Moonlight in Odessa (40 page)

‘I don’t trust Jono,’ Jane whispered as more people made their way down the hall to the office. She gestured to his red silk shirt. ‘Look at him, dressed like a Las Vegas lounge singer. Who does he think he is? Sammy Davis, Jr.?’

I had no idea who that was.

‘I don’t know why he has to bring that stuff here,’ she continued.

Tans approached us. ‘Tristan, a beer?’

‘Huh? I can’t hear with all this racket.’

‘A beer?’ he repeated. ‘Let me show you where we keep them.’

Tans raised his eyebrow as if to say, See? I’m not so bad. I’m taking Tristan for a walk so you girls can chat.

When they’d gone, I turned to Jane. ‘Tell me about the ring. It’s so beautiful.’ And it was. Curved gold flowers held the emerald in place. What a pity that goldsmiths had gone the way of blacksmiths. I looked at my wedding ring. Today’s jewelers plop a diamond on a circle of gold. No talent is needed for that.

‘Tans gave it to me for Christmas. Said it was his mother’s.’

‘You don’t sound convinced.’

‘He’s fifty-five years old and never been married. He could have given his mother’s ring to anyone by now. The thing is,’ she nodded to the young man who was smiling widely, whose eyes were too bright, ‘Jono sells estate jewelry. That means when someone dies, he buys the jewels cheaply and resells them.’

‘But Tans said –’

‘I know what he said. I also know what his best friend does for a living.’

‘He loves you.’

‘That doesn’t mean I trust him,’ she said. ‘Everyone here is a liar. It’s the only thing they have in common.’

‘Are you going to keep the ring?’ I handed it back to her.

‘Of course.’

I nodded approvingly. In some ways, Jane had become a real Odessan. I put my hand to my chest. I wondered if I could bear to part with my ring. I wondered how much Jonothan could get for it. And what I could do with the money.

As if to make up for being stingy about the hotel, Tristan asked if Jane and I would like to see
Phantom of the Opera
. I was thrilled to be going to the theater and proud of Tristan’s thoughtfulness. Jane hadn’t seen him in the best light. No one in Tans’s crowd thought much of him. But he was showing that he could be considerate. It was important to me that he and Jane get along, and that she see she’d been wrong. An usher escorted us to our seats – in the very last row. I muttered that we could hardly see. Tristan countered that tickets were seventy dollars each, right in front of Jane.
Die-died-died
. That’s what I wanted to do. Earth, swallow me now. I could take dozens of small humiliations and attacks on my dignity. But to have Jane bear witness was more than I could take. She squeezed my hand and whispered,
Everything will be fine
.

‘Thank you for inviting me. It was so kind of you,’ Jane said to him.

‘When I asked you to go, I didn’t think the tickets would be so much.’

I gasped. I couldn’t believe it. No man in Odessa would ever be so uncultured. What kind of person invites another then hints at being reimbursed? Jane pulled some bills out of her purse. He looked at them, then at me. I glared so ferociously that he didn’t dare accept the money. Jane tried to mollify me, but I was mortified. I could swallow my pride in Emerson, where no one could see, but in front of Jane, it stuck in my throat.

I couldn’t stand to look at him and turned my head. Jane squeezed my hand again and repeated
Everything will be fine
. I heard a tinge of pity in her voice and it made me want to weep. I looked away so she wouldn’t see my tears. I needed to get out of there, but Tristan was blocking my way.

‘Execute me,’ I whispered, wishing someone would lop off my head.

‘What?’ Tristan asked.

‘Excuse me,’ I said.

‘It’s about to start,’ he said.

‘The curtain will rise whether I’m here or not.’

I wandered the halls until they emptied. Until I was blinded by my tears. I knew I should be grateful. At least I was at the theater, right? I was lucky. Tears glided down my cheeks and I blew my nose hard, half hoping the gray ropes of my brain would come out as well. As I walked and muttered to myself, I crossed the path of an older gentleman, who asked what was wrong. ‘I went from a box seat – the best seat in the house – to the very last row.’

