My wife, Lily, managed the resettlement department in the Jewish Family Service of San Antonio in the '90s. I was her most dedicated volunteer. Two of us and another good friend Edvina spent an endless amount of time organizing help and assistance to the refugees from Eastern Europe and countries of the broken apart Soviet Union. Among some other endeavor, we published a small local newsletter called "NASA".

 Actually, NASA is the acronym for the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, or simply the Houston Space Center.

 For us, NASA was New Americans in San Antonio, one of my mischievous ideas.

So I wrote, among other things, one story for almost every issue of this newsletter. We produced that publication once a month for several years. The time passed by. The Soviet Union disappeared from the map for good. Program for the refugees' ceased to exist and our little newsletter got forgotten. A few days ago I was going through my Mom's archives looking for hers WWII stories and some other notes. Among her papers, I found a large manila folder. Inside was the whole collections of our NASA Newsletters kept in the accurate numerical order.

 My Mom managed to surprise me again, many years since her passing.

Here's my new edited revision of one of my old stories from the NASA newsletter.

It was written originally in 1996. Then I edited this story in 2006 for posting on social media in Russian. Now, for the first time, I am coming out with the English version of that original story.

 Just like my other story "The Messenger", that I published recently, this story is a bit long and you need about a good half an hour or so to read it. But I promise, you not going to be wasting your time and you will go through a lot of good laughs reading it.

So now, as I've set your expectations right...

Let's go for it!

 

                                                  My Independence Day

 

It was July 1980.

The Leonardo da Vinci Airport in Rome was crowded, noisy, but terribly interesting. Especially for us, Soviet emigrants, who looked around with those big curious eyes, trying to understand and to remember every detail of the colorful surrounding that was forbidden for us in our black and white existence on the other side of the Iron Curtain before. Souvenirs kiosks were shining with advertisements of the things necessary to no one, but popular nevertheless. Those were the little inexpensive things that were bought out of boredom by occasional travelers. For us, however, it wasn't boring at all.

We, on the contrary, needed to see and to touch everything without any exception.

It was about 40 refugees in our group, selected by HIAS (Hebrew Immigrants Aid Society) for an American departure that day. All of us came through the vigorous checking by the State Department and by Immigration agencies. Those vettings of the refugees, that everybody is so critical now, used to be considered a normal procedure back then. It included multiply health screening, personal interviews, individually and together, documents screening, and psychological testing with an evaluation as well. Most of us crossed the soviet border just a few months ago and lived in different parts of Europe awaiting permission to immigrate. Every one of us had a different story to tell, but all of us had something in common. We wanted to be free. Every one of us had a somewhat loose definition of freedom in mind. It was more instinctive than cognizant. We had never been free, we had never owned one, therefore we desired it!

Almost all of the people in our group, except us, happened to be from the southern Asian republics of the former USSR. Most of them were dressed in ethnic garbs, colorful striped robes, and headwear. We, on the other hand, were dressed as "real Americans": jeans, shoes, shirts, even my hairdo was just like on a cover of any American magazines.  

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1-1                                                              ***

​

An Immigration caseworker put our group to stand in a corner of the waiting hall and explained to us all to be calm until further notice.

 

Our Asian comrades didn't have regular suitcases. They used huge duffel bags. They instantly placed those on the floor in a circular pattern and separated each family's territory, like forming different tribal camps. Not all of us were from Asia, actually.

I remember two guys, two heads of big families, one Armenian and one Georgian, who were probably not bad guys separately, but were constantly arguing with each other. I have seen them before in emigration offices in Rome, in Viena and even on the train to Italy. They always argued loudly. They tried to prove to each other passionately that the place they were originally from was just as beautiful, or even better, than places around them now.

 

This time the argument turned into a scuffle, and they rolled around on the floor, bumping into their huge duffel bags.

It was embarrassing and shameful to us. We didn't want to be seen as the part of the same group. We looked different, we behaved differently. We didn't want to be associated with the huge duffel bags crowd, and we quietly stepped aside.

 

We only had two suitcases. One of them was with a new Italian bar-table, disassembled in pieces, and carefully packed in our clothes. The other one had a three-liter glass jar of anchovies, hand-pickled by me, wrapped in a big red satin, goose feather filled pillow. I salted and pickled the little fish myself, gently pouring marinade, salt, and pepper, according to a special Lily's father recipe, which was given to me by the phone.

In America, - as he said to us, - there was no such kil'ka!

( kil'ka is the Russian word for anchovy type, popular Russian appetizer)

 

We spent our last money on that bar-table. We purchased it in Sorento at a furniture factory. There was a strong rumor among the refugee community that everyone should buy an Italian bar-table. The factory men knew Soviet emigrants well and made a special discount for them. This table was supposed to bring us, when we arrived in America, as much as 500 American dollars!

Any American will buy this from you. And you will instantly have $500 in your pocket! - they said asking for 100 Italian milles( 1 mil=1000liras), that was roughly $100.

I worked for three weeks as a doorman in the doctor's office and even sold some of our personal items and toys to get the money. And I actually bargained it down to $80. What a deal!

It looked to us like a humongous fortune then. I must say the intended hypothetical business deal never happened and that table still collects dust in the corner of our living room today. It always reminds me of the way we were, and of the ways, we went through.

And what about the kil'ka from the second suitcase? The kil'ka didn't make it as it was intended either, and I will write about it later.

1-2                                                                ***

In the pocket of the jeans that so fashionably tightened my emigrant's ass, I held tightly squeezed into the fist my very last Italian money. There was so little left, it was pathetic not to spend it all there at once.

