Moonlight in Odessa (36 page)

He tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you would want me if you knew the truth.’

‘No one appreciates being lied to,’ I said, hating myself for being taken in.

‘I didn’t lie exactly. I
do
work at school. And I do lead a scout troop.’

‘Why don’t you teach?’

‘I never finished college.’

‘Well, how long would it take you to get your teaching degree?’ Maybe he had just a semester of university left and could finish, then look for a teaching job.

‘Three and a half years,’ he admitted.

‘You only completed one semester of college?’ I yelled.

He nodded. ‘Without the degree, I couldn’t get a job as a teacher, so I took the only one I could get. I work in the school. I help kids. I
feel
like a teacher.’

I felt like a fool. I remembered how he said he taught summer school. How he didn’t want me to go to the school. I should have known right then and there. He’d lied to me for all this time. He stood there, looking pathetic. His eyes downcast, his hands trembling. I didn’t yell or scream or cry. I didn’t say anything. I blamed myself. Let the buyer be wary. Marry in haste, repent forever. I trudged back to the pickup. He followed in silence.

Chapter 17

Boba, my dear and darling grandmother,

Greetings from San Francisco!

You were right to encourage me to come to America. Tristan takes such good care of me. Just last week, he bought me two new outfits. He is a good provider. Life is so much better here. Everything is of the finest quality. People are cultured. The sparrows are plump. Only a fool would not be happy in this paradise.

Tristan must be a caring teacher because when he and I stroll in the early evening, children run up to him to chat. When did I ever want to see my teachers outside the classroom? He will be a wonderful father. And I can’t wait to be a mother.

I got a job at an engineering firm. It feels so good to be able to use my knowledge. And the salary! It’s even better than at the shipping firm . . .

I would be so much happier if you were here, Boba. Sometimes I feel so blue because I miss you so much. I feel lost without you. It’s silly but sometimes even deciding what to cook for dinner can be overwhelming. Won’t you please consider coming? It would make me so very happy.

I love and miss you,

Dasha

Our marriage wasn’t fate – it was a huge mistake.

The worst was that I couldn’t talk to anyone. I couldn’t tell Boba the truth. How devastated she would be. She’d start her talk about us being cursed, and I would begin to believe that she was right. As for my friends back home, they’d be offended that I hadn’t confided in them about coming to California, and they’d be jealous. If I dared to complain, then I imagined they’d snap, ‘Poor princess in America.’ I couldn’t blame them, even I’d have reacted this way. From a distance, life in America looks perfect. Molly and I spoke often, but she was Tristan’s friend and I feared she would take his side. I wanted to confide in Jane, but was too embarrassed – after all, she’d tried to warn me. I didn’t want anyone to know that I’d been duped.

Jane and I met on her very first day in Odessa and knew that we were destined to be best friends. The American missionaries I’d met before her whined about how hard life was in Odessa and I vowed to help Jane. I phoned every evening and often invited her home. When I asked how things were, she only said it was difficult to learn Russian. Now, I saw she had a lot to complain about: blackouts, poverty, no heat in the winter, no washer or dryer, a telephone that was an antique compared to those in America.

She called me now as I had once called her. She spoke my language, she urged, ‘Talk to me. Tell me in Russian. I know it can’t be easy for you with him.’

But I remained silent. Even in Russian, I couldn’t find the words.

I was offended he had started our marriage off with a lie. More than that, I lost respect for him. Not because he lied – everyone lies. But because he wasn’t smart enough or didn’t care enough to hide his lack of knowledge. After our first walk in nature, any Odessan would have been clever enough to buy a book on flora and fauna. Any Odessan would have covered their tracks. That’s what we did. If something went missing, we replaced it before anyone noticed. If a recipe called for an ingredient we didn’t have, we improvised. If we didn’t know the answer, we learned it – and fast. We think on our feet because we live on the edge. Ukraine,
Ukraina
, means on the edge. On the edge of Russia. On the edge of poverty. On edge from living and loving in close quarters. We needed any edge, any advantage we could get. And Tristan, sadly, did not have this drive. He was happy to be a part-time custodian and a full-time redneck in a village that wasn’t even on the map driving a truck that was older than me. Was this why he’d gone to Odessa to find a wife? Was this why no
Americanka
would have him? Was I wrong to feel this way?

Boba wrote her letters to me on the only stationery we had in Odessa – rough gray paper that people here would think suitable only for geometry homework, since instead of lines the paper had small squares. Boba didn’t believe in waste and filled the page front and back with no margins. She did not sign her name – leftover paranoia from the former Soviet Union.

Dashinka, my darling favorite girl,

Hello from sunny Odessa!

Little rabbit paw, the paper you wrote on was so beautiful. If everything there is of such fine quality, surely I was right to push you to leave Odessa.

Thank you for the money you sent. You didn’t need to do that – and you shouldn’t do it again. You know perfectly well that nine times out of ten the postman opens letters. And anyway, I manage just fine with the money you left me.

Yesterday, I came home from the bazaar to find your boss standing in the courtyard entry looking flustered. What he was doing there, I never did find out because I lit into him. I told him to stop sending me the fancy food, to stop wasting his money. He just laughed. I had the money you sent me in my purse and I tried to get him to take it, but he just blushed and backed away. Since he was there, I went ahead and fed him. He’s as skinny as a matchstick and he ate my potato salad like a wolf. His Russian isn’t as bad as you said it was.

I hadn’t realized that he still sent Boba food. She was right to tell him to stop. I should tell him to stop. And what was he doing there anyway? Skinny as a matchstick. Why wasn’t he looking after himself? Of course, if he depended on Olga for meals, it was no wonder that he was emaciated.

