Chapter Four

“Polina?” A low, hoarse voice called me.

“Yes. Me. Hello.”

The face of this tired old woman was definitely familiar, but I could not remember where from. And then, like a flash! “Liuda?”

“You don’t recognize me?”

“No, I’m sorry, I was deep in thought and it took me a few seconds to come back to reality.” I tried to turn it into a joke. “How are you, Liuda?”

“Well, as you can see...”

I really hadn’t recognized her when she spoke, this exhausted old woman. I wanted to know more about her life and what destiny had forced to become like this.

“How are you?” I asked, trying not to show how surprised I was with her frayed condition.

Once, walking along in Uman city center, we met a man who had said a few words to each of us. This man, old as death itself, had never left my thoughts. Now the memory of that man was as clear as ever. “And you, your daughter is going to be your Damocles” sword,” he had said, addressing Liuda.

“Let’s go and have a cup of tea,” I said, pointing to the lovely cafe across the road.

Liuda was hesitant.

“I’m buying.”

The story, she told me over that cup of tea, knocked me dead.

“Do you remember,” she began, “you and I went to the same school? During the last year I started dating Oleg Pshenichny.”

“Oh yes! He was the king of the city!” I exclaimed without thinking. “Not surprising, then you were such a beauty!”

“That’s the thing. I was.”

“Well, you are still beautiful,” I lied.

Liuda, ignoring my phony compliment, continued. “So, we got married. There was plenty of money, so life seemed perfect. We went to Turkey and Egypt for holidays, even to France. A year later our daughter was born.”

Oh! A daughter! So the old man had known what would happen to Liuda thirty years ago. He knew! How could he know? And if he knew that, then maybe he was not simply an ugly old man! Who then, was he? Did that mean that my future was supposed to become better? Though I was predicted to have a happy and rich life, it was hard to believe in that, and for some reason, even scary.

“Do you have children, Polina?”

“Yes, a son.”

“Well, then you know that at the beginning, especially the first year, a woman devotes herself to the child totally. So I did. Moreover, my Ira was such a sweetheart. Oleg loved her, of course, but did not help me. Even worse, he went on one bender after another.

“At first I would complain and argue with him, then I started going for an overnight at my mom’s place, and finally, I filed for divorce. I have no idea how he arranged it, maybe with some of his money, but a week later we were divorced. Then, threatening to take away my daughter forever, he started taking her at first for just a few days, and later for a few months.”

“And did he take care of her by himself?” I could not believe it. “He always thought only of himself.”

“No, she lived with his mother. And that woman hated me.”

It gave me the creeps. The farther into the forest, the thicker the trees.

“To cut it short, when Ira went out of control, the same as her father, they gave her back to me and never asked for her anymore.”

“What happened to her? Where is she now?”

Evidently, it was hard for Liuda to talk about it, but on the other hand it seemed she needed to share her grief with someone.

“Well, Polina, she is in prison,” Liuda said after a moment’s pause. “For six years already. Another five years left. Better if she stays there! I am horrified to think of the day she will get out.”

Liuda finally started eating her little cakes with her tea. I was also silent. The silence continued, and than I dared to ask, “What is she in prison for?”

“First, her friends were prostitutes. Then she started on the drugs. And then, then... Well, she killed her boyfriend, and also stabbed me. I somehow survived, but he, poor guy, didn’t.”

“Oh, my dear heaven!” I gasped.

“Such a good boy, he was. Ira is beautiful. He loved her, you know? He came to talk to me and wanted to help her. Do you understand? We were talking, when Ira, furious, ran into the room, with a knife in her hand, well, and...”

It was harder and harder for Liuda to continue. I realized that I needed to end this torture.

“Miss, could you bring us more of tho-o-ose cakes?” I changed the topic, turning to the waitress. Thank Heaven, it worked. Liuda seemed to calm down a bit. Perhaps she was resigned to her fate, or somehow just got used to it.

My reactions were difficult to describe. All my skin was covered with goose bumps and my body felt numb. I could not move, not a finger on my hand or a toe on my foot.

