Moonlight in Odessa (37 page)

I invited Molly and Serenity over for coffee on Sunday. Tristan was supposed to watch the game at Toby’s. That was the plan.

‘You can’t know how I long for adult conversation,’ Molly said. ‘Not that it isn’t great to raise a family.’ She smiled and pointed to her frizzy hair and pale face. ‘I haven’t had time to put on make-up in about ten years.’

We laughed, but a part of her was serious. It was true that despite the modern machines to make life easier, she ran and ran, taking her kids from football to soccer to play practice. Her son Farley was in school only half a day, her small twins always toddled off in different directions. Not to mention the house and yard she had to tend. Whenever I called, I heard the clanging of cutlery. I pictured the phone wedged between her ear and shoulder as she used both hands to empty the dishwasher then refill it with the dishes from the last supper. I hoped to offer her a moment of respite.

We sat at the dining room table, which I had set with the linen napkins I’d brought from home. They were embroidered with blue and yellow thread, the colors of Ukraine. Yellow stood for our wheat fields. We were, after all, the bread basket of the former Soviet Union. Blue stood for the sky above us. I served Boba’s pound cake, white and creamy, while Molly poured the coffee, dark and rich. I listened to my new friends unravel the small mysteries of who had bought the Johnson house, who got a new refrigerator, who was planning a move to Las Vegas, recognising, if not the exact phrases, then the cadence of the words. I rejoiced at having found the reassuring realm of women. I started to relax. These women didn’t want anything from me. Their eyes were welcoming, understanding. Their bodies were plump and soft and lovely. There were no sharp edges or sharp criticism. I wanted to curl my arms around theirs, to lay my head on their shoulders like I would have with Boba. I wanted to ask them about my relationship with Tristan (Was it normal that he called three times a day? That he needed to be with me all the time when he wasn’t working?), but Molly was his friend, so instead, I pulled out photos of my Boba, the Black Sea, Odessa’s opera house, and the
philharmonia
(our world-renowned orchestra had an American conductor, Hobart Earle). I told them that we had the most beautiful beaches in the world. Golden sand caressed by warm water. The sea changes color the way a kaleidoscope changes its pattern – blue, green, silver – depending on the sun.

‘Why did you leave such a gorgeous place?’ Serenity asked, looking at the waves.

I didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, my mind raced with questions that had no answers. Should I explain about the weak economy? Should I tell them how difficult it had been to find a good-paying job? That our Hobart, the great conductor, only received fifty dollars per month? Could they – women from the land of plenty – understand? Was it fate? Or free will? Had I been pushed? Had I been pulled? Was I running from my fate or running towards it?

‘She fell in love,’ Molly replied for me. She wisely didn’t say if I fell in love with Tristan or America. ‘You’re so lucky,’ she continued. ‘In the beginning, it’s all flowers and kisses. It feels like every year gets harder. And Toby doesn’t make it any easier. The other day Farley refused to brush his teeth. When I asked Toby to help, he told Farley if he brushed five days in a row, Toby would buy him a hamster. Now I have to clean the rodent’s cage. Pretty soon we’ll be bribing the kid to do his homework.’

Serenity was the next to open up. She spoke of her feelings of doubt. She did want to live with her boyfriend, but didn’t want to leave her cabin. Something was holding her back. I, too, had had this feeling. What was it? Nervousness? Or self-preservation?

I never found out. The front door slammed.
Cling-clang-clung
. Tristan had returned after only thirty minutes. I wanted to howl. Unfair! Unfair! Not even an hour to myself. I hoped that he came to get something and would go back, or at least that he would go to the office and stay put. But no. He stood at the head of the table and said, ‘Ooh, cake!’ in a manic tone of voice (he’d eaten a slice before he left) and sat down as though he hadn’t noticed the awkward silence.

‘You weren’t enjoying the game?’ Molly asked. ‘You usually stay all afternoon.’

‘I’m not a bachelor anymore. Just wanted to see what you gals were up to.’

‘Girl talk,’ Molly said, ‘Just girl talk.’