In the display window of one of the gift stands, I saw a small bottle of perfume made in the shape of a ladybug. I immediately remembered that these black and red cuties bring happiness to people.

And a minute later I put our last coins on the counter. To my delight, there was enough money to buy it, and I gave Lily a modest gift to remember our last day in Italy.

It would be lucky for us, my love - I whispered and hugged her.

Finally, they called our flight number. Oh, Pan American, how beautiful you were. Back in Riga, when we dreamed and fantasized about our future travel plans, we always toasted a drink - to see one on board of Pan Am!

Now our dream was coming through.

It was a different time back then. It was the time before the words, flight attendants, were even known... Everybody called those beautiful ladies, the stewardesses, and they were proud to carry that name!

It was the time when all the stewardesses were lovely, the seats were comfortable, the service was exceptional and the food was delicious and as good as in the best restaurants.

Trembling we entered the spacious airplane's cabin. It was the first piece of real America that we had ever touched.

We quickly found our seats and quietly plunged ourselves into soft and comfortable chairs.

A huge smile didn't want to come off our faces. Lily, me, and our little Mark held hands firmly. Oh, how happy we were!

Finally, we were on our way to America! We got it made!

 

One of the stewardesses kindly leaned over and offered me something. With all of the fatigue, excitement, and nervousness, I could no longer understand even those simple English words that I thought I had learned in the past few months.

I politely refused and said,

   - Senk-u.
 

1-3                                                       ***

​

We were about an hour into the flight when the stewardesses started serving food and drinks.

Do you think they would ask us to pay at the end of the flight? -asked Lily.

I don't know. Nobody told us about the food on the flight, - I replied. - I spent our last money on the ladybug perfume. So even if they ask, I wouldn't be able to pay anything.

  - Let's take some food just for Mark, - Lily suggested.

  - Well, let's do it, - I replied. I didn't learn how to say my American okay yet.

 

It was an early afternoon. Everyone had lunch already, but us. Little Mark had pasta with stuffed chicken, but we ... , we have chickened out. 

Look at us, I said. - We don't even know how to be ourselves on the flight. We don't understand anything or anybody. -

Last night we were too busy packing and didn't have anything for supper.

We were up at 4 AM this morning and skipped breakfast.

We were craving for food but still were afraid to order anything, as we didn't have any money.

They started to serve drinks. We really wanted to try, but we continued to refuse all services.

By the middle of the flight, I dared to go around the whole plane to explore. The huge cabin was divided into several sections.

We sat in the second section, and in the first, there was a winding staircase leading upstairs. I walked the stairs up. Wow!

It was a real American bar, covered in the cloud of an aromatic smoke of American cigarettes. People sat in comfortable chairs around small tables and sipped colorful drinks from the long glasses, chatting effortlessly. I didn't mind to be thirsty. I drunk all of those colorful drinks at once with my eyes, swallowing the smoke and enjoying that wonderful taste of freedom.

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1-4                                                ***

​

We had a bar downstairs in our section too, but no chairs or tables.

When I came down to it, the emigrants from our group lined up and formed two separate lines.

By that time every one of us realized that drinks are free.

The first line was to the bar to get drinks. The second was to the bathroom, to let it go. 

Some people carried the drinks into the second line, and afterward, they were leaving the toilet with pockets full of the toilet papers and soaps, ready to go again to the end of the first line to get new drinks.

I felt deeply ashamed again, and after taking two bright red cans of Coca-Cola, I plunged myself all the way down to the bottom of my soft chair.

The thoughts about a wonderful country that opened its doors to us took me over and I fell asleep.

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 1-5                                                        ***

​

We slept for a long time as if we were trying to pick up for all of the unslept time of the last couple nights spent in getting instructions, moving stuff around, packing, organizing for a trip, and preparing for the departure. The announcement that the plane was on its way to landing woke us up.

 

As they heard that announcement, as by the command, our immigrant companions lined up again. This time it wasn't for the drinks, it was for the doors to get out...

Everyone wanted to get to America first. The women pushed the children, the children tried to grab the sleeves of the colorful ethnic robes of the men in front of them. The two men, who had scuffled at the airport, threw nasty looks at each other. Those looks did not promise anything good, and we dived down again deep into the chairs, covered with the total embarrassment for them.

 

 

Stewardesses were running around the cabin in a noticeable panic. If the wearers of colorful robes would not sit back into their seats, the plane will not land!

 

A very confused and helpless stewardess approached us in disarray and said,

   -  "Help!"

That word knocked me over the head and brought up all my senses that were locked deep in my well-bred shyness.

For some reason, I heard in my head the voices of the Beatles,

   - "Help!

 Won't you please, please help me? ... help me, help me, oh."

 

and then again,-

 

"And now my life has changed in oh so many ways,

My independence seems to vanish in the haze.

But every now and then I feel so insecure...

Won't you please, please help me? ... help me, help me, oh."

 

I couldn't understand English, but I knew the meanings of the phrases I learned from my favorite Beatles song.

 And I..., I didn't want my independence to vanish into the blink of an eye!

- I will help you, as I can! - I exclaimed and jumped up on my feet, stepping up onto the seat of my chair and hitting my head on the ceiling of the plane.

Oh, in pain I was, but I didn't care!

​

1-6                                                                ***

​

Attention! - I had put into my voice all of the skills I collected in school, in drama theater, in university's military understudy, in a Soviet army, on the May Day parade, on the Great October demonstration, and every Soviet Military Parade I have ever seen.

