Moonlight in Odessa

by Janet Skeslien Charles

  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.’

  ‘Do you speak any English at all?’

  She shook her head. ‘I learned German at school. He doesn’t want me to work, so I sit home and watch soaps – the story lines are so simple that even if I don’t know every word, I understand. I repeat the lines to help my pronunciation.’ She looked at me intensely, took my hand, and said in perfect English, ‘Nikki, you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.’

  We giggled. I, too, had watched a few episodes of The Young and the Restless.

  Her smile faded. ‘Jerry doesn’t articulate and he’s certainly not articulate. Now that I understand English better and comprehend a little of what he says, I regret knowing. He’s so. . . crude.’

  I nodded sympathetically. ‘There must have been other men. Why him?’

  ‘I’d paid for a flight from Vladivostok and was staying in a hotel in Moscow. I had to make a match before my money ran out. Jerry seemed so intent on me, it was flattering. When I got home, other men wrote, but he called every day.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Nyet. Not nice. Control,’ she said quickly, her eyes widening when she saw the men return. ‘Control. Control.’

  We ate our salads as if everything was normal. She smiled brightly. The waitress cleared the plates away and Jerry went out for another cigarette. Tristan followed. He rarely left me alone, but he seemed to crave Jerry’s approval.

  I turned to Oksana; she continued as if we hadn’t been interrupted. ‘He asked what time I finished work, and always called thirty minutes later. I found it touching until the day I was late getting home – it wasn’t even six o’clock. He went into a black rage and accused me of cheating.’

  ‘What did you do?’ I asked.

  ‘I hung up. But then he wrote and convinced me that his feelings were strong because he loved me so much. And he explained why he went nuts. Now I realize he isn’t jealous – he’s insecure.’

  Insecure. This word described Tristan. ‘Why?’

  ‘You’ll never believe it,’ she said. ‘It’s like a science fiction movie. Or a porn flick.’

  ‘Tell.’ I leaned in.

  ‘His wife was a prison guard. And she fell in love with another guard.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound so bad. These things happen at work.’

  ‘The other guard was a woman.’

  ‘Kino!’ I said, the word we use in Odessa to say ‘unbelievable.’ It comes from German and means movie. In Russian, it refers to something that could only happen in a film.

  ‘Da. She came home one day, after twenty-five years of marriage, and said, ‘I never loved you. Never liked you. And I’m a lesbian.’

  ‘She’s pink?’

  ‘Like a rose.’

  ‘Where does that leave you?’ I asked. But she had that frozen grin on her face. Our husbands had returned.

  The waiter arrived with their steaks and my eggplant. Jerry talked loudly whether his mouth was full or not. I kept my eyes on Oksana, who sat so straight, who ate as though we were at the Kremlin rather than the Chow Wagon, and wondered what she was going to do. How could a smart, pretty girl like her be with a guy like that? I pitied her. When she met my gaze, she tilted her head, and a horrifying realization hit me: she was sitting across the table, thinking the same thing – about me.

  After the meal, Jerry stepped out again. Tristan trailed.

  ‘His three kids hate me. I’m not a doctor here. I’m nothing. I didn’t expect that. And of everything,’ she gestured to the door, where our husbands stood, ‘that hurts the worst. In Vladivostok, I was always someone – the top of my class, the youngest doctor at the hospital, a specialist sought after for interviews. But here, I’m nobody.’

  I could only nod glumly. She had given voice to my exact feelings. There were no engineering firms in Emerson. I sat at home all day, dependent on Tristan. At least he didn’t have children who hated me. I was lucky.

  ‘How long have you been married?’ I asked.

  ‘Almost a year and a half. It seems like more. Sometimes I think of leaving him. He must know, because he tells me every day that if I ever divorce him, he’ll have me deported.’

  We sat in morose silence, each thinking about what we’d left behind, each thinking about what we’d have to give up if we went back.

  ‘What’s your story?’ she asked.

  I pulled out the diamond ring and showed it to her. ‘A guy gave me this right before I left Odessa. Asked me to marry him.’

