Moonlight in Odessa (39 page)

I repeated her list, over and over. We laughed together and I felt better.

Then she asked, ‘Did it ever occur to you that your name is Daria, but he calls you Dora?’

My dear granddaughter, my darling little rabbit paw,

Greetings from the Pearl of the Black Sea!

Received your letter and had even started worrying since I had not got one in so long. It took three weeks for this one to arrive. It’s not your fault, but if you’re not too busy with work, perhaps you could write more often. Don’t phone! It’s too expensive. I don’t even want to think about the cost. Save your money for your little family – and remember, God loves three.

Since you’ve been gone, a friend from the old neighborhood, Boris Mikhailovich, has come calling. Says he worries about me now that I am alone. He helps me with the heavy lifting – ten kilo bags of onions and potatoes from the bazaar, etc. etc., so I cook lunch for him. He brings me flowers. I don’t want to accept them – so expensive, so unnecessary! – but he insists. Says that he does the bazaar for me only twice a week whilst I cook for him nearly every day.

I love you, my darling girl. I think of you every day, and I am so proud that a woman in our family has finally broken the curse, that your life is full of contentment, and that you have a good home with a decent man. Soon you will have a child and you will know true bliss. I hug you very tightly. I kiss you.

In Odessa, I almost never remembered my dreams, though I always wished a trace of these sweet moments would remain, the way the taste of dark chocolate lingers in the mouth a moment after you swallow. But no. The slightest impression rarely remained. Perhaps because I studied so hard, then worked so hard that I slept like the dead. Perhaps because my longing during the day was so great it overshadowed the dreams that came at night.

But now that I was well rested, even too rested, the dreams came and stayed with me until morning. In them, I was back in the shipping firm. My teeth were gone; my lips curled around my gums. David came out of his office with my dentures and cackled, ‘I’ll always have a piece of you.’

My eyes opened. Even though I had been asleep, my hand covered my mouth.

Perhaps you would expect that I felt horrible during those weeks in which the dentist pulled my teeth and fitted me for dentures. But I didn’t. Though self-conscious, I knew I’d soon look better. I felt lucky that David gave me teeth as fine as porcelain. No other man had ever given me so dear a present. During this period of discomfort, I sensed the solace of the end. I could see the port lights. It’s easy to get through a term at school with a severe teacher or an evening with a churlish date. You just do your best to navigate the rough water. The lights of the port signal the end of the journey, knowing land is near helps you traverse the difficult moments. But my situation with Tristan was different – neither lights nor land were visible. I could barely keep my head above water.

As time went on, my dreams began to mirror my reality. I was no longer with David. I was with Tristan. He told me I was stupid, that I couldn’t cook, that I couldn’t talk right, that he didn’t understand me, that no one understood me. In these dreams, I constantly covered my mouth. I had no teeth and no voice. I was ashamed. I awoke from these nightmares thirsty and scared, my fingers already at my lips. I looked over at Tristan and whispered, ‘God help me.’

Chapter 19

Dear Boba,

All is well in the big city. I’m sorry that I haven’t written in a few weeks. Here at the engineering firm, we raced to complete a big proposal, and luckily we were awarded the contract! My boss gave me another raise. The newspaper featured me in the ‘Movers and Shakers’ section.

Tristan is so cultured. I am the luckiest of wives. In the evening, we sit in the living room and he reads me
Anna Karenina
. His voice is low and tender, and it is so interesting to hear the master’s words rendered in English.

We never go out. Of course this disappointed me at first – you know how much I love the philharmonic. Remember the 8th of March concert last year when our Hobart triumphed with his orchestra? Had we ever heard Tchaikovsky played so well?

But Tristan is right. We need to save money. It doesn’t grow in the garden. He said it would cost ten thousand dollars to have a baby. Can you imagine? How can something so small cost so much?

Yesterday, we bought a crib and the softest sheets. To think, I slept in a drawer for the first months of my life. We didn’t buy a baby blanket. I was hoping that you would crochet one for the baby and bring it when you come. We both want you to visit with all our hearts. I want you to come help me with the baby. I want you to come period.

