Oswald's Tale

by Norman Mailer

  January 5, 1962

  Dear Sirs:

  . . . As I have already informed the Embassy, [Soviet] exit visas for myself and my wife have already been granted. I can have mine at any time, but it will be good for 45 days only. Since I and my wife wish to leave the USSR together, I shall delay requesting my visa until such time as documentation from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the USSR and the American Embassy is completed on my wife . . .

  I would like to make arrangements for a loan from the Embassy or some organization for part of the plane fare. Please look into this and notify me.

  Yours truly,

  Lee H. Oswald1

  Samuel G. Wise, who has replaced Richard Snyder, now replies to Oswald on January 15, 1962.

  Dear Mr. Oswald:

  . . . The petition which you filed to classify your wife’s visa status has not yet been approved by the Immigration and Naturalization Service. Moreover, evidence required by law to show that your wife will not become a public charge in the United States has not been presented to the Embassy. One possibility, in this regard, would be for your mother or some other close relative in the United States to file an affidavit of support in your wife’s behalf . . . .

  In view of these circumstances, you may wish to reconsider your decision to defer your departure until Mrs. Oswald’s documentation is complete, particularly inasmuch as it may prove difficult to provide the necessary financial support evidence while you are still in the USSR. Please inform us of your intentions in this matter.

  The question which you raise of a loan to defray part of your travel expenses to the United States can be discussed when you come to the Embassy . . . 2

  Oswald has to know that requesting a loan from the State Department will slow his progress. Yet, if the State Department is willing to lend him money, then it is probable they expect no prosecution against him.

  January 16, 1962

  Dear Sirs,

  In reply to your informative letter of January 5 . . . I hope you will inform me of any other documents that are needed and not wait until the last minute . . .

  You suggest that because of the documentation necessary I go to the United States alone.

  I certainly will not consider going to the U.S. alone for any reason, particularly since it appears my passport will be confiscated upon my arrival in the United States.

  I would like for all documentation to be completed at or by the Embassy in Moscow.

  We have not had an easy time getting our exit visas from the Soviet authorities, as the Embassy well knows. I would not like this whole thing repeated because of a lack of this or that on anybody’s part. I’m sure you understand.

  Also, we will have a child in March, and although the Russian processing in this case will be to write in age, sex, and place of birth on my wife’s travel passport (a process of four days in Moscow), I would like to know what you will require in this event.

  Sincerely,

  Lee H. Oswald.3

  We may be encountering Oswald’s profound anxiety about returning to America. To account for his zeal to go back with Marina—and never without her—let us provide him with more than one motive. The side of him that is always ready to calculate his situation would probably judge that it is safer not to go back alone. His wife and newborn child are bound to produce some sympathy for him in America.

  This does not have to be, of course, his only consideration. If he and Marina are having their difficulties, he is even more miserable at the thought of living without her. And he does have to wonder whether she will love him enough to join him once he is far away. In any case, he will not leave without her.

  Joseph B. Norbury, another Consul at the Embassy, replies on January 24:

  Dear Mr. Oswald:

  . . . Regarding the visa petition for your wife, we are attempting to get an early decision from the Immigration and Naturalization Service . . . You may be sure that this question will be fully explored. Meanwhile, I cannot urge you strongly enough to attempt to obtain a support affadavit from a close relative in the United States, in order to insure that your wife will be able to travel with you . . . 4

  State sends another Operations Memo, on January 26, to the Embassy.

  The petition, check and marriage certificate submitted by Mr. Oswald . . . were forwarded for approval to the Dallas District Office of the Immigration and Naturalization Service on October 6, 1961. No reply has been received to date . . . Pending the completion of that investigation, neither the approval of the petition nor the waiver of the 243 (g) sanctions can be granted . . . 5

  We now have a new bureaucratic term to contend with: the waiver of the 243 (g) sanctions. That will account for most of the delay of the next four months. Sanction 243 (g) is designed to keep out immigrants departing from the Soviet Union, and so if it is not waived, then the Oswalds will have to go from the USSR to some sanction-free country, like Belgium. There, Marina can apply for a visa to the U.S. It could take an extra week, it could take a month, and the Oswalds have no money; the State Department, therefore, anticipates added expenses, and much added difficulty with Oswald. So, they do not tell him that the waiver of the 243 (g) sanction has not only not been granted but, indeed, might not be. The State Department does not have jurisdiction over the Immigration and Naturalization Service, which is a branch of the Department of Justice. Communications between officials from each department will go on, therefore, for months, and Oswald will not be kept informed of this problem. All the same, he seems to sense that something is out of place:

  January 23, 62

  Dear Mother,

  Please do me a big favor, go to the nearest office of the “Immigration and Naturalization offices” and file an “affidavit of support” on behalf of my wife, this is a technical point in regards to permission to enter the U.S. for Marina, and must be made in the U.S. You simply fill out a blank (there may be a charge of a few dollars) and that’s all.

  Please do this now, as they are actually waiting for this document in Moscow . . .

