Moonlight in Odessa (28 page)

I changed the subject and asked Jane how she’d felt when she’d come to Odessa to teach.

‘Nervous, but excited. I didn’t know what to expect, what to bring, how to act.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When I came here, I didn’t stop to observe how things were done. I just charged right in like a demented general. A spoiled rotten twenty-three-year-old general. I didn’t respect the hierarchy and unwritten rules. I thought that my co-workers should follow my lead and respect my feelings and ideas. I alienated my boss immediately because I reacted before looking at things from her point of view. If I’d been a little older, a little wiser, things would have been different.’

I nodded. Remember that, I said to myself. Observe. Be ready to adapt. Don’t be rash. Don’t assume. Wait. Listen. Think.

Jane sighed, as if she was reliving painful moments.

‘Darling,’ Tans embraced her. ‘How could anyone not love you? You’re so honest, so true. That’s what I love about you. You’re the exception. Rare. Beautiful.’

‘I don’t know about that. You’re right about one thing. I am different. It was obvious I wasn’t Ukrainian. Most of the time I didn’t mind standing out. But there were days it was hard.’

Compared to Odessan girls, Jane had not looked polished. Her clothes were wrinkled – she’d said she couldn’t be bothered to iron. Her Birkenstocks hit the pavement hard, and when it rained, mud splattered from the hem of her cream-colored trousers all the way up the backs of her thighs.

‘If you’re planning a long trip, take the books and photos you really love,’ she said, which made me think she could read my thoughts. She looked at me, even when I looked away. I was helpless under her gaze. Jane knew me well enough to know I was hiding something, but like a true Odessan, she also knew not to pry.

They stayed for a week. We met every day, walking along the sea in the evening. We even went out with her Ukrainian ex-boyfriend, Misha. As Jane talked to him, Tans sat up taller and sucked in his stomach. Misha was slightly younger than Jane and of course his stomach was as flat as Boba’s ironing board. His gray eyes lingered on Jane, and her lips curled into a shy smile.

Misha tried to pay for our drinks but Tans wouldn’t let him.

The next evening, when Jane and Tans boarded the night train to Kiev, Misha brought a bottle of
champagnskoye
. We clinked glasses and wished them bon voyage. I secretly wished myself bon voyage as well.

After we drank the last drops, I hugged Jane and whispered, ‘I’ll be in America before you.’

‘What?’

I smiled and quickly said, ‘Nothing. Just a joke.’

She wanted to say more, but the whistle blew, and Misha and I had to leave the train. He hailed a car for me and paid the driver in advance. I turned to look at him, and as he disappeared from view, I found myself wondering if I hadn’t shortchanged Odessan men. In Misha, Jane had found someone who was attentive, strong, and loving. She told me she’d asked him to go to America with her; he’d said he wanted to but couldn’t abandon his recently widowed mother.

As the time drew near for me to go to Kiev to get my American visa, I went from friend to friend, including Valentina. Not to say goodbye. I just wanted to see them one more time.

On my last day in the shipping office, my eyes started to water. I would miss Odessa and my job here. I would even miss David. I dabbed at my eyes and he asked, ‘What’s wrong? Do you need help? Are you having money problems?’

His solicitude only made me sadder.

I’d told him I was taking a leave of absence to take care of an aunt in Kiev. ‘I wrote out a list of instructions for your next secretary –’ He opened his mouth and I added, ‘Including instructions for how to proceed at the port, so that it will be smooth sailing for everyone involved.’

He pulled five crisp hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet, saying, ‘Take this. Health care bribes in this country are insane.’

I couldn’t believe the trajectory of our relationship. We had moved from hardcore hunter and jumpy prey, to an awkward cold war after the incident, to adversaries during the beginning of the Olga phase, and finally to a bond of friendship. I would miss him. I missed him already.

I looked at the money, offered out of love, with no strings attached. I hugged him very hard. ‘Thank you, David. Thank you.’

He kissed my hair and said, ‘Hurry back. I need you.’

I refused the money – I wouldn’t need it in America. But at home, I found he had tucked the bills into my purse.