Love,

Dasha

In Emerson, decorations for Christmas had gone up right after Thanksgiving. The strings of lights kept the darkness at bay. I loved looking at the reindeer and sleigh or inflatable snowmen on people’s lawns. Tristan put up a tree. The whole house smelled of pine. This time I wasn’t stupid enough to show how entranced I was. I didn’t want people to mock me. Anyone looking at me would think that I had seen beautiful displays like this year-round. In fact, this was my first Christmas. In Odessa, under the Soviet Union and even afterwards, we celebrated the New Year, when Grandfather Frost delivered candy and oranges.

Christmas morning, we opened our presents. I gave him three button-down shirts and a blue silk tie; he got me another pair of jeans, T-shirts, and hiking boots. Though the gifts weren’t my style, I was grateful. One feature of this perverse social experiment called the Soviet Union: It kept us thankful for every mouthful of food, every garment, every drop of water, every light bulb that brightened our dark days. Every time the furnace came on in Tristan’s home, I said a little word of thanks. We’d lived too many winters with no heat. When provisions, clothes, and opportunities are scarce, you learn to appreciate every little scrap. I kept trying to remind myself: even if he’s not my soul mate, even if he doesn’t understand me, life here is better than at home.

I hoped that next year we’d have a baby to share Christmas with. Holidays were for children. All days were for children. For family. I decided to call Boba. Each time I dialed her number, I prayed that the line would be clear so that we could talk. In America people pick up the receiver and say, ‘Hello.’ In Odessa, as you know, we say, ‘I’m listening.’ But each and every time I called Boba, she answered, ‘Dasha?’

‘It’s me, Boba.’

‘How’s my little
Americanka
?’

‘Oh, Boba.’

‘What is it, my little rabbit paw?’

‘Nothing . . . I’m just happy to hear your voice.’

‘I miss you.’

‘And I you, sunshine.’

I was afraid that if I said another word, I would start to cry, so I bit my lip and batted my eyelashes, trying to control my tears.

‘How do you double the value of a Lada?’ Boba asked. She knew her jokes always cheered me.

‘I don’t know?’

‘Fill its gas tank.’

I laughed.

‘Boris Mikhailovich told me that one. He keeps me in stitches.’

‘Boris Mikhailovich?’ At least she wasn’t calling him simply Boris. That meant there was still a certain formality in their relationship.

‘He checks on me from time to time. Last night he brought over some fish that he caught and cooked it himself. You know how I hate to clean fish.’

I heard the rumble of a man’s voice in the background.

‘Is he still there?’ I asked.

Kino
. Boba had a boyfriend.

At Wal-Mart, while Tristan looked at tires, I bought a white baby dress and knit booties. I topped my purchases with feminine hygiene products so he wouldn’t pry. When we got home, I felt ridiculous and shoved the plastic sack under the bed. But when he was at work, I pulled the dress out and stroked it. The cotton was so soft.

How could I not be pregnant when I wanted it so much? At least Tristan didn’t seem angry about it. He just grinned and said, ‘Well, guess we’ll have to keep trying.’ I begged him to take me to visit Oksana and Jerry, so that she could examine me. But he said, ‘Sweetie, don’t nag me. When I get home from work, I just want to wash up and kick back in my BarcaLounger.’

Three things in this world he loved: computer games, his recliner and the national parks of America. He didn’t like fussy clothes, potatoes all the time or ungrateful women.

. . . And I was his wife.

Jane was flying to San Francisco after New Year’s and invited me to join her. He’ll never want to go, I told her. She said, Who cares what he wants? Take the bus. If you need money, I’ll send you some.

‘I’m not going,’ Tristan said.

‘Fine, I’ll go alone.’ I could use some of the money David had given me to buy a bus ticket. I was thrilled at the idea of going on my own.

Tristan smirked. ‘How will you get there? You don’t have enough experience to drive in the city and you don’t have any money.’

