The Faces of Strangers (25 page)

NICO

New York
City
February 2014

It is bad enough being late. Nico lingers by his apartment door for a good hour, running his fingers over the teeth of his keys and weighing the pros and cons of attending the Hallström 40th Anniversary Reunion Celebration. When he finally locks the door from the outside and makes the mad dash for a taxi only to sit in bumper-to-bumper traffic for what feels like an interminable time but is actually fifteen minutes, he feels the cons column climbing nearly as high as his cab fare. After an infuriating search by a lethargic security guard at the entrance of the United Nations, he marches down a long hallway toward the entrance to the General Assembly Hall.

A buzzy blonde catches him subtly by the crook of his elbow. “Sir, can I get your name?”

“Nico Grand.”

She frowns, ticking her finger down a long list. “We have a Nicholas. Is that you?”

Perhaps she's too young, but he is relieved that she hasn't recognized him or his name. She is standing next to a table that holds a few scant name tags. Nico scans the remainders and points.

“That's me,” he says.

“You missed the welcome mixer and they're about to start. From where are you joining us?”

“Just downtown,” Nico mumbles.

So it is bad enough that he is late, but worse that he has only journeyed a few miles north from his SoHo apartment, while most of the already-seated alumni have flown in from other parts of the country and the far reaches of the globe, negotiating borders and visas while he has only had to manage his conscience and his cowardice. He is late, and about to tiptoe upon the precipice of what could possibly become a major showdown. But Nora's wedding is the following weekend; now is Nico's chance to make things right.

“I know things have been weird between you and Paavo,” Nora had said. “But he's my friend, too, and I want him there.”

“Of course,” Nico had said. “He should be.” Five years have passed since the two men have spoken. So here he is, at the Hallström 40th Anniversary Reunion Celebration, desperately hopeful to make amends. Nico has sent multitudes of unanswered emails into cyberspace, left plaintive messages on Paavo's voicemail until finally, the ultimate rejection pinged dolefully into Nico's inbox,
The following message to: [email protected]
> was undeliverable
, dropping Nico's dignity like a deadweight onto his chest.

“You can go ahead,” the blonde says, pointing to the solid paneled doors. He pauses outside, letting his breath condense against the cutout glass circles that peek into the imposing room. He has been here before, on a school trip in grade school and of course during the private guided tour that was set up by Hallström. It hasn't changed since; the grand gold column with its embossed United Nations seal still sprouts from the center of the room like an oracle. The wooden paneling encircles the room for optimal acoustics. Great negotiations have been made in this space, peace kept in multiple missions, countries unified, heads of states honored. So there is no reason it can't serve as the hub for two grown men to resolve their differences.

Alumni of the Hallström program now occupy the seats that are usually filled with diplomats. As he slinks inside, Nico looks upon the sea of unidentified heads that face forward, watching a reedy gentleman in a perfectly fitted suit balancing awkwardly on the dais, tapping a microphone and shaking his head. Nico skims the room and thinks he spots the back of Pyotr's head, and Malaysia's and Anika's and Tomas's.

Barbara Rothenberg has been given a throne in front. She hasn't been associated with Hallström for years. With the new administration in place, Nico has read that she'd stepped down from the position at Hallström, and as she turns her head to glance not-so-surreptitiously at the audience behind her, Nico thinks he catches an air of resignation about her, as though her resignation hasn't been her choice. Next to her is Herman Hallström himself, hoary yet dignified, his spine curved like a nautilus shell. He sits clutching an ancient wooden walking stick, its head carved like a lion's, the mane smoothed and coiffed by constant handling. As a few sycophantic alumni approach him timidly, he raises his head regally and shakes their hands, nodding but remaining tight-lipped throughout the greetings. And there, at the end of one of the long tables in the middle, is Paavo. Next to him is an auburn head, which might be Sabine. Or perhaps it is Paavo's wife. Nico will learn later that they're the same person and feel a sharp twinge in his chest that Paavo hasn't even told him they'd been dating, much less invited Nico to the wedding.