Attention, - I screamed in Russian.

To all the natives of the Soviet Socialistic republics! On the orders of the commander of this airplane, I order to You! Disperse at once!

"And now my life has changed in oh so many ways,

My independence wouldn't seem to vanish in the haze." - was pounding in my head.

And I did that! It worked!

The miracle happened, emigrants who were already piled up at the door put their heads down, stopped talking, and quietly parted back to their places.

The stewardess looked at me with big, tearful eyes full of gratitude.

The plane started descending to land and a few minutes later, in the window of the plane, we saw the Statue of Liberty standing alone in the bluish-gray waters of Hudson.

That was the land of America 

 

Many years will pass from that day and I will read the famous phrase engraved in the stone under the Liberty monument:

 

«Liberty is not the power to do what one wants,

but is the desire to do what one can»

Jean-Paul Sartre

 

Back then, on that very first day in America, we didn't figure out that yet.

There was only one truth, that we realized, - never again our liberty would vanish in the haze! We will never allow for that to happen!

                                                              ***

As we riched the gateway, our stewardess gave Mark a commemorative pin, - the opened wings with the American flag, the emblem of the world-famous airline company, The Pan American. 

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1-7                                                         ***

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We set a foot on the grounds of America, which for us happened to be an old, trampled by crowd vinyl flooring of the JFK airport. I certainly didn't want to kiss it, but I was ready to hug and kiss every employee, who met us. 

Officials and bureaucrats were slowly stamping and shuffling around our documents, moving those from one pile of paper to another. I could hardly contain my feelings and to observe the rules of proper well behaved decency.

 I was too excited!  

I vigorously shook hands with every clerk, agent, and security officer who happened to be on our way. With the confusing words of gratitude and admiration, I held their hand for a long time, trying to look them straight into the eyes. Their friendly but somewhat indifferent smile met my endless delight. It must have looked comical, but I didn't care.

                                                            ***

Our group of about 40 refugees got together once again. All men in colorful striped robes lined up to shake my hand. Somehow they were impressed by my organizational skills, while on the airplane and wanted to thank me. I didn't mind that.

The older man shook my hand vigorously for a long time.

   -  Thank you for correcting us, that was needed to be done. We don't know your western ways yet. We got a lot of things to learn, - he said in a soft voice that sounded like some tune.

   - Me too, - I replied.

   -  I, just like you, don't know anything. Here in America, we all need to start from the beginning. You and I are very alike in that way.

 The two men who argued all the time came to talk to me too.

 They finally were in peace with each other.

And I noticed tears running down their unshaved cheeks.

​

 1-8                                                     ***

​

The paperwork took a very long time. We went through customs, waited, signed some papers, and waited again. Then they took our family away from everyone and told us to wait again, as we were prepared to be transferred to Des Moines, Iowa.

 A lady in uniform took us to see our suitcases through the window to identify. I pointed my finger into the general direction of our stuff and it was good enough. She told us to wait by the bench, at the side of the long airport walkway.

 The hour has passed, then later a second hour, and a third...

 Nobody came to tell us what to do, or where to go. We still had a piece of the hard Italian smoked sausage and another piece of Italian bread in our handbag. Lily carefully fed this to Mark, one tiny piece in the time, trying not to waste even a crumb. 

 I looked with interest into this unknown to us, unfamiliar, passing beside us crowd, strenuously realizing that all those people around were the real Americans.

Back in Europe, I felt myself a part of any crowd instantly. I was dressed a little different, I didn't fully understand the language, but the general crowd wasn't much different than I. It always gave me that comfortable feeling of comradery.

Here in America, the crowd had a different taste, it created a different feeling in me, something that I couldn't point my finger on, at that time.

 Obviously, everyone was dressed in the firm-branded of all American clothes: Lee, Wrangler, Polo, bell-bottom jeans, tie-dye hippie shirts, platform shoes, tweed sports jackets, hats,- I have seen all of that before in the magazine's pictures. But there was something else in the air, something I couldn't catch at the time. It made me feel different. Unexpectedly I felt ... , I couldn't realize that, ... I didn't know what it was, ... Oh, ... I felt shy! 

I, who easily walked through the blood, sweat, and tears of my soviet fatherland, I suddenly felt shy. I couldn't loosen up as everyone around me. I didn't know how to do it.

People were walking easy, a little loose, even if they were in a hurry. 

So that's what independence is, - I thought to myself. - It's when you can relax so much, that you would feel easy from head to toe at once. Wow!

I immediately noticed that young black people behaved even easier than white. It was how that appear to me then. They walked more loosely, constantly beating some rhythm with their whole bodies, in some special musical twist, heard only by themself.

Oh, my G-od, how awesome it was, how cool! 

An elegantly dressed black man walked past us in a hurry, and right behind him was the porter, red in the face, sweaty, soaked up by hard work, pushing a cart with gentleman's suitcases. The porter was a white man.

 They didn't tell us about that side of American life in the Soviet university's political economy class, - I thought.  

To me, America was a country of Jimmi Hendrix, Tina Turner, B.B. King, Ella Fitzgerald, Chuck Berry, Louis Armstrong, Diana Ross, and the whole Jackson 5, - I knew many more American names and they all were black. I loved them, I adored their music, and I cherished their names. Even Angela Davis, who was known as a communist seemed lovely to me!

The soviet system of information made me to believe that every one of those people was severely oppressed.