She sounded disappointed.

I got a plate and served him. I turned to Serenity, hoping she would tell us more, but the moment had passed.

‘You wouldn’t believe the week I had,’ Tristan said. ‘Kids decided the new fun thing is to shake Coke cans and open them in the school halls. Pop everywhere – on the ceiling, on the walls, all over the floor. I’m not fast enough to catch them red-handed and I’ve mopped ten times in four days. Man!’ On and on he went. Louder and faster.

The three of us just stared at him, stunned. Maybe he didn’t realize how we had looked forward to chatting. Maybe he didn’t realize he was monopolizing the conversation. He means well, I told myself. Molly and Serenity excused themselves from the table. ‘He just likes to be with me all the time,’ I said apologetically to them as we moved towards Serenity’s Subaru. They smiled brightly. Too brightly. I worried they wouldn’t ever come back.

Molly turned to me and whispered, ‘I feel like I should tell you –’

‘What’s that, Molly?’ Tristan asked, with an edge to his voice I’d never heard before. I felt his fingers dig into my shoulder as he pulled me to him.

She looked at me and swallowed. ‘I just wanted to tell Daria thank you.’

What had she tried to tell me?

‘It was lovely to talk to you,’ I said. ‘Please come back again. Please.’

They nodded and got in the car.

‘Well that was nice,’ Tristan said. ‘Nice ladies. Glad you’re making friends.’

‘It was nice until you came home and ruined everything. Why can’t I have just one afternoon to myself with my new girlfriends?’

‘But I, I . . .’

‘Did you see how quickly they left? You didn’t let them say a word.’

‘But sweetie, I just want to be with you.’

Molly invited us for dinner a few days later. I met her older children, Ashley and Peter, who were in junior high. Peter talked about his band – they couldn’t decide if they wanted to play grunge or country, and they couldn’t decide if they should call themselves cue-ball or eight-ball. Ashley, who had braces and talked with a gentle lisp, told us that all the other girls could watch R-rated movies, wear make-up, and date. Her mother replied quite firmly that Ashley would never be just ‘another girl.’ Farley took his hamster Clementine with him everywhere. Her cage was tucked under his chair; she ran on her squeaky wheel the entire meal.

‘Clem gets in about four hours of cardio a day,’ Molly joked as she fed the toddlers in their highchairs.

This is what I wanted. A happy family life. Delighted parents – a mother
and
a father – proudly listening to the stories of their children, light tension diffused with love. It wasn’t until later that I realized Molly and Toby had not interacted at all.

After dinner, we moved to the easy chairs in the living room. Watching Farley with Clementine was better than watching TV. He coaxed her to the side of the cage with the promise of a potato chip and delighted in how she kept the morsel in her cheek, which was so swollen it looked like she had the mumps. I offered to baby-sit any time – their children were so darling. Tristan and I each held a toddler as they drifted off to sleep. This bundle of love, so warm and soft, felt like heaven in my arms. Tristan’s eyes met mine and he smiled tenderly. I smiled back shyly. Things could be so simple and bring such happiness – a good meal with friends, a child who smelled of milk and honey slumbering in your arms, a moment of complicity.

That night, when Tristan climbed on me, I prayed that this time I would conceive. When he finished, he rolled off me and kissed my cheek. Two minutes later, he was snoring. I stared at the ceiling.

I was marooned in the country.

We didn’t live anywhere near San Francisco.

My husband was not who he’d claimed to be.

He gave me no privacy unless I was in the bathroom.

I didn’t have the great job in the city that I had hoped for.

After this series of disappointments, perhaps a child would mean even more.

The car gave me a goal: to get the real American ID card – a driver’s license. I studied for the exam. I smiled for the photo – a bright, happy grin. I had my own car, I was in the driver’s seat. When my license arrived in the mail, I felt American, free, proud and capable. How long would it take to get my green card? We’d filled out the papers right after our honeymoon. Soon. Let it be soon, I thought to myself, though I knew that it would take two years.