Nico walks down an aisle toward the stage and slides into an empty chair at the end of a row. He clutches the program that an usher has forced between his sweaty fingers, letting his eyes trail over the afternoon's schedule of events, speeches, awards and more speeches. He tries to remind himself that Hallström is just a silly school program. It wasn't supposed to be life changing. It wasn't supposed to matter in the long run. Twelve years ago, Nico had entered the home of a complete stranger and then the Grand family had invited Paavo into theirs. The program was supposed to last a year. Their relationship was supposed to last a year. No more.

The man on the platform clears his throat, glancing up across the expanse of the room. Nearly all the seats are full, and all the heads turn toward him with rapt attention.

“Students, administrators, distinguished alumni and honored guests,” he begins. “On behalf of the NEA and the UN, we welcome you to the new Hallström 40th Anniversary Reunion Celebration.” A crack of applause ripples across the room and Nico finds himself leaning forward in his seat to see whether or not Paavo is joining in. He isn't.

“I'm Melvin Peabody, the new program director of the new Hallström. At its height in the 1970s,” Melvin continues, “the Hallström Student Exchange Program for Understanding Relations across the Cold War Divide was one of the most sought-after, competitive programs of its kind. Gaining entry within its hallowed halls meant guaranteed admission to some of our member countries' premiere academic institutions. If the revered Herman Hallström vouched for you—” here, he nods his head in reverence toward the first row of seats “—your future was sealed in gold, opening doors to the likes of Princeton, Oxford, the Sorbonne. The Hallström Student Exchange Program for Understanding Relations across the Cold War Divide opened doors for students, but it also forged invaluable relationships between the young people of estranged countries, cementing lifelong friendships, establishing business relations, and perhaps even a romance or two?”

The room titters. Nico watches Sabine lean her head against Paavo's own. “The Hallström program has historically chosen the best and the brightest for the program, watching its students go on to glory. We boast four Nobel Laureates, two Pulitzer Prize winners, seven heads of state, far too many statespeople to count, and two Tony winners.” Melvin pauses to wait out the applause. “And now that a new partnership has been formed, between the National Endowment for the Arts, the United Nations and Hallström, we intend to uphold that reputation. Our goal is to build upon the existing program that fosters relations between countries, but to enhance it by simultaneously ensuring that the arts, those much-neglected pillars in today's education, are given a priority within the cross-cultural dialogue.”

Nico and Paavo were exactly the type of students for which Hallström had originally been founded, those tenacious, curious ambassadors of goodwill; young, agile minds that would help to rebuild the bridges that had fallen and broken down between countries; students who were in it for the experience, rather than what they could glean from it.

“While the program will continue to uphold the tenets that the original Hallström program put into place, in addition to visiting embassies and dignitaries, students will also visit museums, artists' studios and cultural centers. And we have worked to open these opportunities to South and Latin America as well as western parts of Africa, though while I must caveat that these programs are still in pilot testing, we will have two students joining us from Mali in the new school year.” Melvin shifts his papers and peers down at the front row once again. “We would be remiss not to mention a few people without whom we wouldn't be sitting here today. Barbara Rothenberg, program director for Hallström for twenty-nine years.” Barbara lifts her head and smiles tightly toward the stage. “And of course, our very own Herman Hallström.” The old man remains in his seat but lifts his cane in the air to the sound of raucous applause.

Nico opens the program again. There are two more hours before they will break for lunch. He feels the weight of the past twelve years begin to settle upon his shoulders, as though he has put on a heavy coat. Right now, time is a welcome factor. Time will help him compose himself and prep to face Paavo and answer for all that has happened.

* * *

Before the ink dried finalizing the sale of the Hallström program to the National Endowment for the Arts and the Understanding of Neighbor Nations, aged Herman Hallström stipulated that the original countries be included in the merger, and had succeeded in adding Ukraine. However, he has lost the battle over retaining Russia, as world relations with the federation have become strained and thorny when Russia neatly overtook Crimea in an effort to protect its Russian-speaking population from the ill treatment of the rest of Ukraine. It is a surreal time in the world; it feels as if Russia has been skulking in its hemisphere of the world, gaining back its strength, adding muscle, putting on weight and is staring down some of the underdogs from the former Soviet Union, pitching for a fight.