I was afraid to see a totally segregated, white-only America. It was against my life principals. I was afraid I never would be able to adapt to it. But apparently, that too was another soviet lie...

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 1-9                                                  ***

​

   - Yidden?-

Suddenly somebody's voice got me out of my daydreaming.

   - Yes, yes, of cos, ve Yidden, ... - I was trying to speak in my best possible English. - yes, yes, of course, we are the Jewish refugees from Riga. - Ve veit. Emigracieoun. Ve goink to Demoin, Aieova.

   - Ton deyn meydele aun beibi eyngele viln gevail tsu esn? ( Are your young lady and a little boy hungry and really want to eat? (in Yiddish)

   - Oh, no. Ve Gut. Danken. Mir viln tsu esn? Niht. Mir gegesn aun gegesn aoyfn di flakh. Ve esn un esn on aeroplain. Senk'u,...

Suddenly some Yiddish words learned from my grandparents came up from my memory. -(Oh, no. We are good. Thanks. Do we want to eat? Absolutely no! We have been fed while on the flight. We ate on the airplane. Thanks again...)

I tried to make gestures to explain to that stranger, who was passing by, to make him to understand that we were well fed and we needed no special assistance or any help at all. I really wanted to show him how good we were.

 Apparently, our looks did carry through a totally different impression. We came across as very exhausted, tired, and hungry. The sleepless nights, the anxiety of moving from place to place, the poor emigration's diet, all of that left deep dark circles under our eyes, and a similar deep wrinkles on our clothes. Plus, believe it or not, we were very skinny or politely to say, slender.

An American stranger, a simple passer-by man looked at us with a huge and very kind smile. Without a shadow of being uneasy or hesitant, a man pulled one $20 bill out of his money clip. He gave it to me and reluctantly advised me to buy us something to eat. Then he turned around and hurried on out with his business. He didn't look back even once...

We stood and stared silently at him, as he disappeared in a haze of a long airport walkway. We tried to figure out this country and its people that we didn't understand yet.

America, what a country! - I wanted to scream out that phrase, but I just didn't know how to say that yet. 

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 1-10                                             ***

​

 Toward the end of the day, somebody finally came for us. The little Hispanic lady in uniform talked very slow. Nevertheless, I didn't understand any words, but I understood everything she wanted us to do. She asked us to point and to identify our suitcases through the glass window again, without an actual opportunity to touch these.  

   - It isn't because of the kil'ka,- Lily wondered.

   - I don't think it is, - I replied.

   -  It is probably some bureaucratic procedures they should follow in the customs. Remember they told us in Italy that refugees' luggage goes through the customs without been actually checked. That is how they do things in America, I guess. 

   - Don't you worry?-

   - Just a little bit, but let's don't give them any wrong ideas. Just act cool, as nothing happens.-

I was a little concerned actually. Lily, from the beginning, did not want to get involved with that kil'ka. The idea was mine - from beginning to end. One time, in a phone conversation, Lily's father mentioned that such a delicious kil'ka, that he pickled while in Italy, was one of a kind and nowhere, absolutely nowhere he tasted anything like it! 

I have to admit, at those days my relationship with Lily's family was on the rocks, to say the least. Not even on the rocks, on the glass that was broken by those rocks. 

They were the refusniks, the people who applied for permission to emigrate from the USSR, and for one reason or another, or most of the time without any reason at all, were refused to be permitted to leave the country of the soviet paradise. Those families were looked down upon by the communist communities and were put in the especially hard circumstances at work as well as in the daily life. They were systematically abused by the soviet system, but yet quietly celebrated by the secret circle of the friends and people who shared the same dislike to the soviet way of life.

I couldn't stomach the soviet way of life either, but my "alter ego", or my second I, was very different. To emigrate for me, was to run away from the problem. To run away was beneath me. I wanted to meet the problem face up! I was a dissident who fought for liberty and justice for all through different means. I wanted to change my country for better, rather than run away from it.

 Back in the high school, I read once that, "The people have the right to truth as they have right to life...". 

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 1-11                                                           ***

 

That quote became one of my life credos. It was contributed to Vladimir Lenin, like everything good in soviet propaganda back then. It would be years when I would learn it was stolen from an American novelist Frank Norris who wrote that back in the 1870s.

 I was publicly lecturing my thoughts to the people in pursuit of the truth. And of course, I was punished for it by the authorities several times, but that would be another story.

When Lily's parents' family, after more than 13 years in the refuse, finally got permission to leave the country I declined to go with them. Therefore, I inadvertently held Lily and Mark with me and broke their family. That was how I earned Lily's parents' dislike.

Now, two years later, we were coming to join them in America and I desperately wanted to do something good and likable.

I decided to start small, and small for me at the time, was kil'ka.

I decided to please Lily's father.

 I wanted to bring him a gift from Italy, and the idea came naturally. We bought a big glass jar at a hardware store, just of the Republic Plaza, the small fishes at the famous Rome's round market, salt, pepper, and bay leaves.

 It turned out to be simple, affordable, and tasty hopefully, even though I've never tried my creation by myself!

That was how the fish, kil'ka, ended up in the suitcase.

The little lady in the uniform explained to us that the suitcases would be delivered straight to Des Moines, Iowa, and we were taken to a hotel to spend the night.

                                                    ***

We stared through the bus windows into the night until our eyes ached, expecting to see the famous American skyscrapers. There were no skyscrapers.

