The Littlest General

Day One The Smallest Eyes

Here’s what nobody tells you about being friends with Ivan Stanislav: you never really “invite” him anywhere.

You prepare.

Reinforce the porch. Hide the good liquor. Pray he doesn’t sit on your rooster. (You’ll understand later).

But when I saw him after ReVival 70 and then after Lemieux at 71? Hurting. Bandaged. That haunted look in his eye? I knew he didn’t need another fight.

See, Alexei wants to start a war.

Arina wants to end one.

And me? The fourth, unseen pillar of The Red Army?

I’m just the ref trying to keep the bell from ringing too soon.

Ivan needed air and stillness.

So I asked him to come to Cuba.

He didn’t ask why or about the weather.

He just said: “Fine.”

Which in Bear-speak means: “I’m bleeding to death but okay.”

—

José Martí International Airport was chaotic, but that wasn’t unusual. The ceiling fans turned slowly. Customs agents barked in half-languages. The scent of old jet fuel mixed with fried food and suntan lotion.

Ivan Stanislav’s size makes plenty of things difficult. But finding him in the airport was easy.

Seven feet of Soviet pressure system rolled through the terminal. Behind him, Arina moved gracefully while Alexei, sardonic and sweating, dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, concerned about his millionth hat.

Naturally, the handkerchief was red with a hammer and sickle.

Speedy Riggs hopped from afar, grinning like a man waving down a runaway freight train with strange cargo.

“There they are!” he called. “The walking revolution!”

He bounded towards the trio and gently embraced Arina, and he and Alexei exchanged the smiles of longtime comrades.

But when Speedy looked into Ivan’s eyes, his smile faltered.

Animals hide pain. If they don’t, they’re prey.

Pedro Rodriguez had known Ivan Stanislav for over twenty years and saw through him. Despite the weeks since UltraViolence and his ongoing break after Blaze Claymore, Ivan was still hurting inside and out.

“This place smells like fruit and sunshine,” Ivan growled glumly.

Speedy laughed it off and slapped Ivan on his massive arm.

He knew the Russian Bear wouldn’t knock him into next week.

—

The Rodriguez house wasn’t big, but it was alive.

The porch creaked, and the kitchen smelled of oil and garlic. A rooster crowed late. Ramon, Speedy’s middle child, chased a lizard with a flip-flop.

Arina loved the warm, bright place immediately. She helped Speedy’s wife, Rosita, in the kitchen and asked about the herbs by the window. Later, she told the children amusing Russian stories they couldn’t understand.

As expected, Alexei criticized everything: the heat, dust, chickens, and children. “Speedy, these rugrats need discipline!” he complained, louder than the rooster.

And Ivan?

Ivan sat on the strongest bench in the neighborhood. Speedy had reinforced it himself with two iron bars.

In the shade of their fig tree, he stubbornly wore his black shirt, suspenders, and boots, daring the sun to do its worst.

The Cuban sun was winning.

Silent, with his elbows on his knees, Ivan’s shoulders hunched like artillery waiting to fire, his shirt slick with sweat that challenged the stubbornness of his pores.

With all the activity behind him, all the chaos and fanfare, Speedy watched from the doorway.

The bench groaned under Ivan, but The Bear didn’t move.

Speedy’s youngest girl, Luz, stepped into view.

Now seven and taller, she met Ivan two years ago when she still called her father "Pawpi." Ivan and Alexei had repaired the house. Back then, Stanislav lifted her onto his shoulder, letting her slam dunk on the neighbor’s hoop, and told her about a mystical train crossing Siberia nonstop.

She remembered that Bear.

This one looked different.

Speedy watched her, standing at the edge of the shade, clutching a wooden toy soldier in her hand.

Not just any soldier.

His.

Stanislav had given it to her two years ago. Pressed it into her palm as a parting gift the last time he left Cuba.

“For defense,” he’d said. “If the Americans return.”

She kept it beside her bed. Sometimes, she carried it without knowing why.

The man who gave it to her sat hunched and silent, too big for the bench.

She didn’t speak.

She just looked at him.

Not with fear.

Not with joy.

Not even to remember.

But to ask, “Are you still him?”

Ivan noticed the young eyes and they met, and unlike most who stared straight into the eyes of the man who could send them into orbit?

She didn’t blink.

It was Ivan who looked away.

No growl. No scowl. No explanation.

Just a shift, heavy and quiet, on the bench.

The creaking wood spoke for him.

—

Speedy watched Ivan for most of that day. He refused to allow his sunny disposition to break. But it cracked.

He passed by the guest room which had two beds lashed together for the Bear. Speedy peeked in.

Ivan sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless in red shorts. His chest and shoulders wrapped in gauze and bruises. His left knee appeared swollen. A slow fan struggled to stir the humid air.

Speedy watched him for a moment and felt a small tug on his hand.