In fact, Estonia is rumored to be the next target; with its large ethnic Russian minority, Russia is adamant that language should not be used in Estonia to segregate and isolate groups. The border town of Narva has been getting antsy and divisive and Nico has called Leo to ask after his parents.

“They're tough birds,” Leo said on the phone, sounding nonplussed. “It is all nonsense. Putin is too big for his pants. He wants to begin a new cold war. We've been going back and forth on this language debate for nearly two decades now. Now Russia will save the day for all us Russian-speaking Estonians? I know better than this. I studied long and hard to be taken seriously in my own country. I live here, and will continue to live here. I refuse to be bullied by that crazy Kremlin man.” Leo went on to tell him that his Russian allegiance was softening, that he spoke only Estonian at home now, that he had sold his Lada for a new Volvo.

Herman Hallström has maintained that while Russia is being a bit of a bully, there is no better time to strengthen the bonds between the youth of the respective countries, to bolster ties that have been weakened in the past few months. But the board has remained rigid and he has been outvoted. Russia will no longer be an active participant in the Hallström program. There will be no more exchanges between the United States and St. Petersburg. There will be no more Pyotrs.

Nico can see Pyotr now in the very first row, leaning forward, his forearms on his thighs, looking down at the ground as though he is concentrating very hard or completely zoning out. His girth seems unchanged, and when he turns his head, his perpetual sneer appears to have gone slack. He seems softened somehow, as though the years have melted the bullish resolve within. Nico sees Anika, Tomas and Malaysia, but there is no sign of Evan. He remembers how soft he'd been, how he'd shaken when Barbara had ripped his book into two equal parts at their first orientation, how Nico had worried about how Evan would fare during those few months in St. Petersburg with only Pyotr as his guide. Nico scoffs softly and shakes his head. That was years ago. They have all come miles since then. He isn't even sure that Evan remembered it, wherever he was. Did that year matter as much to any of the others? Did Hallström imprint upon the lives of the other students as it has upon him and his family?

Everyone has served a purpose, taking on their specific role during the one-year program, and some of them even beyond. Paavo has been Nora's navigator, helping her chart her future by helping her turn a cognitive disorder into her destiny. He has encouraged her to approach situations with a new understanding after the accident. Prosopagnosia or not, he helped her recognize herself and her capability. He had helped her identify her abilities, helped her see beyond what that tiny little slip of damaged brain tissue could never undo to build a strong, successful woman who might never have existed without him.

Nico had been Paavo's protector during that year of high school. While he'd wanted to shield Paavo from the threat of a mob of bullies, Nico can't deny that he had encouraged him during wrestling practice out of pure guilt. So he'd amped up his bodyguard role and welcomed Paavo into the fold, helping him learn some holds, while building up his upper body strength and his confidence for when he returned home. It was on the football pitch in Kadriorg the summer after he returned from New York that Paavo made the acquaintance of Jaak Alver and Riki Part, the two founders of CallMe, and together they had discussed their visions of creating a future that narrowed the world through internet-based communication, bringing them all to the forefront of the technological revolution in Estonia. It had likely given him the courage to act with Sabine. It had pinioned his doubts and allowed him to soar.

Nico had been Mari's solace on a very low and lonely day, a day that Mari could never remove from the recesses of her memory because there was proof of its occurrence. But on that day, she had needed Nico more than she had ever known.

But where does that leave Nico? After that traumatic phone call from Mason Landry divulging that a scandal was hovering over Nico's potential election to Mayor of the City of New York, the scandal that he'd fathered a child and never supported her or her mother, the news had spread like the plague that gossip was. It had made its way into polling booths, onto webpages, text messages. He'd lost the election. Not by much, but numbers don't matter when one loses. Nico has since slunk from the spotlight, taking the time to lick his wounds and salvage what is left of his dignity. He has made the obligatory—and difficult—call to Leo and Vera, who have known for some years now that Nico was the one who had fathered Mari's daughter. In fact, when he visited Estonia and found only the parents in the house in Kadriorg, they had assumed he had come looking for her. They had been far too nice to him on the phone, assuring him that it was okay that he hadn't known. He'd been so young, after all.