‘I’ll hitchhike,’ I said, feeling like myself again – impudent and just a little perverse. It felt good.

He pouted for a solid week, slamming the cupboard doors, sighing, and shooting me malevolent looks across the dinner table.
Fight-fought-fought
. I held my breath and tiptoed around the house, trying to hide my joy at traveling on my own. Sadly, at the last moment, he decided to go and grabbed the keys from my hand. I couldn’t wait to see Jane, but hated the tension between Tristan and me in ‘my’ car.

‘I guess your friends are more important than me,’ he moaned. ‘I guess what I want doesn’t count.’

Prick, idiot, shit head, Tristan
, I repeated to myself, really focusing on getting the ‘i’ sound just right.

When we pulled up in front of the Victorian, Tans and Jane came out to greet us. She wore an expensive cream-colored pantsuit, he his usual blue blazer. I noticed an emerald ring on her finger. Was it a gift from Tans? He put his arm around Jane, she pressed herself to his side. Somehow, when he stood next to her, he looked younger. I imagined he knew that. He greeted us – a kiss for me, a handshake for Tristan – and said apologetically that he had too many guests at the house so he’d reserved us a room at a nearby hotel. Tristan’s lips tightened – he didn’t want to pay for accommodation. I whispered that it would be like a honeymoon. He grumbled that our honeymoon hadn’t cost $100 a night.

In a sulk, Tristan took our luggage to the hotel. I was grateful for this moment of respite, grateful to be back in San Francisco – the noise of the passing cars, the throngs of people on the sidewalk, the possibilities, the marvelous possibilities of the city. Tans’s house was filled with people eating in the kitchen, talking in the hallway, and dancing in the living room. As time went on, more and more arrived. Doctors, lawyers, heiresses, writers, gays, mothers against drunk drivers, swindlers, actors, refugees – there was one of everyone at Tans’s parties. Jane and I stood near the entryway and watched guests in evening clothes stream by. She gestured to the group down the hall. ‘Jono brought cocaine – that’s why they’re loitering in front of the office. He sets up shop there. He’s also a bookie for the daftest bets. They’re interesting,’ she nodded to Mia, the stockbroker; Marco, the upstairs neighbor who owned a Jaguar dealership; and Destiny, a top model. ‘But they have too much time and money on their hands. Last month, they bet on which of them would get pulled over by the police first, then they drove like maniacs to win the wager. I wouldn’t be surprised if they bet on when Tans and I will break up.’

‘Does that bother you?’ I asked.

‘The bet? No. I know it has to end, even if I don’t want it to. Coming here on the weekend is fabulous, so different from life in Montana. Tans is great. There’s no future, he and I both know that. God knows the betting pool knows it. But for now what we have works.’

She grabbed us each a flute of champagne from a waiter circulating through the strands of guests. Jane and I touched the rims together, recited a silly Odessan toast, ‘To the best people in the world, to us!’ and laughed.

She had opened up, somehow that made it easier for me. I tried to apologize for not talking to her for all this time.

‘
Ne nada
,’ she said. There’s no need. ‘I understand. I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth about your getting married. You have to do what you have to do . . .’

I downed my champagne and wrapped my arm around hers and put my head on her shoulder. She stroked my hair and murmured in Russian, ‘You’re a smart girl, you’ll manage, everything will be fine. I have confidence in you.’

Her words made me feel strong, fortified, happy. Happy to be with a dear friend, happy to be in the city. Happy to listen to musicians and to receive energy from the notes. We accepted another glass and then another. My mind spun so quickly my thoughts were jumbled. She saw me stumble and pulled me towards the plush sofa in the living room. In front of us, Zora played the violin (which Jane called a fiddle), Gambino the guitar. It was like an evening at home when we gathered at our friend Sasha’s because he had a piano, and we sang and laughed and danced. Zora began to sing a folk song. It was so magical that I could almost forget that Tristan had returned and was sulking beside me.