I hugged Boba constantly, asking her again and again if I was doing the right thing. ‘Of course! Who are you going to find here?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t raise you so that you could hand-wash some man’s socks and wait on him hand and foot. Go to America! They have things we don’t, their lives are easy in a way ours will never be. Look at my hands, Dasha.’ The nails were short, the skin dry and tight; veins had popped up like mountain ranges, brown spots dotted the landscape. ‘These hands have spent a lifetime washing sheets, clothes, nappies, and menstrual rags by plunging them into pails of scalding water. I don’t want that for you. I want you to be free. Free from menial labor; free to get a good-paying job because you’re qualified, not because the boss wants to take advantage; free to live your life without having to worry about shortages, or how you are going to pay the bills.’

I hugged her tight. ‘I don’t want you to be alone.’

‘I don’t mind. I’ve endured long periods of solitude. I don’t know if this man is the love of your life, but he has kind eyes and is polite. He didn’t smoke or get drunk while he was here. You’ll be better off with him than with a Ukrainian. Better off there than here. God Himself is helping you. Now go.’

As I kneeled in front of my enormous suitcase, Boba flitted from the living room to my room, bringing books and photos. I packed my finest clothes so that I would fit in in America. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was poor. I started to worry. Would Americans accept me? Would I experience culture shock? Probably not – everything was perfect there. I would follow Jane’s advice and quietly observe. I wouldn’t judge and I would adapt. My head was deep in my suitcase and deep in thought when I heard heavy footsteps behind me. ‘I’ll take all the photos you want, but I can’t fit another book in! Babel, Pushkin, Akhmatova, and Tolstoy will do!’ I said.

‘I didn’t bring any books,’ a deep voice said behind me.

I closed my eyes. How many weeks had I waited to see Vlad? I didn’t even allow myself to think about him anymore. I’d locked him out of my heart and mind. Yet at the sound of his voice, my treacherous heart opened to receive him. I didn’t turn around. I continued to rearrange my shoes and books.

‘It’s okay if you don’t want to look at me,’ Vlad said from the doorway. ‘I don’t want to look at myself either. I’m ashamed.’

I didn’t move.

‘I have a confession – that morning after our night together, I was awake. In fact, I hadn’t slept. I was terrified, feeling emotions I’d never felt before, desiring things – a wife, a family – that I hadn’t known I’d wanted a day earlier. I want to spend my life with you. I want to marry you.’

I righted myself and faced him. His cheekbones were what I noticed first – he’d lost weight. He took off his sunglasses. The dark circles under his eyes were almost purple. His cheeks and chin were dotted with stubble. His lips were sensual.

‘I, I, I. All you care about is you and what you think and feel. You’re just like every other guy I’ve ever dated: selfish, unreliable, and fickle. Where was all this months ago? Where were you?’

‘In Irkutsk to see my brother and check on business there. At first, I told myself I had to stay there until I felt nothing more for you. After three months, I realized my feelings would never go away. That’s why I’m here.’

How long had I waited to hear these words? How long had I waited to see him? Even if I wanted to throw myself into his arms and accept, my pride wouldn’t allow it. Instead, I rolled my eyes and sneered, ‘You make me sound like some kind of disease. Do you really think I just sat around and moped? I’ve moved on.’

He gestured to the clothes strewn around the room. ‘What’s all this? Where are you going?’

How I wanted to brag that I was going to the American embassy to get my visa, then flying to San Francisco the following day. I only said, ‘To Kiev.’ I was afraid that he had ways of making me stay. And, worse, that I would be happy to.

‘Let me drive you.’ He crossed the room to stand before me.

‘I don’t need you. Please go.’ I looked out the window. I didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to weaken.

‘Why are you taking so many books and clothes?’ he asked, taking my hand. I jerked it away and walked to the doorway. ‘Just how long are you planning to stay?’

‘I’ve taken a leave of absence from work . . . to take care of my frail aunt. I don’t know how long I’ll be there.’

‘You don’t have any family aside from your grandmother.’

‘This woman was . . . a friend of my mother’s. I’ve always called her “auntie.” I need to finish packing. Please leave.’ But I stood blocking the door. A part of me didn’t want him to go. No, not just a part. All of me.