It felt strange to think of him. Certainly, I’d never seen him blush. I’d imagined that everything would stay exactly the same in Odessa, like a scene in a snow globe. But life moved on, whether I was there to observe it or not.

While doing the grocery shopping for the week, I saw a tall blonde stocking the shelves. Something told me that like me, she was a foreigner. Maybe it was her rosy cheeks or her clunky shoes or her handmade sweater.

She looked at me and said, ‘You must be Daria.’

‘How did you know?’

‘Small town. I’ve been meaning to stop by your house to say hi. So you’re Russian?’

‘Ukrainian.
Odessitka
.’

‘
Odessitkaaa
,’ she repeated, the word sounding like a sigh of rapture on her lips. ‘So lucky,’ she said. ‘The beaches, the cafés, the monuments. I was there once and loved it.’

Of course I immediately liked her for loving Odessa. She introduced herself. Name: Anna. Rank: married to an American doctor. Profession: Polish teacher. She, too, had had trouble finding a job in Emerson. Some people here wanted to learn Spanish, but most didn’t seem to want to learn any foreign languages.

‘I can’t complain,’ she said. ‘This job allows me to send money home to my parents in Krakow.’ She never stopped smiling, she looked like she couldn’t believe her luck. Maybe I had looked that same way when I first arrived in America.

‘Come to my house for tea.’

I went the very next day. Anna kissed my cheek and pulled me inside. I took off my shoes and she pulled out a pair of slippers for me. ‘Come in and meet my husband Steve. Steeeve!’ She yelled down the corridor. A lanky man with merry eyes walked towards us.

He shook my hand and said, ‘So nice to meet you. I’m just on my way out the door.’ To Anna, he said, ‘I promised Father William that I’d give him a hand.’

Anna giggled. ‘Give him all the hands he needs.’

He chuckled and kissed her. I didn’t know why they were laughing, but I laughed too.

‘Enjoy your visit,’ he said. What a cultured man.

Anna took my hand and led me to the kitchen, where the table had been set with a white tablecloth (I touched it, such quality!) with embroidered red flowers on each corner.

‘My mother made it. Her wedding gift to us.’

‘How long have you been in the States?’

‘Three years total. Two married to Steve. Two months in Emerson. Before we got married, I was a nanny in Sacramento. It goes by fast, doesn’t it?’

For me, the days seemed to drag, but I didn’t tell her so. I just nodded.

She put the tea leaves in the pot and said, ‘It’s real English china. So are the cups. His parents were so generous when we got married. They thought Steve would never settle down.’

‘Why not?’

‘He was a playboy when we met. He and my boss were colleagues and he came to their house. They had pool parties all the time. Steve asked me out, but I always said no. I didn’t want to waste my time with someone who wasn’t serious.’

‘Then how did you end up married?’

‘My visa was about to expire, and I was looking forward to seeing my family again. It had been a year and talking on the phone just isn’t the same.’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ I said.

‘Then he asked me to marry him. I laughed, figuring that he wasn’t serious, that he wasn’t capable of it. But he convinced me, and now here we are, crazy in love.’

‘A great story.’ I was happy for her, yet her fairy tale made me jealous. It was exactly what I had wanted for myself. I stared down at the cup, trying to hide my poisonous feelings. ‘Such fine craftsmanship.’

‘I never use them,’ she said. ‘People here want their cheap mugs. They prefer Made in China. I prefer china.’

‘They’re just afraid to break your nice things.’

She’d made brownies and Polish sugar cookies. I took one of each and said, ‘Thank you for going to so much trouble.’

‘No trouble,’ she smiled. ‘Only pleasure.’

‘How are things . . . really?’ I asked. Surely her smiles hid something. A problem with her in-laws, dissatisfaction at work, tension with her husband . . .

‘I love Steve, I love it here. I’m so glad we moved to the country. Life is great! How are things for you?’

Since she lied, I did, too. ‘Great. Just great.’

Tristan watched me carefully for weeks. I tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it. I tried to laugh, but it came out as a sigh. In bed at night, I wrapped my arms around a pillow, turned my back to him and curled into the fetal position. He was patient. He did the dishes every night. (Well, he put them in the dishwasher.) He vacuumed. He ordered cheese pizza. He asked if I wanted him to light a fire. I shrugged. He asked if I wanted to practice whistling. I told him I didn’t feel like whistling.

Each week I called Boba and talked for five minutes. I didn’t want her to know how sad I was. Didn’t want her to worry. And anyway, I couldn’t explain what I felt.

When he came home, I looked up from the book I wasn’t reading. He was grinning and asked me to come onto the front step. I followed him and saw a small white car in the driveway. ‘It’s for you,’ he explained. ‘It’s an automatic, so it’ll be easy for you to learn how to drive.’

‘Wow!’ I exclaimed, using a word I’d learned from him. I embraced him. The first spontaneous hug in a long time. Usually he was the one grabbing me.

‘The car’s ten years old,’ he said apologetically, ‘but Toyotas never die. Want to go for a spin?’

He showed me how to turn the key, step on the brake, and move the lever into reverse. Then roll back, pivot turn, and go. We drove for an hour. I knew it wasn’t a gift, it was goodwill. A bribe. Still, I hadn’t felt so wonderful, so free in months.

Jane still called. She asked how I was doing, if I’d made any friends. I said yes, but the truth was that I’d been in Emerson for months and spent most of my time alone or with Tristan. When I arrived, Tristan practically swaggered as we walked down main street where he introduced me to Phil, the bar owner and organizer of the village’s baseball team; Joseph at the fire station; Louise, a retired secretary. He bragged to everyone that I ‘stopped traffic.’ The villagers brought food to welcome me, to congratulate Tristan. But after that, we never saw them again. I waited for people to come until I realized it was up to me to reach out.