All the time before the arrival of the foreign guests I was trying to find more clients, more work, to get more money for little trifles to improve my apartment, and to make it more cozy and comfy. It was a little scary, but I was very curious. What were these Americans like?
During the Soviet era, which was a big part of all my childhood, adolescence, and adulthood, America was the embodiment of pure evil. Soviet propaganda didn’t allow people even to think those rich Americans could be good people. Capitalists and bloodsuckers. If law-enforcement authorities found US dollar bills in your wallet or in the apartment, it could lead you straight to jail.
And I could not get my head wrapped around this: why did they live better than us, if they were so bad? Why was the USA such a powerful country? Why were retired Americans traveling around the world, while our retired people considered their life over? Why did a simple truck driver have enough money to fly to the opposite side of the globe from Alaska, 4731 air miles, all the way to Ukraine, to meet his virtual bride. Our drivers were barely making ends meet. So I thought it would be interesting to know the answers to all these questions.
Having found my school books in the English language, I began to recollect the learnt material. But there was nothing to recollect. Except for a few words from the curriculum, I remembered absolutely nothing, and therefore had to buy a Russian-English dictionary. The dictionary also didn’t really help me to “recollect.” So Veronika gave me a few lessons for additional fees, so I at least could address a person properly. And as for the rest I had to rely on her totally.
Veronika called me from time to time, and I read the letters of my virtual American friend. I told her about myself and she wrote to Mike in my name. Four months passed like this. During this time, I duly paid Veronika for services. Mike didn’t write often, two or three times a month, but his letters were full of content and interesting to me. He described his way of life, beauty of the place he was living and working in, and his thoughts.
Finally, the day of the arrival of the Americans came. But just the day before, I decided it would be nice to do something with my hair. I took the last money I had and went to an expensive beauty parlor to do a haircut for me at least as good as that of Veronika. I explained that I was expecting a man to arrive from the States, and that I had to look like a lady. The venture spectacularly failed. Whether the stylist was not that qualified, or this was her strange idea of a style for a lady, or whether she was just jealous that an American guy was coming to me, not to her, anyway, she cut my hair so short that I looked like a teenage boy. And no combing and styling could save the situation.
Besides, Veronika didn’t take me to the airport to welcome the guests. There was no room for me in the car. Oksana, who, of course, was going to meet Ken, took her fourteen- year-old daughter. So I waited at home and cooked a special dinner for our dear guests. And though it all was pretty exciting, my mood could hardly hold onto the level of satisfactory. I think you could understand why.
Finally, the doorbell rang. I opened the door and froze. On the threshold there was a group of people, headed by a man: tall, athletic, with a handsome face. I was particularly struck by his unusually nicely shaped nose, and big blue eyes that looked at me piercingly and coldly. B-r-r-r. I felt weird.
The second man was simpler, of medium height, quite strong, with longish, thin hair down to his neck. But his eyes were dark and kind. And he had a joyous smile on his face. Both were wearing baseball hats with an unknown word: PETERBILT.
I wondered which one was Mike. I hoped the one with kind eyes.
“Please, come in,” I said a phrase learnt before today, with Veronika’s help.
“Polina, this is Mike,” Veronika introduced me to the man with the cold eyes, destroying all my hopes.
“Hello, Mike. My name is Polina,” I said slowly, realizing it was perhaps the last phrase I could say in English.
“I’m Ken. Hi! It is so nice to meet you.” Ken went on chattering, not realizing that besides Veronica and his friend Mike, nobody understood a single word.
I got depressed right away. Oksana was a young, bright blonde with long silky hair and red lipstick. The Marilyn Monroe type. And what American didn’t love Marilyn Monroe? I might have had some chance to impress an easy touch like Ken, but with this tall handsome Mike my chances were equal to zero.
He, however, turned out to possess an extensive bald spot, but it didn’t spoil his looks. On the contrary, the fact that he was not ashamed of it and didn’t try to cover it up with the hair around it, inspired respect. For a man it’s far more important what he has in his head than what’s on it. This is my opinion, but I think that you will agree with me.
