Lonely Place America. Novel-in-Stories

I remember also two ladies in large fur-coats, the mother and the aunt, furiously blaming their daughter’s and niece’s ex-husband, enumerating his crimes from which I understood only unsuccessful selling of a good apartment somewhere in the North. And an old man looking for a ready-made husband for his pregnant great granddaughter just to her childbirth.

They were all very different but similar in their sincere wish to arrange their close people’s happiness. And leaving me after filling in the forms they all seemed quite sure that indeed only a few steps separated their relatives that moment from their happy future.

Dreams

She was a shy gentle Russian girl, she dreamed just about a quiet family life in a cozy home, about nice beautiful children, strong confident husband who would take care of all of them. She did not hope to find all that in her large Russian city where dark windy streets were full of sad worried people, where one could guess only for the next day, where life was full of uncertainty and fear, where young men preferred to remain alone than to have someone else to take care of.

He was a skilled programmer, a young Russian immigrant living in California. He had a good job in the US, his life style was not comparable with what he could afford having stayed in Russia, but it was not the only reason he loved America. He loved America for its energy, for its respect for business and order, he loved it for its hospitality, he felt tears in his eyes when he saw American flag and when he heard the American national anthem because he was so grateful to that generous country thanks to which so many people’s desires could be fulfilled. Most of all he wished maybe even not him himself but at least his future children to become a pure part of America and though he did not expect to marry an American girl he decided that the Russian girl he would like to marry should also love America the same way as he did and should try her best together with him to approach as close as possible to original American image.

They both met through a marriage agency. He arranged a business visa for her and invited her to visit California. He found her nice but too shy and reserved, too «Russian’ as he thought, and he would prefer her to look more American and aggressive. He bought some how-to books for her, explaining her that while living in a new country she had also to accept its main traits.

The girl was intelligent, she understood what he wished. She liked him himself, his cozy home and sunny California with smiling people in the streets. She studied the books and tried to do all they advised. She tried to smile and shake people’s hands energetically, to look always happy with herself but as she really remained shy and close it looked rather tense in spite of all her effort. She learnt to drive but being too much afraid of traffic once collided his car with the pavement barrier. She looked for job to start her own career but as her English was not good enough employers did not want to accept her.

She was too upset with all her failures, her boyfriend was also becoming more and more disappointed and once they talked and decided that she would better return back home to Russia. But she already could not forget the wonderful country she visited. It was like a dream that did not come true which she still would like to embody. She thought she had time yet to change to a real American style. She entered some marriage agencies more and spent all her evenings writing personal letters.

And there was an American businessman, living in a large noisy American city, too tired of his permanent rush for success and money, tired of friendly handshakes and victorious smiles of independent American ladies who were too strong to need anybody. Sitting in front of his computer he looked through the personals web-sites, guessing if all these men and women might be really serious. But once he saw that unbrave girl’s face on one of the pages and thought that maybe there really existed someone in Russia who could really need his care, who could in turn sympathize him when he was tired and unlucky, with whom he might not pretend to look always happy and successful, with whom he could be either strong or weak and not to worry.

And he arrived to Russia to meet the girl. But she remembered her sad experience too well, she again looked most thoroughly through all her American «how-to» books before the meeting, she tried her best to look just American style, she managed to hide her real personality as if it never existed and her handshake was so strong and her smile was so triumphant that it seemed to him he did not even leave America. And all the three of them are still lonely and still dream. A Russian programmer loving America most of all dreams to become a part of it together with an energetic independent lady whom he has not yet met. An American businessman dreams about someone shy and dependent to take care of, whom he also would like to find sometime. Shy and dependent Russian girl still writing letters, dreams about sunny California, trying to display herself in her letters pure American style, sometimes forgetting, writing just the opposite and mixing up all she wrote previously.

Email

They met in Internet by chance, she advertised the product of her company, he inquired, she replied. He was curious about Russia and Russians, asked a couple of questions, then asked more. Little by little their weekly exchange of messages became habitual, she liked that habit to retell him many things well-known in Russia but quite strange in America, his amazement was often funny. He also told her many things unknown for her, it was also interesting to be in touch with a person from another part of Earth, from another world. Firstly she was amazed by his openness and ability to share. Very soon she knew both the romantic story of his acquaintance with his wife and the sad story of their separation. People in Russia usually do not share so easily unless they consider someone to be their close friend. He also told much about his religious aspirations, he was very religious, she was not at all.