Luz.

Barefoot, holding her soldier in her little hand.

She looked inside and saw the man with bandaged ribs and shadowed eyes.

She gazed up at her father and Speedy smiled down, with love, and closed the door.

—

That was Day One.

The Bear had landed.

My littlest general had noticed.

I didn’t know if we could bring him back. After Fanya. After everything.

But at least now, he wasn’t invisible.

—

Day Two Alejandro’s Surprise

The second day brought guava jam, a broken toaster, and Arina trying to teach Ramon how to say “weather pattern” in Russian. It was shaping up to be a calm, pleasant day.

With this group of characters, it was certainly doomed.

Speedy was in the backyard tightening the bolts on the swing set, again. Alexei had tried to “improve” it with a welding torch (how long had he kept that in his coat?). The swing set was never the same.

He looked up as he heard the clack of heels on stone.

Not flip-flops. Not sandals.

Heels. In this communist paradise?

He dropped his wrench as he turned to look at the side gate, and for a moment, he thought it was a mirage.

Gema Caballero had arrived.

You don’t know who Gema Caballero is?

Billboards. Sunscreen commercials. Dance contests. The side of a bus. She once hosted a one-week talk show that made eight memes and an international incident.

Why, Speedy had to talk his cousin, Checo, out of getting her face tattooed over his heart. Checo was still pissed.

In Cuba, she was the kind of famous that didn’t need explanation. The sort that floated, that twirled, that stepped into a room like the rest of the world was just trying not to blink.

And now, she was on his porch.

Take that, Checo.

She wore a halter top, huge sunglasses, and a sunhat the size of an airfield. Her nails were red, sharp, and shimmered like glass in a jewel box.

She entered the small house uninvited, causing Rosita to pause her onion chopping and Arina to stop her conversation with Ramon. Both stared at the stunning beauty who looked at least half plastic.

“¡Hola mis amores!” Gema sang, throwing her arms open like she was about to film a perfume commercial. “I’m heeeeere!”

Speedy blinked.

Gema stormed through the house like she owned it.

“¡¿Dónde está mi Alejandro?!” she cried. “Where is my love?! Where is my passion?!”

It was Ramon’s turn to translate for Arina. “Where is my Alejan… oh no…”

Arina stared.

Rosita dropped her knife.

Even that annoying rooster fell silent.

Something shuffled from behind the couch.

Alexei Ruslan, former KGB agent, master propagandist, ideological flamethrower, crouched behind the couch like a Soviet officer caught reading Western romance novels.

Gema spun on her heels and saw him. Her face lit up between chews of her gum.

“My Alejandro!”

“Oh…” Alexei squeaked as he slowly rose, and adjusted his tie. “G… Gema?”

The hug was so full of sunscreen and sincerity that even Ivan, moping under the fig tree, looked up in confusion.

“You did not tell me you were coming!” Gema said, smothering his face in kisses. “You did not answer my texts!”

And of all things?

Of all things?!

Alexei accepted it.

Like it was normal.

—

Now listen, I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my life. Ivan once Red Scared a moose across the Canadian border into the United States as a “means of warfare.” Arina read a manual on local taxes for fun. But Alexei Ruslan? A man who refers to flavored toothpaste as “bourgeois foam” having a girlfriend?

A beautiful, expressive, energetic, bright, and hot girlfriend?

Now I've seen it all.

—

Speedy gawked, open-mouthed. Arina turned her head sharply, unable to fathom the sight of anyone kissing Ruslan. The gesture was so alien it felt like a breach of reality. Ivan, under the fig tree, opened one eye, the corner of his lip twitching.

Gema noticed him immediately.

“Oh my GOD!” She gasped. “This must be the Bear!”

She marched across the yard like a missile in stilettos.

Alexei stammered, but Gema was undeterred. “You poor thing,” she cooed as she approached Stanislav and crouched next to him. Her eyes noted the bruises and sweat slick shirt. “You look like a tractor ran you over. Or a horse. Or a tractor-horse. Those are the worst.”

Ivan simmered.

She boldly reached up and brushed the sweat from his brow with a manicured thumb. “You need zinc and electrolytes, baby.”

Speedy wondered which neighbor’s house was about to be cratered by a flying Cabellero.

But Ivan didn’t growl. He didn’t move.

Gema hesitated, and then stood up and looked over at Alexei, calling from afar. “I think he likes me, my love!”

Ruslan, unaware of the lip marks on his cheek, pulled his hat down over his eyes.

—

Later that evening, Speedy found Arina sitting in the kitchen, still convalescing.

“She brought three suitcases,” she whispered, like the number was obscene.

Speedy tried to grapple with all of this. They still hadn’t figured out sleeping arrangements. No one could imagine Alexei and Gema sharing a bed. He swallowed. “You think she’s for real?”