  Thanks

  Love Lee6

  He then asks Robert to perform a scouting mission:

  January 30, 1962

  Dear Robert,

  . . . You once said that you asked around about whether or not the U.S. government had any charges against me. You said at that time “No.” Maybe you should ask around again. It’s possible now that the government knows I’m coming, they’ll have something waiting . . .

  Your brother,

  Lee7

  On January 31, Joseph Norbury writes again to Oswald:

  . . . Although the Embassy is making every effort to complete action on your wife’s visa application as soon as possible, it seems highly unlikely that the visa can be issued in time to permit her to travel before your child is born. Most airlines will not accept passengers during the ninth month of pregnancy. Therefore, it would seem advisable for you to plan for the baby to be born before you leave for the United States.8

  A week later, the waiver of sanctions is denied by J. W. Holland of the Travel Control Central Office in San Antonio.

  Marguerite, meanwhile, is attempting to be creative in the art of raising money, and she is also being denied.

  February 1, 1962

  Dear Mrs. Oswald:

  . . . Concerning your suggestion that you make your son’s story public with an appeal for help, although the [State] Department is not in a position to advise you on this matter, it is not believed this would offer a solution to his problem.

  Sincerely yours,

  George H. Haselton,

  Chief, Protection and Representation Division9

  Feb. 1, 1962

  Dear Mother,

  . . . I don’t know if giving the story to the newspapers is too good, maybe you’d better hold off for awhile about that. I’ll tell you when . . .

  . . . I want you to understand that although you can aid us in certain, small ways, this business about our coming to the U.S. is relatively simple. Don
’t make it more complicated than it is . . .

  Lee10

  Now at State they decide that there is only one way to disembarrass themselves of their most prominent petitioner. On February 6, Norbury writes to Oswald from the Embassy.

  . . . We are prepared to take your application for a loan. [However] the recipient must keep the Department of State informed of his address in the United States until such time as he has liquidated his indebtedness. After repatriation, the recipient will not be furnished a passport for travel abroad until he has reimbursed the Government . . . 11

  Feb. 9, 1962

  Dear Mother

  Well, it won’t be long now until the baby is born and until we shall be seeing you . . .

  Also you can see about sending me some clippings or columns from the Ft. Worth papers for the month of Nov. 1959. I want to know just what was said about me in the Ft. Worth newspapers so I can be forewarned. If you don’t have clippings yourself, you can always get back issues of newspapers . . . at their offices or the public library . . .

  Love from us both,

  Lee12

  6

  An Addition to the Family

  February 15, dawn

  Marina wakes me. It’s her time. At 9 o’clock we arrive at the hospital. I leave her in care of nurses and leave to go to work. Ten o’clock Marina has a baby girl.

  In the last month of pregnancy, her body would ache sometimes, or her legs, and Alik would rub them and say, “‘My poor, poor girl. You’re hurting yourself just to give life to our baby,’”1 and she felt at such times as if Alik really loved her.

  She had often thought that she was going to lose the child; she kept fainting, all too often. Yet, narrow hips or not, the birth was quick; she was fortunate. Even those pharmacy girls who had turned away from her because she was going to America were supportive when it came to a matter of her pregnancy. They insisted that the baby be delivered at Third Clinical Hospital, and when Marina said, “I don’t agree,” they said, “Marina, right here in Third Clinical by our pharmacy you’ll be safest of all.” They were very considerate, and so she agreed.

  The night before, she and Alik had been visiting friends and had an evening she would call full of gaiety. Then, before dawn, it happened. Marina woke up at six and told Lee they had to go. It was almost funny. Lee was so frightened that it was humorous to watch his suffering. He acted as if he was the one—he kept hurrying her—and now, of course, since there wasn’t anything terrible to feel in her early labor pains, she didn’t even want to leave their apartment—Lee had to persuade her.

  Finally, they went out at 9:00 A.M., and then they couldn’t get a taxi. Not one to be found. Had to wedge themselves onto a crowded bus. She had never seen Lee looking so nervous. What with snow underfoot, every step felt slippery, but finally they did reach Third Clinical in safety. Lee had to turn around almost immediately and go to work. They wouldn’t allow him to be with her. In Russia, the prevailing procedure was for women to stay in the hospital for ten days after a baby is born. It even took three days before you could talk your nurses into letting you out of bed, and in all that time, no one but hospital people are with your baby—no relatives or friends admitted, no infections from outside! Even the father is not given permission to enter the maternity ward. He can only visit the hospital lobby and leave gifts there for his beloved.

  On that morning, June was born near ten o’clock, February 15, 1962, and Alik hadn’t even reached his job before Marina’s friends at the pharmacy were calling Horizon. So, when he came to his workbench, there were all his fellow workers congratulating him on a daughter. When he had wanted a son. He dropped off a letter to her that evening.

  February 15, 1962

  Dear Marina,

  You and I did not expect a girl at all but I am very glad just the same. You are a stout fellow! How did you succeed in delivering so fast? . . . You are a stout fellow! And I will say that again!