I couldn’t understand my feelings. On the one hand I should have not cared, because I was not planning to marry either of them. But on the other hand, I had a strange, but strong desire for Mike to fall in love with me. What for? Well, was there ever any logic in a woman’s feelings? Perhaps that was the reason. I was a woman. Realizing this, I became even more depressed.
Oksana and her daughter were at ease and relaxed, acting like the the hostesses, while I was sitting in my own apartment quiet as a mouse, just watching everyone eat the dinner I’d fixed. Gorgeous Veronika was talking to our guests, proud of her knowledge of English.
Oksana was stuffing herself with the red caviar she had brought. She was eating it with a spoon straight from the jar and then suddenly discovered that there was nothing left. “Oh, I ate it all! Well, you would not like it in any case.” For some reason she decided this for everyone.
Oksana’s daughter was paying a tribute to dinner with all the zeal of a teenage child. The men looked tired and confused. It was late, so Veronika, Ken, and Oksana with her daughter left for home. And I was left alone with a stranger from distant America. I was frightened. Uneasy.
After making a bed for him to sleep on my big sofa, I took my seat on the loveseat. Fortunately my guest fell asleep right away, as soon as his head touched the pillow. After washing the dishes, for a long time I sat in the kitchen drinking tea and thinking. Why the heck did I need all this? That the kind of person I was, constantly creating big troubles for myself, and then courageously overcoming them. But apparently, that was how the Lord created me. I didn’t feel very grateful.
The morning didn’t bring any improvement. Mike woke up at five o’clock in the morning, when I had just fallen asleep. The reason was clear: the difference in the time zones of Alaska and Ukraine was eleven hours. Meaning that when we had our nighttime, they enjoyed the daylight, and vice versa.
I felt myself completely exhausted. I suspected that my guest was, too. Anyway, trying to remain a good hostess, I ignored my fatigue and red eyes, and treated my guest with coffee and fresh-fried pancakes made from dough with farm cheese, which he seemed to enjoy a lot. That gave me hope that not everything was lost. There is a reason one says that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. It is said all over the world, I am sure. I was a good cook. I was curious as to what people were eating in America.
It turned out my guest was drinking coffee of very weak concentration, but in enormous quantity. And I’m not joking! During the first half of the day it was usual for him to drink one-and-a-half or two liters of coffee! To make it just so, I had to single out a special pan, and let him cook this tonic beverage to his own taste by himself. It was obvious that he was grateful for my intuitiveness, because in trying to explain it to me in words, he reached no success. We used gestures to express ourselves quite successfully, and soon we could more or less explain our desires. I think if anyone could have seen us, they would have cracked up laughing. Our famous clown and playwright-producer Slava Polunin could not compete.
The phrase book Mike had brought with him turned out to be very useful. Surely we were not the first to try to communicate without any knowledge of each other’s language. So such a book was a big help. In general, it was evident that he had been preparing for this visit with me. He had read on the Internet all he could find about Ukraine. It broke the ice between us a bit.
Veronika called just before lunch. Before that, we had gone to a park, and done some grocery shopping. And by some sixth sense I guessed and showed responses to his uncomplicated questions, and we were quite at ease with each other.
Veronika then left us for three days to the mercies of Fate and only re-appeared just before the planned trip to Kiev. At first I went into panic. I was okay at dealing with Mike on my home territory, but what to do with him once we were in Kiev, I had no clue. How to express myself? How to behave? What to show him? What to cook? How to ask?
But Mike was patient and friendly and we both were probably ready for this next, big step. We had achieved three wonderful days in interesting conversations by means of the dictionary and phrase book, and walks around the city. I was grateful to Mike that he was not trying to hit on me or to share a bed with me. He was polite, attentive, and helpful. So by the time of our trip to Kiev, we had established a good friendly international relationship. I liked this mysterious American man. In addition, it was interesting to listen about life in America, so I decided to start learning English in order to correspond with him, and if things went well, I could go to the USA for a tour. I’d never thought about it before, but why not?