 Our hotel was located at the intersection of two highways. It had only one floor, and it was long, stretched through a whole city block. That how long it was. There was no sidewalk around the building, just the green grass. A grassy lawn opened directly onto the roadway. Over the whole building shined a sparkling big neon sign, The Queens Motel. 

There were cars, cars, and more cars on the roadways. 

   -  How many cars there are in America, - I wondered, - and every next one is bigger than the one before. I've never seen such big cars. The Big was beautiful to me and the beautiful was expensive! What a country!

And I noticed something peculiar, the bigger cars were driven by black drivers and the smaller ones by the white. I didn't understand that.

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 1-12                                                                 ***

​

We were taken to the hotel room and left there until morning when another flight would take us to Des Moines. Mark had fallen asleep in my arms already, and we immediately put him to a bed. The bed was large, very large actually. It took almost the entire room. There were nightstands on both sides. One of them had a large silver button on top. I wondered what this is for, and pressed it.

The bed bounced and shook. I threw myself on top of it, trying to hold sleeping Mark with one hand, so that crazy vibration wouldn't wake him up. I tried to slow it, to hold the crazy bed with the other hand so that it wouldn't run away. In a few minutes, it was over and I breathed a sigh of relief.

   - We don't know how to use a bed in this country either, - I thought.

   - Sasha, come here, quickly, - Lily called to me. - Our toilet doesn't seem to work!  (Sasha is short for Alex in Russian)

The toilet lid was actually covered with white tape that had the big blue letters. I read - "sanitized"... 

   - What is that? Sani-ti-zed, - I read that word by syllables. "Sani" sounded like a song by Bonny M, but it doesn't make sense... Oh, how stupid am I! It is like the sani-tar, the medical assistant. Now I got it!

   - Maybe something isn't sanitary there, - I thought and lifted the lid, just a bit, as much as the tape let me.

The toilet bowl was full of blue water. On, no... it was definitely something wrong with it. 

On the plane, to our amazement, the water was green. Here in the hotel, it was blue, and the tap over the sink was running clean clear water! Wow, how are they do that in America? I tried to solve this engineering riddle and could not find an explanation for it.

It turns out that in this country I didn't even know how to use the toilet!

But I didn't rest until I opened the lid of the toilet tank and saw a bottle of a blue cleaning liquid hooked to the rim. Eureka!

Water in the bowl confused me, however. In Latvia, all toilets were dry until you flush it. The standing water in the bowl was the sign of the big plumbing problem.

   - Maybe the toilets here are arranged differently, but I think we will be safer to use the public one in the corridor, just in case. - I suggested.

We left Mark to sleep in the room and curiously went to wander outside the room.

 We found the public restroom at the end of the corridor. The restroom was clean and spacious. I quickly completed all of my little needs and opened the stall door to head out for the exit. A big, fat American man was coming toward me.

   -  Are you through? - He asked.

For a second I got frozen. The vulgar word for pooping in the Russian language sounds like "through", exactly! 

   -  That big, fat American man spoke either in Russian or in English, or the word for pooping is the same in both languages, - I thought.

   - I didn't even poop, I just needed to pee, - I replied to him in Russian.

The big, fat American man passed by me without even answering. 

   - A businessman, he is in a hurry, - I thought respectfully.

 A minute later I was telling Lily that I had accidentally recognized another English word that we already knew.

   - How great and vast was the Russian language! - I thought. Anywhere, even in the toilet, I can find something Russian sounding!

​

 1-13                                                       ***

​

We poked our heads into the hotel's gift shop and the smiley salesgirl spoke to us. In English.

We didn't understand even a word and left. We decided to go to a restaurant.

 I was clutching in my hand the $20 bill we got at the airport from a nice Jewish stranger.

The restaurant lodge was downstairs in the basement of the hotel. It had a dim red light coming through the tobacco smoke. Someone was playing blues solo on a saxophone. It sounded to me like a sweet magic. A large built black man came out toward us from the cloud of smoke and said something to us... in English. We passed for a moment and turned around. Not understanding anything, we decided that we would leave eating and exploring for tomorrow. My list of things I didn't know how to do was growing, one minute at the time.

A man in shorts was walking quickly down the corridor towards us.

   -  Look at that idiot, - I said. - A grown-up man, but dressed as a child in shorts!

We've never seen a man in the shorts before.

An "idiot" happened to speak Russian, and when he found out that we were going to Des Moines, he said that we must have gone crazy and left without any explanations.

 

I got that uneasy filling again. 

What might be wrong with Des Moines?

We didn't know much about the place. The big soviet encyclopedia had a few articles about the tractor factory, the fields of corn, and the premium cattle in that state. Nikita Khrushchev when he came back from visiting the USA said that Russia eventually would produce better cows than Americans had in Iowa. That, actually, has never happened and I didn't believe it would ever will.

​

 1-14                                                       ***

​

What I'll be doing there? I can clean rooms or do some maintenance. I probably would never be an engineer again in my life. But that was okay with me. I would figure..., but our little Mark, he would be a real American. He will go to an American school and then, no doubt, to the university. Yes, he will!

 He will be really successful because he will live in a free country.

Somehow I knew that, but yet I felt a little uneasy of our future.

We both, Lily and I, we're a little uneasy.

 

We went back to the room and I decided to call our New York relatives.

 I picked up the receiver. I heard the beep, and someone said something... in English.

 I didn't understand. Someone didn't understand me either.

I hung up.

I picked up again and heard the same voice.

I hung up.

The operator's voice, actually, asked me to dial 9 and a room number, before the actual phone number, but I couldn't figure that out. I didn't know.