Arina was quiet for a long moment. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “She knew which side to kiss first.”

Speedy blinked. “Side?”

Arina’s fingers drifted to her ribs, wrapping around her waist like she was trying to hold herself together.

“The left cheek,” she said softly.

Her voice caught as her eyes welled.

“That’s where Fanya always started.”

—

Day Two ended.

Ivan said nothing.

Alexei said little.

Gema said too much.

We didn’t know what Gema Caballero meant. Not really.

Was she love? Escape? A distraction in perfume and pearls?

Or maybe she was just what we needed. Something that reminded us the world wasn’t all war and loyalty and blood.

Maybe.

Either way, just like everything else, she was ours now.

It’s a communist thing.

—

Day Three Lessons at the Table

Dinner was arroz con pollo and arguments.

My beautiful Rosita had outdone herself. The chicken was golden, the rice fluffed with onion and garlic, and there was fresh mango on the table. You’d think food like this could calm even the most hardened soldiers.

You’d be wrong.

—

Speedy was at the head of the table, trying to referee with a spoon in hand. Rosita offered seconds like she was negotiating a ceasefire. Gema drizzled lime juice over everything like she was adding perfume.

But Alexei burned.

“It is obvious,” he declared, slapping his napkin onto the table like he was delivering a manifesto. “Lemieux is not simply dangerous because he’s an idiot. He’s dangerous because of deception!”

Speedy raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes!” Ruslan barked. “He wears affability like a mask. The Western liberal’s favorite tactic. They smile while they sharpen knives! While he stumbles, Troy rigs the system!”

Arina frowned. “He did not rig anything, did he? His entourage did all the work. I do not think he even knew it was happening.”

“Exactly!” Alexei jabbed his fork in the air while Gema gazed with lovestruck adoration. “Which makes it worse! A fool letting other fools win their matches? I call it the ‘Farthington Fallacy.’ It is a humiliation engineered by Lindsay Troy!”

The whole table groaned, save for Ivan. With Alexei, there was always Lindsay Troy talk at the dinner table.

Speedy glanced at Ivan. The Bear only chewed.

“Maybe she underestimates us?” Arina offered.

Alexei caught it like a soldier catching a baton. “No,” he snapped, jumping to his feet. “She underestimates him.”

He stabbed his fork toward Ivan, who sat hunched and wordless.

“Lemieux was allowed to win,” Alexei continued, his voice rising now, swelling like an anthem. “This wasn’t a match, it was theater!” Gema nearly swooned.

He looked to Ivan, eyes alight.

“He’s the Russian Bear!” he roared, arms spread wide. “Unbeatable!!!”

But Ivan didn’t rise.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t care.

Gema blew a bubble with her gum.

The pop echoed.

—

After the dishes were done and the noise bled from the walls, little Luz crept down the hallway.

She crouched by the thin bedroom door, toy soldier in hand. Listening.

Children believe in magic. Something told her tonight was special.

Inside, Ivan sat on the bed, lit by a lamp too small for the room. He hadn’t spoken in hours.

She watched her father step into the room with two glasses of water. He gave her a quiet smile… and shut the door.

She eavesdropped.

“Figured you might want something,” Speedy said.

Ivan nodded once.

They sat in silence.

A long one.

Finally, his voice rumbled like a quarry giving way under the rain.

“I told her I would come home.”

Speedy didn’t respond. Just listened.

Ivan’s eyes bored into the floor.

“Not to Russia. Not to Arkhangelsk. To her. After my match.”

He inhaled, slow and even.

“What son asks his mother, riddled with cancer, to wait?”

Another silence. The kind that fills up your lungs when no one’s looking.

“She could not.”

Ivan drew a breath like lifting a mountain.

“I cannot stop. Not yet. Not until I finish… something. I do not know what.” He said softly. “But it hurts.”

Speedy didn’t say anything at first. He’d seen Ivan at 71, throwing Lemieux through at least three walls and bellowing like nothing was on his mind. That version of Ivan terrified people. It shook buildings.

But here?

Here, in the stillness of a Havana bedroom, he wasn’t fire.

He was smoke.

The kind that lingers after everything is already gone.

Ivan looked at his scarred hands. Massive. Foreign.

“Sometimes, I do not know what I am, Pedro,” Ivan said, eschewing “Speedy” for a name more sacred. “Sometimes, I cannot see myself. But she could.”

Speedy Riggs was not a big man, but he did his best to absorb as much pain as he could by simply being present for his friend.

Ivan spoke softly.

“And so does your darling Luz. She looked at me like she knew me.”

Speedy smiled and allowed his heart to rise into his chest.

“Vanya, you still are.”

Ivan didn’t answer, but he listened.

For the first time, his eyes didn’t look like war zones. Just tired.

Outside, Luz didn’t make a sound. She hugged the toy soldier to her chest.