Then she started to get accustomed. She started to begin her day with switching on the computer, looking into the mailbox if there was any email or not. More often there was. She liked to read those small white letters on the blue screen. Reading them she felt a shadow of far life just there, so close to her. It was quite unknown life with unknown pleasures – black tie dinners and parties, unknown advantages – security, comfort, they did not have in Russia.

Her Russian reality was busy, uncertain, unstable. Every day she had to take often illegal decisions for her company’s survival. She could never be sure her business would be still working next day and she would remain safe.

Her private life was also rich. She had complicated relationship with her boyfriend who wished her give up her business and share his interests and life on the whole. He did not take her business seriously, worried that she was so tired, demanded that she would give it up and rely completely on himself. But she already had a sad experience relying upon men in her previous marriage, she preferred to be independent and she did not give any promises to her boyfriend for the future.

She had a daughter for whom she always had lack of time. Her old parents reproached her that she was working too much, they also tried to remain independent, not burdening her with any requests. She was helping them financially but she also felt she was not giving them enough time and affection while they were so much missing her.

Her friends also told her that she had forgotten them. But to pay more attention to all her dear people meant to take away time from her business which she considered quite impossible.

However, email from a strange American entered somehow her busy life and managed to take an important there.

Late in the evening when her daughter already slept and no telephone calls could occur she sat at the computer taking away time from her even so short sleep and composed email messages. She used to write about the events of her day, about all the fears, about everything that came to her mind. On one hand she wrote a diary, on the other hand, realizing that someone quite unknown, a person from a stable and secure – as she thought – world would read it, she felt as if a thin thread connected her with that world and she also got from there her own small part of protection.

She understood that it was surely a pure illusion but very soon she really began to feel that imagined protection. When after a strange telephone call she suspected if it was racket investigating the financial position of her company or when her bank suddenly appeared bankrupt she did not already feel desperate as she would do in former times. Remembering that she could write about it in the evening in her email message she felt as if the real danger receded. She as if built another parallel life in which only those things existed which she described in her messages, but things described seemed already not so awful as theatre scenery which could not frighten anybody. Very often when she had to solve real problems she sat with her thoughts far away deciding how to describe those problems better. She preferred to move into an invented email reality resisting every time when she had to return into the hard actual one.

Sometimes she wondered how it could happen, wondering if it was a subconscious wish of self-defense because the tension of all those real and imagined fears became sometimes too strong and any kind of relaxation was necessary. Very soon however she started to worry and think that although that habit to write email became so beloved and strong, something should be done about it.

As to the person she corresponded with he did not seem less alien to her after several months of correspondence than on the first day of email acquaintance. Very soon she understood that his openness and frankness did not mean what they would mean in Russia, that warm sincere words of real sympathy that she maybe awaited would not be said, not because he was hard and silly, but just because he was not capable of understanding the feeling of everyday uncertainty, the feeling of life at the railway station before the train departure, that they all constantly had in Russia. He was a successful businessman appreciating luxury, good restaurants and hotels, acquaintance with famous people, traveling – he was so much excited telling about his and his wife’s voyage to Venice in Orient Express in costumes of twenties. She could not know if she liked all that or not – she never experienced anything of the kind – but it seemed to her if even she had she would not take it all so seriously. Every time receiving his messages she felt a slight prick of dissatisfaction because what she wrote was not understood as she would like, more and more she made certain that she wrote mostly for herself, she thought that she had become very foolishly addicted and had to quit.

However, she felt that her day was empty, though it was full of events, when she did not receive an email message and had no opportunity to reply. She was thinking how to manage to get rid of that delusion when her American informed her unexpectedly that he had to visit Russia on business and that they would meet.

And he turned out to be a person with a friendly, easy-appearing smile, he curiously looked around out of the taxi, their meeting was taken up with fussing but when they at last sat in front of each other and talked they had pauses in the conversation remembering if they already wrote about this or that in their email. Then they familiarized themselves with each other and their personal acquaintance it seemed had nothing to do with their correspondence. She showed him theatres and restaurants, they talked and again he listened attentively when she described her reality but he was much more excited sharing his own cherished thoughts about perfecting himself for God’s approval, his concern that the world was overpopulated, plans and projects for future business. And she also listened to all that, thinking that she was taking away time from her most necessary affairs, feeling a kind of irritation, counting days till his departure, missing something important, being unable to understand what it was.

But when she saw him off to the airport she understood what she was missing. It was the absence of the possibility to write email during all the time of his visit. Having seen him off she was happy to think that he would be back home soon, would sit at his computer and it would be possible to write email again.