   - It turned out that we don't even know how to use the phone in this country. - I concluded with a huge disappointment in my voice.

We laid in the bed, thinking about the future and fearing that this crazy American bed would start shaking again. And our little Mark?

 Mark snored sweetly between us, not at all afraid of his future. We weren't afraid either, just a little wary of the unknown.

   -  You know, Lily, - I said quietly, - We don't know anything in this country, like little children we are. We have to start everything all over again. It's like we need to be born again and start from scratch. It wouldn't take that long to learn, I think. In this new country, everything is different. This is what I realized today. So let's start tomorrow.

Lily replied sleepily, - let's start tomorrow... - she was already asleep.

 

 1-15                                          ***

 

Tomorrow happened to be a National Holiday. 

America was celebrating Independence Day. 

We were told so at the airport by a Russian-speaking employee of HIAS who came to assist us with the emigration papers.

   -  They're having the big holiday parties everywhere today,- she said. That's why you won't be officially helped here in New York and Des Moines as well. - But you're young, you'll figure it out. Buy the way, why are you going to Des Moines?-

   -  Of course, we will, - I replied without hesitation to the first part of her question and ignoring the actual second question that she asked.

And so we entered America on our own.

                                                       ***

The plane was full. Everyone around us spoke... English, but despite all our previous English learning, we could not even distinguish any single phrase, nor understand any. 

Now we became the foreigners!

 

We were dressed according to our very proud but limited European understanding, even better than the Americans. Mark was wearing a denim jumpsuit and a blue-red-and-white shirt with three buttons. Very cute. Lily was wearing beige Levi's jeans made of thin corduroy, a lilac blouse with puffed sleeves that were laced-up, and sandals on a high cork platform. Beautiful. And I? 

I looked as good as the most famous rock musicians in the world! A full head of black hair that fell to my shoulders framed my face, which was mostly made up of the eyes and a horseshoe mustache. The corduroy shirt with the shoulder straps was lightly unbuttoned on my chest, and of course, as it should be, the pack of black "Elite", Rigas best cigarettes, was tucked into the rolled-up sleeve.

 Flared bell-bottom Wrangler jeans with slanting pockets covered the pride of my outfit, and not what you just thought, - the shoes, purchased in Rome at the Round Market. It was quite uncomfortable to walk in them but very fashionable. The thin, light-brown leather stretched so tightly over the instep of the foot that you could see through it. Every tendon of my feet, every toe knuckle were tensed because of the unusual high heels.

But the nose, the nose was my shoe's greatest pride! 

It was so pointy and so sharp, that it looked like it could be used in self-defense if you would lift your leg up.

 

1-17                                                                ***

 

Clutching Lily's hand in mine, I stared out through the slightly fogged window of the plane at the gray-silver American clouds and thought about how that Des Moines, Iowa would greet us.

We didn't know anything about that city. There were Lily's parents and brother, with the family, but they all did not like me then for my eternal desire to "find another way to the freedom". 

 Lily and I even talked about some other cities to choose from actually. In Rome's American Consulate, we were offered the choice of New York, Houston, Chicago, and Des Moines. New York seemed too big, Chicago was the gangster's city, and we knew that from the movies, in Texas were too many scary cowboys and somebody killed an American president over there. We knew nothing about Des Moines. For some reason, Khrushchev's slogan flashed through my head: "Let's catch up with the cow from Iowa!" The name of the town sounded French. That was attractive! And therefore we decided that we would go there and hope that it would be alright to live near Lily's parents.

                                                       ***

I imagined Lily's dad coming out to meet us. I will present him with a huge jar of kil'ka and we will hug. 

Lily's mother will cover Lily and Mark with kisses and bright spots of her lipstick, with tears in her eyes. And then she would shake my hand too.

And she will tell me something in Yiddish like,

   - A guten margn, kumen in, zeyn aundzer geist...

(Good morning, welcome dear guests...)

 

Back in Riga she hardly ever spoke Russian. She had never learned fully that language, for her it was Yiddish and Latvian only. Now in America, she probably totally forgot how to use it.

And then the official public will come, they will definitely come, despite the national holiday. There will definitely be a grandstand built there, even if it wouldn't be very large. And there will be some people on the grandstand waving to us. And a carpet would be rolled out! Most definitely!

Someone will roll out a red carpet for us. And someone will make a welcome speech. And then I'll come forward. I will look at the huge American flag, that would be flying high over my head and I'll say with awe in my voice, how grateful I am for the freedom and for the opportunity to live in this amazing country. And in closing, I will remember thousands of other people who are eager to leave the hated Soviet Union and its unbearable inhumane system of government. And I will ask the people never to forget and to continue with helping them...

I even wrote out a few special phrases from the dictionary and went over those in my mind over and over again.

 

 1-18                                                    ***

 

Meanwhile, our plane has landed. All of the passengers stood up and started to walk toward the exit, one after another, without any disorderly rush. We followed them instantly becoming a part of everybody. Wow!

At the exit, everybody was treated with a big smile and a good day wish from the whole crew. Even the captain came out of the cockpit and joined the stewardesses on a good day wish. 

The long airport corridor was in front of us.

Lily held Mark on her arms, and my arms were full of flight tickets, our emigration paperwork, and reference letters were given to us while in New York, Rome, and Viena.

 

Lily's dad and her brother were running toward us. Lily threw herself into her father's arms. I hugged her brother, Saul.

   -  Why do you need so many papers?" - he asked me smiling.