—

It was the first time he spoke.

Not for cameras.

Not for cause.

For himself.

My littlest general heard it.

And she remembered.

And at the end of Day Three?

The floor didn’t creak when my wonderful girl went to bed.

—

Day Four The Wind Turns

The air changed on Day Four.

Just a little.

You couldn’t see it, not really. Not in the laundry lines or the way Rosita stirred the cafe cubano. But if you stood under our fig tree, the one where Ivan had parked his soul, you could feel it. A small breeze. Enough to stir the leaves.

A breeze that might mean something.

The Bear sat under that fig tree, same as he had every morning.

Same boots. Same black shirt. Same bench suffering the same horrible fate of bearing all the weight of an overlarge man with an overlarge burden.

But today?

Ivan was sitting up straighter.

Not a lot. Just a little. Like maybe his back didn’t hurt as much. Like maybe the bench didn’t feel like a tomb anymore.

He didn’t growl when Arina passed him.

He didn’t flinch at the rooster.

When Rosita brought him toast, he actually looked at her and growled, “It’s burnt,” and then took a bite. (It wasn't.)

Inside, Gema was already in full makeup. She had four dresses draped over chairs and was arguing with Alexei about lighting. “The mid-morning sun is too warm for my brand,” she lamented, holding up her phone. “It will ruin my grid!” She added, “But I would like that rooster in the shot, my Alejandro.”

Alexei muttered in Russian and set off trying to catch the rooster.

I was in the backyard, tightening bolts again.

Not because anything was broken this time. But because sometimes you need to fix things. Even when the swing set is already strong enough.

There were footsteps behind me.

Big ones.

Ivan’s.

He watched me work, and then, without a word, he took up a wrench. Together, for five minutes, we worked in silence.

The kind of silence that repairs things.

—

Day Five The Smile

The bags were packed before anyone noticed.

No announcement. No speech. Ivan stood at the front of the house, but his shoulders weren’t as heavy.

Arina stood beside the car, quietly twisting her fingers while she watched a spectacle unfold.

Across the yard, Gema took selfies with the rooster, which seemed to like her. She wore her plate-sized sunglasses and her tank top with “NO BAD DAYS” in gold glitter.

She spotted Alexei pacing near the sidewalk, checking his watch like it might explode.

“¡Alejandro!” she sang.

She was already at his side, clutching his hand. “I will miss you!”

Ruslan ruffled his mustache and, for once, found no words.

Arina caught the subtle squeeze he gave her hand.

Gema kissed Alexei on the cheek.

Left side first.

Arina didn’t look away. This time, she smiled. Just a little. Just for herself.

She let the sun warm her face.

—

Speedy walked Ivan to the gate.

They didn’t speak.

No need.

Twenty years of friendship doesn’t require fanfare.

Little Luz stood on the porch.

Ivan slowed when he saw her, barefoot, toy soldier in hand. He turned, fully, and stood still. Behind him, Speedy stopped, watching.

Ivan and Luz locked eyes.

And then? He made a face.

Just for her. Crossed eyes and twisted mouth, the same as two years ago when she tried to tickle him.

She laughed.

Just once. Bright and quick and real and she waved to him.

Ivan smiled and walked into the morning light.

—

I’ve known Ivan Stanislav for over twenty years.

I was there in PCW when he put his body between me and a steel chair that was meant for my skull. I was there when he told promoters, to their face, that if I didn’t get the same health insurance as the other refs, he’d stop wrestling.

No one ever fought for me.

He never said I owed him.

He never had to.

Sometimes, I don’t realize I’m counting faster for Ivan.

But do you want to know why I do?

It’s not favoritism.

It’s not even ideology.

It’s love.

The man deserves a fast count. Because no one fights like him. Not for money. Not for glory. For something older. Something deeper.

I’ve never seen him quit.

Not when they took his title.

Not when they broke his ribs.

Not when Fanya died.

He keeps going. Not because he’s smart. Or healthy. Or even sane.

He endures because the world keeps testing whether he’ll break.

And Lemieux? He’s not a bad guy. He’s likable.

But likability doesn’t work for a man who’s already seen the end of the world.

Ivan’s buried friends.

He stood before history and refused to kneel.

Now he’s put in a tournament like he’s just another name on a list.

Chandler Tsonda’s wrath still lingers. Fanya’s echo will never stop. He’s quieter. He’s hurting. Slower, maybe.

But he’s still here.

You can't outfox a man who already outlived his own funeral.

Ivan marches ever forward and that’s what endurance is, folks.

That’s what you’re gonna see.

When Ivan left, he didn’t say goodbye.

He didn’t need to.

The Bear had marched through fire and still found a way to smile.

Through Chandler. Through Claymore.

And now toward whatever Lemieux has up his sleeve.

Ivan Stanislav smiled for my littlest general.

And maybe? For himself.