“How are you?” Liuda finally asked me, realizing she had to be polite and ask about my life.

But I couldn’t tell her anything. First of all, I had no words for my life after what I had just found out, and secondly, I doubted she remembered me mentioning that old man and everything he told us. She hadn’t even seen him there.

“Nothing special,” I said, “like everyone else.”

And now, talking to Veronika, that meeting with Liuda flashed in my head within a few seconds. “All is not gold that glitters,” says one of our proverbs. And another is “Beauty is only skin deep.”

So while I was thinking about this, Veronica kept talking. When I returned my mind to reality, I heard. “If you want, I can register you on a dating site. My husband helped me to open a dating agency, so that’s my main business. I was just going to see Zhenia, to place the advertisement. Sure, your chances are low, well, because of your, you know, age.” Veronica couldn’t resist a sarcastic mention of that. “How old are you?”

“Forty-five.”

I could almost see horror from such a high number reflecting on her face. However, coping with her emotions, she said, “Well, maybe some old rich man. You’ll inherit all the money. The fee is only fifty hrivnas per month. And I will translate your letters and—”

“No, no! I don’t need old men, or a rich man or a poor man. And I don’t know the language, and it’s too late to learn it! And I have a pregnant daughter-in-law; I’ll have grandchildren soon! And I don’t want to get married. Regardless to whom.”

I had a lot of reasons to refuse, though only one was enough. I didn’t want to get married.

“Well, it’s up to you. Call me if you change your mind.”

I will not, I assured myself. But out loud I said, “Say hi to Zhenia from me.”

And we channeled off, each one on her own business.

If I gave a name to it, I would call what happened next the story of one day. Everything happened during that same day: the morning meeting with Veronika, and sending a letter to an unknown American possible-friend in the evening of that day. As regards that letter, I would find out about that in about a week. Seven days later.

As it turned out, Veronika shared her impressions of our meeting with Zhenia, once she crossed the threshold of her office.

“Can you imagine, I’ve just seen Polina! So weather-beaten,” Veronika shared the obvious with her fellow critics. “So poor and miserable. I invited her to sign up on my website and look for a rich old man. And she refused! You see, she doesn’t want an old man! Who does she think she is? The daughter of a millionaire? Women are so foolish. Forty-five already, and she still hopes for a young guy!”

Zhenia, a woman of patience, listened to her, and said, “Don’t pay any attention to what she says. Here are some pictures we can use. It’s Polina on my birthday. Register her, and in the meantime, I’ll persuade her it for the best.”

“Well, what about money? Who will pay? It’s not for free.”

“How much?”

“Only fifty per month. You know, our girls mostly don’t speak the language, and I have to translate the letters from the Americans, write the answers in English or in German, if necessary.” Veronika started advertising her skills.

“Yeah, for Polina that’s not small money, but here’s enough for the first month.” Zhenia took out bills from her bag and handed them to Veronika. “Then she will pay for herself. I’ll convince her.”

Veronika, delighted by the unexpected income, rushed home, where she had a letter to translate. It was written by one of her American clients, Ken, to his fiancée, Oksana. The letter, of course, was in English, dated November 21.

Hi, dear Oksana. Alaska is already covered with snow. So our work is done. As I told you, me and the other guys are building roads. So when the snow comes, it is impossible to do anything. There is a man working with me who also wants to come to Ukraine and meet some nice woman. Do you have a girlfriend older than you (40-45) for my friend Mike? If you do, then ask her to write him, and send a picture. Here is his e-mail.

We’ve already mailed the documents to get our visas, so as soon as we get the passports and visas, we’re buying tickets. I’m looking forward to meeting you, my dear Oksana. I loved your letter. Your English is getting better and better each time you write. Ken

So Veronika, without any hesitation, sent my pictures which Zhenia gave her, along with a letter in which she painted an outline and my best qualities to an unknown American from distant cold Alaska. No, of course, if the letter was from a New York millionaire, Veronika would not have sent it. But for some truck drivers who were building roads, almost miles from nowhere, what did she have to lose?

Meanwhile, I had not a clue about all this.