   -  I don't know, they're plane tickets and some paperwork, - I hesitated with uncertainty.

   -  So, why do you need those tickets? You've already arrived. Or do you want to go back? - and he treated me with a giggling smirk.

I didn't want to go back at all and boldly, I put all of the papers in a nearby trash can, all at once.

   -  There is no way back for us ever! ,- I declared proudly in a strong assured manner.

Lily's mother ran up to me and threw her arms around my neck. A minute later I was covered in her kisses, tears, and bright spots of her favorite lipstick. I wasn't ready for it. I couldn't believe it, but half those tears were mine...

   -  And here comes our public community, - not without pride in his voice observed Lily's father, pointing to the right.

   -  Yeah,- I thought. - They came, despite the holiday! Just like I imagined.

The public community looked at us narrowly, with the eyes of a very short, stubby elderly woman, with the extremely oversized bust, with a constantly yapping little white lapdog. Esther, it was a lady's name, came from Russia with her parents in the early '20s and still spoke a little Russian. She was now engaged as a volunteer with the immigrants at the Jewish Federation of Des Moines. 

Lily's mother, meanwhile, didn't stop to surprise me. She cheerfully spoke to Esther in English, so fast, that I did not understand a word, and this almost left me speechless. Her English was better than mine.

 

 1-19                                                               ***

 

Years later, when Lily's mother spoke her English, I still didn't understand a word, but I wasn't surprised anymore.

("It is better to speak English poorly than not to speak at all." - many years later, that phrase would become a poster hung in Lily's office, where she was, for more than 15 years, the Manager of the immigration resettlement in San Antonio, Texas.)

The public community, in face of Esther, smiled, mention something about the bloody Russians, said goodbye, and left, carrying her yapping lapdog on the top of her very oversized bust. There was no grandstand, no high flying American flag there. But the carpet on the floor was everywhere and it led us forward to the luggage carousel full of different suitcases.

The passengers quickly sorted out their belongings, clearing the conveyor belt of all suitcases, and ours were not there.

   -  Don't worry, - Saul said and led me to the luggage claim window to report my loss.

   -  Your tickets please, - smilingly asked the young lady in the window.

   -  Where are your tickets?- Lily's brother translated to me the question without a shadow of uneasiness.

I looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and bewilderment, but said nothing, and walked back toward the wastebaskets and the trash cans.

 

The Des Moines airport, in those years, wasn't large at all, but their number of the large trash cans and smaller wastebaskets was uncomputable to the airport's small size. The wastebaskets were everywhere and they all resembled each other like two drops of water. So, I went to work.

Limping from the pain in my feet, clenched by my very fashionable Italian shoes, not paying attention to my precious branded clothes, I gritted my teeth and went from trash can to trash can without any hesitation. I carefully sorted through all kinds of the food wraps and soda cans in search of the cherished documents, that so unthinkably ended up thrown away by myself. I realized my mistake. From now on all decisions should be mine and then I will have no one to blame for it, but myself.

Finally, I found our precious paperwork, cleaned it, folded nicely, and brought it to the young smiling lady in the luggage claim window.

Saul helped me with the paperwork and we filed a claim.

 

 1-20                                                                     ***

 

 Our suitcases have been found in a different city and they promised us to deliver them to us by the next day. And for this inconvenience, we were given 40 dollars to purchase any items of urgent need and personal hygiene. Our fortune has instantly expanded three times!

Now it was the whole 60 dollars in my pocket.

   -  America, what a country! - I wanted to scream that, but I didn't know how to say that yet.

The airport exit door opened and we stepped outside. An unimaginable wave of heat instantly drove through every inch of my body. I've never felt anything like that, even in a sauna.

   -  Feeling warm? - asked Lily's dad. - Get used to it. It is only 95 today, just wait for 105... - and he smiled.

His car waited for us in the parking lot. I never have seen a car like that. Plymouth Fury, 1972 model was magnificent. It was a big and beautiful, shiny silver-blue outside and blue with white leather trim inside. 

   -  It's looking very expensive, - I said walking around that beautiful car. Lily's father didn't say anything, just chuckled.

I didn't know that in the '70s the USA underwent the oil crisis and gas tripled or even quadrupled in price killing the large car market. It was a paradise opportunity for indigent immigrants to obtain an instant piece of luxury. They could buy those big and beautiful cars for 10 cents on a dollar!

   -  It's my car,- said Lily's dad proudly, patting delicately on the sun-baked shiny hood. - Come on in,- He said and invited us inside.

Lily, Mark, and I set on the back and there was plenty of room left there for another two people.

   -  What a big car, wow! - I thought.

We drove for a while, but the landscape around us didn't change. The cornfields stretched to the horizon in all directions.

   -  Why is the airport so far from the city? - I asked.

   -  Don't worry,- Lily's brother replied with his so typical sarcastic chuckle, - We are in the city...

 And I felt a bit uneasy again for some reason.

   -  Does this city have any big buildings? - I asked cautiously.

   -  Yes, there are some. That part of town called downtown, but nobody lives there. It is for business only.- he replied.

At that moment I got really worried, imagining all three of us, Lily, Mark and I, living in the middle of the endless cornfield...

 

 1-21                                              ***

 

All the sadness passed instantly and without the trace, when we were brought to our new apartment and met with Mr. American Refrigerator for the first time.

It was filled up to the edge of every shelf with the different types of food in colorful, attractive packages and jars. Door shelves were full of different drinks and cheeses. Eggs were sorted by the dozens, milk poured in a gallon, beer set by the six-packs and the ice cream, ... the ice cream was in an actual bucket!