Having realized it she knew what she should do next. At home she resolutely switched off her modem, took a taxi to her boyfriend’s, and having entered his apartment immediately proffered her modem to him and asked him to hide it as far as he could, not to give it back to her keeping it away as long as possible, whatever she would say and however ask him.

Frank

His name was Frank, I translated his letters. He wrote them to a petite girl with a low voice. Though he could not know what really her voice was as he could not phone her because she did not speak English at all and he did not wish to use an interpreter considering that such a conversation of the three would be awkward.

His letters were honest, sincere and nice. His letters quite came up to his name. He carefully chose a girl to write to but, having chosen, unconditionally decided that she would be the only person to whom he would tell the story of his life. But there was also someone else, me, who had a possibility to learn it.

I was thrilled by his letters. I read how lost he felt gardening in the yard of his house alone on weekends. I knew that he had the only friend far away. I learned the story of his previous marriage, of his ex-wife, who did not wish to have children in her younger age as she had a very evil step-mother herself, then understood how wrong she was and presented all her not-called-for tenderness to her nephews. He wrote also that he himself would be happy to have children in his new marriage, or could do without them, he let decide that question to the person who should become the most important for him, the girl he wrote to.

The letters of his girl were rather featureless. Though modest and respectable, they were descriptive but poor for feelings. But a lot of room in her letters was devoted to the descriptions of St. Petersburg’s beauties. Some places in her letters were written in such a magnificent language that I even thought that she attended a literary studio and was happy to exercise while corresponding with Frank. It was difficult to say what a person she was according to her letters.

Frank, however, seemed happy to entrust his destiny at least to someone. He wrote about his problems with work, he decided to leave his job and to take another, he described why that previous job did not satisfy him any more. To read about work in the US was certainly interesting for me. Having translated what he wrote I usually told about it to my family during our meals. I also told my friends what was the situation with work in America, and we all were amazed to find common traits in it with ours in socialist times. And of course both my family and friends knew that all I told them was happening with a person called Frank.

At last Frank abandoned his old work but very soon understood that the new one did not match him either. Frank remained without any work after all.

Letters of his girl of that time did not have any peculiarities. As earlier she did not write much about herself though she shared such an important feature of herself that her favourite meal was poultry. It was as if she lacked imagination to understand what really was going on in Frank’s life. She unhurriedly began her each letter with invariable «Dear Frank» and finished it with a splendid description of the season’s beauty or the beauty of a city landscape. Meanwhile Frank experienced hard times. Little by little he started to share with me writing about unlucky interviews and about times of complete silence, complete absence of any offers. I encouraged him as I could. Both my family and friends knew already that Frank was without work.

Once, when I visited my mother overnight, my son called me from home to tell that there was a desperate email from Frank in my computer at home where Frank asked to write him back as fast as I could. My son told me also that Frank was preparing himself for an interview, very important for him, and being a little superstitious wished to hear a few encouraging words.

Spending night at my mother’s I could not email Frank right away. But having arrived home next morning I threw the bag from the groserie in the lobby and immediately emailed Frank that I wished him good luck before putting food into the fridge.

The first thing my son asked having come home from school that day was how Frank’s interview passed. My lady-friend called in the evening and in the end of the conversation asked: «By the way, has that your American, Frank, got a new job or not yet?» My husband, having returned from his business trip, also asked: «What about Frank? If I was at his place I would prefer to become an independent entrepreneur!»

Frank’s interview passed unlucky but he got another job very soon. His girl, it seemed, did not notice what happened with Frank, she sent him a long letter with the description of St. Petersburg’s beautiful bridges copied, it seemed, from a local lore book. She also promised to describe St. Petersburg monumental sculpture in her next letter.

There is much more splendour to describe in St. Petersburg and a lot of books where from to take descriptions in its libraries too, so Frank’s girl has much more ahead. Frank continues to write to her about his lonely life, I continue to translate. It seems Frank and me are already good friends. My family and friends are also aware of Frank’s existence and often ask me how Frank is. And even though his girl currently passed to describe all scientific discoveries ever done in St. Petersburg, Frank – it seems – is already not so much lonely in this world.

Her Bad Fortune

Nadya comes to my office in her best dark cherry suit. She comes straightly from a photographer and shows me pictures of herself which the photographer has just taken. One picture is for the resume that she asks me to translate. The other picture is for a marriage agency personal form just in case; it is not what Nadya counts on seriously. First she wishes to offer her resume to some foreign companies though there are not many foreign companies in St. Petersburg that would take an accountant from the street. Though if they even took they would take someone younger and with the knowledge of English. Still one must try everything while looking for work.