  ‘Kino! What did you say?’

  ‘I was packing to leave for America, but I didn’t tell him that. He thought I was going to Kiev for a few weeks and that I would come right back to marry him.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘He was a mobster.’ I tucked the necklace beneath my sweater.

  She nodded.

  The men came back. Jerry left a dollar on the table and said, ‘Let’s scoot.’

  They walked towards the door, we followed.

  ‘He’s so much older than me,’ she whispered in Russian.

  I nodded.

  ‘But, you know, maybe things will turn out.’ Her tone sounded so hopeful. I knew exactly how she felt. And there were brief moments it felt possible. Then she added, ‘Maybe he’ll just die.’

  Chapter 18

  Greetings from the great state of California!

  To my Boba, the loveliest grandmother in Odessa!

  Can you believe that Tristan and I just celebrated our fourth month wedding anniversary? Time flies faster than a jet. He is sitting at the kitchen table right now, correcting the last of his pupils’ homework. He is so conscientious and caring.

  Tristan’s family has been kind. His brother and sister-in-law arrived two days ago. She is so gracious and welcoming. She said I was the best thing that had ever happened to Tristan. They have come to spend Thanksgiving with us. The holiday season in America begins at the end of November. I will be cooking a grand feast! How I wish you were here to help me! Of course, sitting around the table with Tristan’s family inevitably reminds me of you and I become terribly glum. I know that the holidays just won’t be the same without you. In my heart there is a plate set for you.

  I kiss you,

  Your Dasha

  Each time my period came, I cried. A woman who can’t have children might as well be a man. Worthless. Tristan knew about ‘that time of the month’ and let me be. When he heard me sniffling, he assumed it was because of ‘women problems’ and asked if I wanted Midol or the heating pad and made me a bowl of Campbell’s tomato soup.

  I never thought I’d be like this. Weepy. Touchy. Tender. In Odessa, I’d noticed little children playing on the beach, and mothers pushing babies in prams. What woman doesn’t? I loved babysitting for Olga. I liked children. But now . . . I was desperate. It was as if getting pregnant was the key to my happiness. I was an engineer. In fact, I graduated at the top of my class. I’d mastered foreign languages and got myself to America. No small feats. And yet I found myself unable to perform the most basic human function. I felt like a . . . loser, as Amer
icans would say.

  Winter was coming. Each day was shorter than the last, the sky was gray, and Tristan’s brother and sister-in-law were here for Thanksgiving. I made turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, corn, and pumpkin pie. It was a lot of work, but I was proud to be following the tradition in my new country. Hal brought three bottles of wine. I remembered my last glass of Chablis with David. We sat in the darkened boardroom discussing Gogol. I’d sipped slowly, savoring the ‘bouquet’ as he called it. Today, I gulped – Noreen would drive anyone to alcoholism. As she talked about her latest purchases and which room she was going to remodel next, I started to think of Boba.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Noreen pinched my leg under the table. ‘You have so much to be grateful for. You’re in America now. Your husband is a good provider. You have a beautiful house and a car. What more do you want?’

  ‘I just miss my grandmother.’

  ‘Have your own family. Then you’d miss her less. I don’t know why Tristan puts up with you, Miss Moody. Lena was never moody like you.’

  The three of them froze.

  ‘Who’s Lena?’ I asked.

  ‘Tristan dated her before he met you,’ Hal said and shot Noreen a look.

  ‘You should be grateful,’ she repeated. ‘Today of all days. When I think of how much Tristan paid to go to Budapest to not meet you, then more money to go to Odessa, then he had to borrow money from us to pay for your ticket to America. It makes me sick. You know, if you’re another one of those scammers, all it would take is one word to Immigration to get you deported.’

  Deported? Was what she said true?

  ‘Noreen,’ Hal warned. He turned to me and said, ‘She didn’t mean that.’

  Oh yes she did.

  I glanced over to the brewing coffee and then back at Noreen. No, I could never throw hot coffee on the sow. An Odessitka never uses the same trick twice. I’d dealt with the likes of Olga and Vita and Vera – Noreen was nothing next to them. Why was I letting her get to me?

