopes of finding more substantial means of support for their family. It sounded as though their children