He got down on his knees and inched towards me with a green leather box in his hand. ‘I’m prostrate before you, my beauty. I’m holding out my hand, I’m holding out my heart, I’m holding out a seven-carat diamond ring.’

I smiled down at him. My tears fell onto his cheeks. ‘My little soul,’ he murmured as he slipped his ring onto my finger. I held up my hand; the stone sparkled. His hands rested on my hips, and my body remembered the sensations of pleasure and satiation that I’d shut out of my mind. He kissed my stomach reverently; I held his face to my belly and ran my hands through his hair. He sighed and wrapped his arms around my waist.

Finally, he stood and took me in his arms. A gentle wisp of air blew in through the window. Just as he bent to kiss me, my nose twitched.

Vodka.

I took a step back. My eyes narrowed, my resolve returned. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘The boys wanted to celebrate my return to Odessa and my engagement. I was nervous about coming over here, so I had more than usual.’

I don’t know which made me more furious – the fact that he assumed I would fall into his arms and accept his proposal or that he needed a drink (quite a few from the smell of it) to bolster his courage. My mother had loved an alcoholic who’d run off at the first sign of trouble. That wasn’t going to be me. Vlad would be a horrible husband and an even worse father. If I married him, I’d be stuck. The breeze had sent a sign that I’d have been a fool to ignore. I pulled off the ring, put it back in its box, and shut the lid on all my naïve fantasies.

I held out the box. ‘Leave. Just leave.’

He refused to take it. ‘What’s wrong?’

I crossed my arms and looked away.

‘You’re angry because I went away?’

I didn’t say anything.

‘I understand you feel betrayed. I’ll let you go to Kiev. I love you; I can wait. I don’t blame you for being proud, or for wanting to make me walk through the hell I put you through.’

Let me go to Kiev?
He was so arrogant, thinking I was just waiting for him to come back so that my world would continue to spin again. He thought I’d just give in and fall into his arms and his king-size bed. He tried to hand me the box, but I didn’t uncross my arms. He placed it in my suitcase and turned to me. He put his hands on my shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. I pulled out of his grasp. I hated that I’d fallen for his lines yet again.

‘I want you to be mine. I want you to wear my ring. Dasha, swear that the minute you get back to Odessa, we’ll talk.’

I almost laughed, so I bit my lip, then looked into his eyes and said, ‘You have my solemn word. When I return to Odessa, we’ll talk.’

I was so happy to make this promise that I also made myself one – I’d never come back. Never. Not even if I was miserable. Then I let myself laugh, great barks of mirth. Who could be miserable in America?

Vlad smiled back, as though my laughter somehow concerned him. He was so vain. How could I ever have cared for him? He tried to kiss me, but I countered his move so quickly that all he got was a mouthful of hair. He took my hand and kissed it. And walked out the door.

After he left, Boba returned to the bedroom and asked, ‘Was that . . .?’

When I nodded, she sneered, ‘Gangster. You’re better off without him!’; made the sign of the cross the Russian Orthodox way, tapping her forehead, chest, right shoulder, left shoulder; then spit three times. I handed Boba Vlad’s gift and asked her to return it to him.

I called Uncle Vadim and asked him to take us to the train station. He loaded my suitcases in the boot. ‘You’re going to see your American cousin. I’m right. Tell me I’m right!’

‘She’s just going to Kiev for a while,’ Boba said, ending his speculation.

As we pulled away from the curb, I saw a black sedan do the same. Uncle Vadim said, ‘You have an admirer. Is he the reason you’re going to . . . Amer—, uh Kiev?’

‘One of the reasons,’ I admitted.

When we arrived at the train station, I could feel Vlad’s gaze as the Mercedes floated by. Uncle Vadim took my luggage and the three of us made our way to my compartment. Boba pulled a bottle of
champagnskoye
and plastic goblets from her purse. We clinked glasses and they both wished me luck. Uncle Vadim left to give us a moment of privacy. Boba took the green leather box out of her purse and pressed it to my palm. ‘Take it, Dasha. If you ever want to come home, you can sell it.’