 Of course, it was a regular size American refrigerator, but for us, it was enormously huge! Our refrigerator was full of everything we ever wanted.

I have to admit, that I was overwhelmed and over empressed by, ... the food... I, who always preferred the moral and highly conscientious values to the material ones, was totally and unequivocally lost in front of the Mr. American refrigerator.

There was a large living room with a small TV set and some donated furniture. We got two separate bedrooms in our apartment, but I, again and again, was turning back to the refrigerator...

Mark got an almost new bed with the dark oak headboard.

 For us, there were just two large old mattresses, almost without any old yellow spots... Lily's mom brought a set of new bedsheets, just like four years ago when I came to see her and Lily's dad asking for the hand of their daughter. Back then she didn't say anything, just stood up, walked to the dresser, and started to put together a bed set for us. Tears pour down her cheeks, as I remember...

And now her eyes were full of tears again, just like back then. 

Lily's dad asked me to help him to bring something from the outside. We went out to the parking lot and walked toward the trash container. There was a pile of old bricks, left to be picked up.

   - Garbage for some, but a treasure for others! - he proclaimed proudly and asked me to take eight bricks back to our apartment.

 We carefully put mattresses on those bricks, and that made the bed looks higher. 

   -  Now you going to sleep like the royalty, high up! - he exclaimed smiling.

And I understood that I just became a part of the family.

 

The whole apartment seemed quite large and spacious, and we did not even notice that it was in the basement, with the small windows looking out into the bushes of the back lawn.

   -  This is like a mezzanine, but lower than the usual first floor, - explained Lily's dad. 

Honestly, at that time we didn't care. We didn't care where we would be going to start. We have already decided that we needed to start everything all over again. From the very beginning. Like pretending to be born again and see the world for the very first time, learning every step of our new life, to experience building our new comprehension rather than to use our old fixed collection of the instinctive values. And that was the best decision we made together in our new American life.

 

1-22                                                                            ***

 

The guests and neighbors started to come from somewhere. They brought more food, wine, and vodka in the huge bottles. Everyone was welcoming us. Everyone was having fun. A young Rabbi came and brought the mezuzah. He gave me a hammer and I nailed mezuzah to the doorjamb myself. Rabbi helped me to say a prayer in Hebrew. I repeated those difficult to pronounce words with some trepidation. I couldn't understand it, but I could feel it, and I openly burst into tears. I cried and I let my tears take out all of the bitterness of my past, all of it,- to the very last drop. 

A new life for us has begun! We were free people!

                                                                                         ***

In the evening we went to see the firework. It was set because the whole country celebrated a holiday, Independence Day.

Fireworks were prepared in front of a huge open park. There was the lawn covered with thousands of people who came to enjoy the celebration with their families and friends. People sat on folding chairs or blankets around portable refrigerators and ate. I have seen hamburgers, hotdogs, fried chickens, nachos, french fries, salads of every kind, and the incredible amount of the desserts.

 In my life, I have never seen such a huge simultaneous absorption of food. 

The first outburst was fired, and the thousands of multicolored sparkles of the firework turned the sky into a glossy glaze of the incredible size. The colors were changing, slowly sliding to the bottom and rising again to the top to show off their magnificent splendor. After each big burst of fire, the audience applauded and yelled with delight, joy, and happiness.

I hugged Lily and told her in a quiet voice, that all those people around didn't even know what they were celebrating.

And I thought to myself that the Des Moines public and the whole community inadvertently came to greet us, and to welcome us, and they all arranged it on such a huge scale that I could not even dream for. 

They all celebrated our arrival!

                                                                       ***

In honor of that day, every year our family liked to be together. We all watch the fireworks and raise our glasses to our new country, to our new conscientious liberty, to the pursuit of happiness given to us by fate, to our own independence! And to the country of the United States that trusted us and took us in, making us the part of the ONE big family. Like all of the Americans, we have come from many different places to ONE. That made us to become the American first and everything else the second. 

 

1-23                                                                 ***

 

And what about the lost suitcases? 

The suitcases were delivered to us the next morning, as promised. We glanced outside through the little windows of our new American mezzanine and saw a big truck parked nearby. A huge man carried both suitcases toward the entrance door at the arm's length. His dark, sweating face was drawn into an indescribable expression of disgust. 

The kil'ka, so carefully hand pickled by myself, apparently could bear neither the heat, nor confinement of its big glass jar. 

 The kil'ka broke free and spread itself out into the freedom of the soft goose feathers of the red soviet pillow so carefully stuffed into the old suitcase. 

Squinting at the stench, I had to throw all my things, and the old suitcase into the dumpster. I was very sorry for the suitcase, but that would be a completely different story.

 

                                                       ***

40 years passed by, like a sunny glimpse in a windy sky. I remember that day as it was yesterday. I was a young man and Lily was just a young woman, but were we, really? We already accomplished so much in our life. Education, work, complicated life experience, all of that we had and we left all of that behind.

We stepped into the obis of the unknown following the faith in a good future for us and understanding that it would come only if we try. And we tried hard. Much harder than its looks. I should admit that. We learned how to start everything from the beginning once again. We knew when to hold the breath and when to bite the lip, and when to swallow our pride, and much more "when to" we have learned.

And through all of that, we came to our today, and for the beautiful sunny day that celebrates our Independence!

.... and I say, - L'chaim!

 

Alex Mirsky

Dallas, TX

2020

 

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