He handed me a handkerchief. ‘Well, that’s a problem I can solve. Join my wife and me.’

We entered the black box. I focused on the stage and forgot everything. When the lights came on for intermission, the man asked what I did for a living. This is always the first question they ask in America. I was ashamed to admit that I was unemployed, so I said, ‘I used to work at
ARGONAUT
, a shipping company.’

‘Here in San Francisco?’

‘I didn’t realize there was a branch here . . .’

‘Our son works there,’ the woman said.

‘What’s your degree in?’ the man asked.

‘Mechanical engineering.’

‘Smart girl.’ He took out a business card. ‘I’m writing my son’s number on the back. Call him.’

And just like that I had a lead. I tucked the card into my purse as the curtain rose to a new era of my life. Maybe Tristan could find a job in San Francisco as well. Or maybe I could rent a room for the week and return to Emerson on the weekend.

At the end of the performance, I thanked the couple warmly. People in America were so kind and helpful and open. I couldn’t believe my luck. I waited at the entrance for Tristan and Jane. I couldn’t wait to tell them my news. When Tristan saw me, he charged like a rabid bull and grabbed my shoulders. ‘Where were you?’ He shook me. ‘I spent two hours searching the halls! I’ve never been so scared in my entire life!’

‘I told him not to worry . . .’ Jane said as she tried to loosen his grip. ‘That you could take care of yourself . . .’

‘What’s the matter with you?’ He shook me again, until my dentures clattered together. ‘I plan a fun evening and even invite your friend and this is how you repay me?’

‘Of course, I’m grateful.’ I tried to placate him. ‘I’m so grateful.’

‘You know how much I paid for those tickets. What a waste! Where were you anyway?’

Money. It always came down to money. I decided not to tell him my news. And then I thought, What news? He would never let me work in San Francisco. And if I left him, what would I do? I didn’t have a green card, everything depended on my marriage to him. I was trapped. The happiness I felt just an hour before slipped away, as though it had never existed.

Jane came with us to Emerson. We sat in the back seat, ignoring Tristan when he grumbled about being the chauffeur.
Drive-drove-driven
. ‘In America, a man and wife sit together.’

‘Well, in Odessa a man is chivalrous.’ Odessan men were sensitive to a woman’s pride. How I’d taken that for granted . . .

He smirked. ‘Not so chivalrous if you had to leave the country to find a decent guy like me.’

I snorted. And didn’t reply because Jane looked most uncomfortable.

Tristan wasn’t himself in front of other people. He crowed to Jane about introducing me to jeans and T-shirts, as if I were totally ignorant about style. He could not have been prouder of introducing a great chef to fast food. He snickered at the way I prepared borscht saying I was crazy for wasting time boiling beets when I could just buy canned ones. We’re in America, he said, there’s no reason to do all this work. But I liked cooking for Jane. I liked spoiling guests. For the first time, I noticed that when he laughed, he brayed like a donkey.

‘Of course, she does things in her own way,’ Jane said, ‘but it’s not wrong, just different. It would be a boring world if we were all the same.’

When I wanted to take a walk, he said it was easier to drive. When I made coffee – measured the beans, ground them, prepared the cups by warming them with hot water so that the coffee would stay hotter longer – he opened a can of beer and said his way was faster. His way was always more practical, faster, easier, cheaper, better.

This was why I loved Jane. There were times I said or did something – I don’t know what exactly – and Tristan would give Jane a conspiratorial smirk as if to say, ‘She’s just a dumb foreigner. What do you expect?’

Jane never smiled back.

When I first arrived in Emerson, Boba and I spoke for only a few minutes, though Tristan encouraged me to talk longer. Since it was expensive, I phoned once a week just to say that I was fine. I was so happy to be in America that I didn’t miss Odessa and I didn’t miss her. It was only as time went on that I started to realize I’d taken Boba for granted. Each week, without really noticing it, we talked more and more. It grew harder and harder for me to hang up the phone.