I rolled down the window and blasted my music, shouting out the words. Jane was so right: a car is freedom. For the first time, I didn’t miss the sea, I didn’t mind being landlocked. For the first time, I could imagine myself living here. I saw the landscape in a different way. Not as a wall, but as a window to this great country. In my car, I didn’t feel frustrated. I felt free.

The first place I drove was to Serenity’s shop in Emerson. She congratulated me and offered me her newest creation: a candle called Black Sea, inspired by me! It looked like a sculpture of the waves coming together and rising up. On the bottom, it was ebony but became progressively lighter until the tops of the waves were silver-gray.

‘It’s silly,’ she said. ‘I mean, I know that the Black Sea isn’t black.’

‘No, no! It’s not silly at all. The Black Sea can be azure and it can be black. All depends on the sun. When there’s a storm brewing, this is exactly what the sea looks like. Thank you. It feels like I’m holding a piece of home in my hands.’

The candle smelled of salt and mist and mystery.

I loved her shop, filled with her fine handmade candles and soaps. It felt like a finishing line. A fragrant reward for passing a test. People here cared about me. I was making real progress instead of just rotting away in that house. As customers moved about, we chatted and I touched every single candle with wonder. Luscious lemon. Fir tree. Night. Black Sea.

Over dinner – it was Wednesday, so we were having cheese pizza and Diet Coke – Tristan said, ‘I called you three times today.’

‘I went for a drive. I wanted to see Serenity’s shop.’

‘Tell me when you go someplace so I don’t worry.’

I nodded.

‘I have a surprise for you,’ Tristan said. ‘I talked to this guy at the gas station a while back, and he married a Russian, too.’

‘What’s the surprise?’ I asked.

‘Well, when we found out that we were both married to Russian ladies, we decided we should get together. Double date. I called yesterday to set it up.’

I smiled, pleased at the thought of meeting a
Russkaya
. Apparently, this couple lived in Modesto, a city near Emerson.

At the steak house, Jerry, a beefy truck driver in his fifties, explained that he and Oksana had met at a social. I could see why he had chosen her. Men at the socials liked the busty petite blondes best. Jerry bragged that he’d ‘bagged’ a much younger woman – she was only thirty.

‘Yep, those socials were like a butcher shop – tons of raw meat.’

Shocked, I looked to Oksana. She didn’t react to his words.

‘Yep,’ he continued. ‘Choice cuts.’

He threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. Lifelessly, bonelessly, she moved toward him, as though he had grabbed her like this a hundred times, as if she were used to it. She smiled, a bitter twist of her lips, a ferocious look in her dark eyes. Then I realized that she didn’t move lifelessly. She moved like water. Like a gentle wave against a rock. The sea seems calm, but it can break rocks in a storm, and it can wear the largest stones down to nothing, one grain of sand at a time.

‘How did you find Moscow?’ I asked, trying to make polite conversation.

‘Damn cold,’ he said. ‘Prit near froze my nuts off.’ He looked at Oksana and, ‘Lucky for you it didn’t.’

I was scandalized by his comment but Oksana’s expression remained detached. The realization hit me: she didn’t understand him. She didn’t understand English.

Since the restaurant was non-smoking, Jerry went out to smoke and Tristan accompanied him.

‘How did you meet him?’ I asked Oksana in Russian.

‘Through the Lovely Russian Ladies catalog. As a joke, my colleagues at the medical institute paid to have my photo put in it. I didn’t find out about it until American men started writing to me. Jerry saw my photo and wrote nearly every day.’

‘That takes effort,’ I said, revising my earlier opinion of him. Perhaps I’d been wrong to judge so hastily.

‘The most beautiful letters. I think the person he hired to translate them to Russian just made stuff up. Now I see that Jerry had nothing to do with the letters.’

‘
Nyet
. . .’ What a cruel joke.

‘Then he started to call.’

‘Did you understand him?’

‘No, but I pretended to. Whenever there was a pause, I said “yes” or “Jerry.” He seemed satisfied with that.’