She lost her work three months ago. She was very lucky to get the place of the vice-chief accountant of a large factory. It was a rare chance for an engineer of middle age without special education but only three weeks book-keeping courses. When I found out that she had got that work I prondly started to tell everyone that while most engineers could hope for nothing at their bankrupt factories, the lady with whom I had sat at one desk at the book-keeping courses, did not give up, managed to change her profession and to find a place with a good wage.

But she lost it. Formerly she believed that the main factor of success was diligence. Nadya was a very diligent pupil at the courses. She never went out for lunch at the breaks, ate her sandwich just at our desk turning over and over the pages of the lectures. She neither chatted nor giggled during lessons, just looking reproachingly at a merry lady from the front desk and me, who did. She herself tried not to miss even a word of the teacher.

She acted the same way at her work. Her book-keeping was always in an excellent order. Her knowledge of laws and taxes was always updated. She tried her best and demanded the same from others. When it seemed to her that her boss was not enough responsible, Nadya honestly informed him about it, as she piously believed in the predominance of sense of duty over everything.

Her fast discharge ruined that belief. But she still continued to act like previously.

Every morning, not missing one, she visited Unemployment Bureau to look for opportunities. Then she went back home and started to call. Sometimes she put on her best dark cherry suit and went for interviews. She returned back and her son met her in the doorway with a question in his eyes.

«They never refuse at once,» Nadya tells me. «They usually promise to call. They say «We will call you next week,» or «We will surely call you.» But when I call myself they apologize, «Sorry, that place is already unavailable’»

Once or twice however it seemed to her that her diligence would be rewarded again. Nadya came to a company and, while waiting for the boss to invite her, got into a conversation with a lady. The lady was an accountant there, it seemed to Nadya her professional knowledge impressed her colleague. The lady encouraged Nadya and promised to apply for her. The boss was affable, promised to call, but he did not. When Nadya decided to visit that company again the same lady did not even recognize her.

Nadya cannot understand why it all is happening that way, she tries to investigate laws according to which good fortune leaves a person. It seems to her things will change if she learns it.

«In the very beginning of my search I came for an interview together with other candidates,» Nadya says. «It was a place with a good wage, a lot of people with higher economy degrees came there. An elderly lady in a shabby dress, also a candidate, came up to me and said: «Failed again. Can you imagine I am looking for a year yet?»

That woman looked like a real failure!» exclaims Nadya. «I wish I would not talk to her, I am sure it was she who conveyed her bad fortune to me!»

Nadya is looking desperately as if she hopes I will tell that it can’t really be this way;

I am telling her it can’t really be this way, I am telling Nadya I am sure there is neither bad or good fortune, but maybe only unfortunate circumstances. I tell her that currently there is already less opportunities and more accountants than when we finished the courses, that’s the simple material reason why she cannot get a job. But if she has a little bit more patience she would surely be a success. It is only time and patience that is needed. I convince her trying to look honestly into her eyes. She asks me if I really think so, looking at me longingly. I make myself smile with confidence, encouraging her.

I translate her resume, fill in her marriage agency application form, and while filling it in it seems she becomes a little bit livened up, even smiles speaking about her possible future partner, coquettishly tidying her hair, and I notice in sun rays white hair in her hair-do and how worn her best cherry coloured suit is.

I see her off to the door, she seems comforted, thanks me and leaves hopeful.

I close the door, return to the table and am going to continue my work. But I can’t do anything as if something bad settled in my office after her departure.

His Old Red Cat

That Finnish man saw her picture in our personals catalog. She was a thirty year old Russian girl of an average appearance. She wrote in her application form that most of all she wished to take care of somebody and to have children.

He invited her to visit him to Finland, she agreed. She came by train, he met her at the railway station. She had seen his picture while corresponding, still he turned out to be smaller and thinner and his eyes were frightened though he smiled.

He lived in a small one-bedroom apartment in a little town and worked as a milk-man at a large farm. He offered her his bedroom and he himself settled on the sofa in the living room. Every evening he wished her good night, closed the door and never tried either to open it or even to knock. Every morning he left for work when it was dark yet and she heard how he moved about the room trying not to make any noise and cautiously closed the door.

He was very cautious in everything: it seemed to her that he even cared she would not see how much money was in his purse; he tried to open it a way she could not see it and later she herself looked aside when he took his purse out of the pocket. They usually went shopping together in the evenings after his returning from work and he always repeated that prices in Finland were high and one should be economical.