Often, when we finished speaking, plump tears rolled down my cheeks, a bitter cocktail of love, longing, and frustration. More and more, I felt guilty for leaving her. She had done everything for me, and now when it was my turn to help her, I had abandoned her. The horrible truth was that I hadn’t truly appreciated her and all that she had done for me until I left Odessa. She had been the peg on which I hung my jacket when I arrived home from work.

After my mother died, our life revolved around me. What I did at school. Who my best friend was that week. What I should study. What I would like for dinner. Me, me, me. I didn’t know anything about her. It wasn’t until I was in America that I started to ask questions. Now that I couldn’t see her anymore, I longed to know everything about her.

It wasn’t easy. The phone lines in Ukraine were so bad, I could barely hear her. Sometimes, because of crossed wires or the party-line system in Odessa, Boba and I could hear other people conversing. Their voices were louder than my Boba’s.

‘Whoever you are, hang up, please; I’m trying to talk to my babushka.’

‘You hang up,’ the woman replied.

‘Please, I’m calling long-distance from America.’

‘Oy, from Ameeericca,’ she sneered. ‘Then you should be the one to call back. I’m the one still stuck in this hole.’ She and her friend cackled and continued to shout.

When dealing with crazies, you have to be crazier. That’s what we say in Odessa. I screamed until those cows got off the line.

Tristan gestured for me to put the phone down. ‘What is wrong with you? Hang up!’

I turned my back on him. ‘Tell me something interesting, Boba.’

‘Your Mr. Harmon came to visit.’

‘What?’ I screeched. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

‘He brought mangoes.’

‘Mangoes? What was he even doing there?’

‘He comes from time to time. Says he wants to make sure I’m doing all right. Sat at the table and peeled the mangoes like a pro.’ She sounded impressed. ‘The most delicious food I’ve ever eaten.’

For some reason, this news made me want to cry. Not this kindness, but the fact that someone else was giving treats and attention to Boba. I should have been there. It should have been me bringing home mangoes.

‘What did he say?’ I asked.

‘His Russian isn’t bad.’

‘Boba,’ I warned.

‘He just asked if I needed – kkkkkkkk’ Static.

‘What?’

‘He just asked where you – kkkkkkkk’ Static.

‘What?’

‘He wanted the same thing he always wants – your number in Kiev.’

I knew she would never give him any information about me, though I appreciated that he’d tried.

She spoke again, but her words were swallowed by static.

‘What did you say?’

‘I haven’t received a phone bill since you left. Isn’t that strange?’

‘Boba, I can barely hear you. Are you all right?’

Each week, it seemed like Boba’s voice grew softer and softer. ‘Don’t worry about me, little rabbit paw,’ she said, but I knew that she must be tired. To bathe, we heated water on the stove in a large metal pail then carried it to the bathroom and dumped it in the tub. I knew she couldn’t lift it. And the shopping. Boba couldn’t lift the large sacks of onions and potatoes on her own. It was good that she had Boris Mikhailovich, but I still wanted it to be me helping her. I never should have left her. How selfish I’d been. She was elderly and she needed me. And more than anything or anyone, I needed her.

Chapter 20

My Darling Grandmother Boba,

Greetings from the Golden State!

Today is Valentine’s Day, the day of love in America. Tristan bought me a red heart-shaped box of chocolates. He took me to the fanciest restaurant in town and told me to order anything I wanted.

After dinner, we went to a concert. The children at his school have a small orchestra and play well, considering that they have only played instruments for two years.

My English improves every day. I must say, the English we learn in school has nothing to do with the way people speak. I scribble madly, filling my notebooks with slang and notes on pronunciation.

Of course it’s a struggle, but a rewarding one. Of course, happiness does not just curl up on one’s lap. One must pursue it, no matter how elusive.