  I put my palm on my chest and excused myself from the table. In close quarters, sometimes a strategic withdrawal is best, that’s what we say in Odessa. Of course, the end of the phrase is: but if that doesn’t work, show her who’s boss. I paced the porch. What was wrong with me? I was surely the only unhappy person in America. I dabbed at my eyes with a Kleenex. The wine had made me weepy. It didn’t matter that I had given up my life and my Boba to come here. He’d always be superior because he had more money. It was his house, his furniture, his car, his friends, his family. Nothing was ours. I had nothing.

  ‘You have me,’ a quiet voice behind me said.

  Had I said these words aloud?

  ‘You have me,’ he repeated.

  I had no one.

  He pulled me into his arms. ‘Want me to tell you a secret? It’ll make you feel better. You know my brother Hal, the great preacher? The one who took ten minutes to bless our turkey dinner? He’s an atheist.’

  Kino! ‘Does Noreen know?’

  He shook his head. ‘It would kill her. Her whole life’s about being the minister’s wife.’ Then he chuckled and said, ‘I’m always tempted to tell her.’

  And just like that, I felt a little complicity with him, like we could be a family. I clung to these moments, knowing they wouldn’t last, knowing he would wreck the fragile foundation that had been built.

  It happened three days later. He’d been touchy and I didn’t know why. I went to visit Anna in the morning and helped Serenity at her shop in the afternoon. Why did he care if I wasn’t home? Neither was he. I still did the cooking and cleaning, taking care to open the windows after I scoured the sink so the smell of the cleaning products would not offend him. I prepared a variety of bland food with no fat. We were at the dining table, me eating rice pilaf, him a chicken breast I had cooked. We were talking like normal people when all of a sudden he burst out, ‘You’re never home when I call. Why did I get married? So I can have a wife who runs around on me? And another thing, I’m so goddamn sick of hearing about how things are done in Odessa. You live here now. Deal with it. And my name is Tristan. Not Trees, not Treestahn. You have to learn how to pronounce my name. Learn how to talk right. You’re so stupid. God.’

  My cheeks burned as though they’d been singed by an iron. I covered them with my hands so if he looked, he would not see that he’d scored a point. Was I stupid? A voice answered: Yes. Stupid for having left Odessa.

  No one had ever said anything negative about my English. Not my superiors at the shipping company. Not my teachers. Why, Jane told me I spoke better than some native speakers! I took courage at this thought.

  Was my English flawed? It was true I didn’t speak like Tristan or the other citizens of Emerson. I never criticized – Boba said truly intelligent people put others at ease rather than pointing out their sad lack of knowledge – but he mistook prepositions for verbs! While we corresponded, he wrote, ‘I should of called you earlier.’ Not only that, he had no knowledge of the third group of irregular verbs. For example, he said, ‘He could of went with her.’ And everyone in Emerson disregarded the existence of adverbs. It was always ‘Drive safe!’ or ‘I’m doing good.’ More than that, pronouns were wantonly strewn together as in ‘that’s between him and I.’ I wasn’t the only one who made mistakes. How dare he insult my English! He could criticize my cooking and my clothes, but my English was sacred. It was all that I’d had. Other girls played with dolls, I played with idioms. Other girls had shiny bangles on their wrists and gold earrings, I had a collection of irregular verbs. I wound and rewound the tapes of English songs to learn the lyrics. I befriended American missionaries and endured their lectures just to hear the way they spoke. I even read the Bible and religious pamphlets they gave me to expand my vocabulary.

  I didn’t know what to say. Or rather I had plenty to say.

  Though I hadn’t called her since she begged me to wait to marry, after dinner, I took the phone into the bathroom, locked the door, and reached out to Jane, a certified teacher, for help. I explained what had happened and this is how she replied: ‘That asshole. Your English is fine. But we can do an exercise right now to fine-tune your pronunciation. Really focus on the “i” sound and repeat after me: Prick, idiot, shit head, Tristan.’

  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.