  If you need anything, tell me any of your wishes; you and I are completely ready for June Marina Oswald.

  Alik2

  In turn, her letter was waiting for him:

  Dear Alik!

  So you are a father now. It is even nice that we have a girl. The delivery went off very well and fast. June was born at 10 o’clock. They sewed up only four small outside cracks. I myself did not expect that everything would be so fast. Aunt Valya will probably come to see you this evening. She has been here already today. Do not bring anything today. And tomorrow bring only kefir and some dessert. I no longer can have chocolates. You already know the rest.

  I kiss you, Marina3

  Notes went back and forth. Sometimes on scraps of paper. He was restricted to the hospital lobby, and she was up on Floor Three.

  Dear!

  How are you? There is no kefir. What do you need? Did you nurse the baby already? . . . Who called you up today?

  I love you,

  Alik4

  She discovered that she wanted to see him. Very much. She managed it by sneaking down to her pharmacy on the first floor. She was breaking hospital rules. One more sin on her soul. Ha, ha.

  Lee was very glad to have a daughter, he said, as if he had never had any dreams it would be a son. Then he said that a girl, first born, was probably better for the mother, but the next one ought to be, it would have to be, a son.

  Feb. 18 ’62

  Dear Marina,

  . . . Aunt Valya and Uncle Ilya visited me this morning. She will come to see you tomorrow at 2:00 o’clock. I told her what should be bought. Erich and I were at the Zigers yesterday until 24 o’clock . . .

  What do you need? Can you walk? . . . Is June still red? When Aunt Valya comes tomorrow, give her the photographs . . .

  Well, so long.

  Your husband,

  Alik

  P.S. I will not come tomorrow. Is it all right?5

  Marina was irritated. She wrote back: “You don’t even see me for a night.” Then he appeared late on the following evening, sneaking up from her pharmacy. He had a gift for traveling soundlessly. But she was feeling neglected. She recalls that he saw a lot of Erich that week. Of course, now, thirty years later, she can hardly remember Erich.

  2/20/62

  Hello, papa!

  . . . Aleck, I did not think it was so difficult to nurse a baby. June eats through your cover. But the milk rises before each feeding time and should be drawn off. It is so painful that it would be better if I gave birth to one more baby. Dear Aleck, immediately, this very day, buy for me and send me a breast pump, . . . so that the rubber bulb is taut, not soft.

  . . . Aleck, I became so awful looking that you would not recognize me. This is all because I worry about June not taking the breast. Also, they do not let you have enough sleep here—only from 2 A.M. to 5 A.M. I cannot imagine what I will do at home. Aleck, I also urgently need 1 ruble 20 kopecks. After all, I cannot walk around without a brassiere. Someone bought two for a woman here and she sold me one of them. I must pay her back. This is not for making myself beautiful, but to keep milk from getting stagnant. You all there do not even think about bringing me what I need. All you are doing is just asking what I need . . . . Oh, well, enough of this, I close.

  /s/Marina6

  Feb 21 ’62

  Dear Marina,

  Today we received a very nice present for June from the factory; I know you will like it.

  They bought: one summer blanket, 6 light diapers, 4 warm diapers, 2 chemises, 3 very good warm chemises, 4 (?) very nice suits and two toys (total 27 rubles) . . .

  How is June eating?

  I probably won’t come tomorrow. All right?

  I love you,

  Alik7

  February 23

  Marina leaves hospital. I see June for first time.

  At the entrance to Third Clinical, Marina was met by relatives and friends, a crowd. It was cold outside, and she and Alik were terrified that if June took even one breath of cold air she would be endangered. Later, when they r
eached their apartment, he wouldn’t even let people come into the room where June was being kept until all chill was off their clothing; they had to stay in the kitchen until then. Lee was so excited he kept running around back and forth and couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe; he was in more danger than their baby from the cold air.

  On this first night home, Valya was having a birthday party at her home, and Marina sent Lee to congratulate her, but he did not come back as soon as he had promised. Marina waited. Their baby was crying and she did not know how to change diapers. It was okay at Third Clinical, where you practiced on a doll, but this was her live baby and she was scared to death to touch her. So she was crying and her baby was crying and her husband was not home. She ran across to this neighbor who had children and asked what to do—then everything became all right. Her neighbor showed her how to put a fresh diaper on June in the Russian manner, swaddling. She had been shown before, but now she knew.

  It was late at night when Lee came home, and he was drunk. She had never seen him so drunk. He was loud, he was singing, he wanted to dance. He said, “They made me drink for our baby, for Aunt Valya, for Marina.” He had been singing all the way home. He said, “Now I have my two girls.” Yes, her poor American was not so used to Russian vodka. It was terribly funny to see him. He said so many silly things to her and to June. He swore on his love, and by his love, and was extremely happy, not at all rowdy—very obedient, in fact, sort of sheepish. Before long, he went straight to bed; he fell into it.

  It may have been Valya’s birthday, but Ilya would have other reasons to remember it. Stepan had had a conversation with him, and wrote a memo which he labeled TOP SECRET: