Tag: moscow

Jazz with Ella

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Excerpt

the civil rights movement would make headlines in the Soviet Union. It would probably be couched in the language of the state extolling how the slave masses had risen up against the capitalist oppressors or some such jargon. She realized she had not seen a single black person since her arrival in the country, although Moscow University reportedly attracted African students.
“Excuse me. I am naïve,” he went on. “I must ask a very important question. Promise me not to laugh?” She nodded. “Is it only black persons who make jazz music in Canada or America? Or can white people like me make jazz?”
She tried not to grin at his earnestness. “Why would you ask that? Lots of people of all colours play jazz! You’re safe there to play whatever music you want…” She could see his discomfort, so she continued more gently. “It’s true, jazz has its roots among black musicians, that’s for sure. Many of them grew up singing in church choirs, like Aretha Franklin, for example. She’s my favourite. Do you know her?”
“No, tell me.” They spent the next while with Jennifer dredging up anything from her memory that she had ever learned about jazz, gospel or blues in the west to share with Volodya. While they were engrossed in this, Alya tapped on the door and entered with a bottle of brandy, some cheese, bread and a cut-up cake that she served. She settled herself comfortably with an air of possession. When the three were seated, the woman’s eyes swept up and down Jennifer appraisingly. She asked the usual questions in broken English. Where did she work? Was she married?
Jennifer responded more quickly this time on the marriage question. She had decided to answer questions with the vague, “My husband and I no longer live together,” rather than a more elaborate explanation.
Volodya switched on a radio that played American swing music. “It’s time for Voice of America,” he told her. “Reception is good at this time of day.”
“They must be broadcasting from somewhere outside of the Soviet Union?”
“Military base in Germany, I think.”
“Please eat,” said Alya, who was not having any of the cake herself.
Jennifer was just getting ready to ask Alya about herself when the woman swung toward Volodya in a gesture of approval. She rose, made her apologies, and left the bedroom with a significant glance at the bed.

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Jazz with Ella

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Excerpt

Volodya stirred from his place on the bench, one arm over her shoulders. His face betrayed an odd mixture of pride in his home and uneasiness at the conversation. “You have no idea how much suffering,” he replied. “This very spot, these buildings around us, were built by Swedish prisoners of war during Peter’s time. This was a swamp and many of them died working in it, their bodies beneath us in this earth.” He shuddered. “Then, of course, there was bloodshed during the Revolution… That boat—you can almost see it from here, the cruiser Aurora—it fired the first shots after Our Leader, Lenin, arrived in the city to rally the workers in 1917. Those years meant war and famine. There is not much recorded because the state does not want to remember those bad times.”
“The city was under siege again in the Second World War, I know,” added Jennifer, “and many died of hunger.” She felt privileged to hear the stories of its history from a real Leningrader and not from their pedantic tour guide.
“Yes, those years are well documented. The destruction was visited upon us from the Nazis, not from the revolutionary forces.” He fell quiet for a time. “I love this city,” he went on, “but it illustrates a horrible truth. It seems that anything that rises up and is good must always be built on suffering. This city has a legacy of suffering and bloodshed but it has survived, and it’s good. What was that word you used? Joyous?”
“Yes, joyous,” and the thought of the untapped beauty still to be found in this extraordinary place made her swell with emotion. She leaned over to kiss him, not for the physical act of kissing, but because she wanted to seal that thought with something meaningful. He was surprised at her gesture but soon kissed her back. When they finally fell gently away from one another, a few faint stars had appeared in the sky.
★
On the fourth day in Leningrad she noticed that, suddenly, the stores were stocked with Israeli oranges. Everywhere women shopped in pairs, each carrying one handle of a shopping bag overflowing with the fruit. At the end of a long afternoon together, Jennifer and Volodya stood

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Jazz with Ella

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Excerpt

“We didn’t order…oh what the hell,” said David. Jennifer reached for the refreshing water eagerly.
Paul chimed in. “A country that puts a man in space, yet you look at the filthy exhaust those busses are pushing out. That’s no rocket fuel. It coats everything, gets into your lungs.”
She agreed. “At least this city seems light and bright and modern”—everyone nodded—“whereas Moscow was so drab.”
“Boy, was it ugly.” David shook his head. “Though I have to say everything looks a tad more cheerful after a bottle of the local brew.” He helped himself to another glass.
The waiter finally showed up with some sickly sweet plum syrup. It didn’t cut the vodka, but by that time they were almost past caring. The lounge filled up with British and Americans, some of them in baseball caps, a few individuals who spoke Russian with a German accent and a party of serious, silent Asians.
“I think they’re North Vietnamese,” David whispered.
The Asians were seated at the table with the centrepiece, Jennifer noted. So the Soviets were not above spying on their Communist cousins. It fit with the current paranoia. Suspicion of Asian aggression was running high in the country and tension marked the border with China.
“We’re going to need another bottle here. I’ll get it,” said David suddenly.
“Do you think that’s wise?” put in Lona.
“What’s wise got to do with it? We’re in the Soviet Union, guys!”
The conversation continued, the waiter brought a tray of snacks, the level in the vodka bottle plummeted, and Jennifer couldn’t quite remember how they had acquired another guest at their table. He was a Soviet man, about 45, with curly hair, dressed in a fashionable lounge jacket. Apparently he had been listening to their conversation for some time. He shook hands all around and told them in fluent English that he was an editor of a prominent Soviet newspaper. None of them really believed him. What would an editor be doing sitting in the bar of a Soviet hotel that catered exclusively to tourists?
“I bet he’s a black marketeer,” whispered Ted loudly, leaning towards Maria. “He wants to buy our jeans—or get into your jeans.” She giggled. Lona looked puzzled.
“Is this a joke?” Paul asked.
“No, he’s a spy,” said David.

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Jazz with Ella

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Excerpt

Just as they had spent that first evening on the street, Jennifer and Volodya spent the next afternoon mostly on the street, in the peculiar privacy that Soviets find in large crowds. She bought him cognac and cigarettes at Beryozka the foreign currency souvenir store. He bought her Russian language books, stories of the city, and corrected her sentences. She showed him her contact lenses and how they worked. He marvelled. Such things were unheard of in the Soviet Union, he told her, but he had seen some Japanese tourists use them. That night Jennifer returned to the hotel, Volodya to his home.
The next day as they were passing the Hotel Europe, another accommodation reserved solely for visitors from the west, he grabbed her hand, glanced around to see if they were being followed and walked into the lobby, saying in English, “I want to show you something. Go along with me to the restaurant.” They strolled to the elegant restaurant portal and waited in the foyer. There was no one in sight.
“Hey, if you’re pretending to be an American, you’re holding your cigarette all wrong,” she whispered. “Don’t curl it under your hand. Just let it sit between your fingers. Like so.” She surreptitiously straightened his fingers, rearranging the cigarette. He grinned at her. She felt the warmth of the smile and let her hand linger on his.
“Thank you,” he said in English. “Now look over at that table under the light. I will not point. You see?” Jennifer peered. “See the centre arrangement? That is a microphone—how they listen. Only the ones with that arrangement—and some of the others there, that table and that one.”
Jennifer stared but couldn’t see the difference in the various tables.
“How do you know?”

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Jazz with Ella

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Excerpt

At first when she heard someone calling out her name, she thought it was the kid next door who had first shown her the chipmunk. Crouched in the trees, she suddenly realized that it was Doug who was calling. Let him call, she thought. I’m having fun here. Even when she caught the panic in his childish voice, she had stayed, resentful. Finally she emerged from the grove to see the neighbour’s son flying down the slope and into the water and to see her mother racing out of the outhouse with a look of unveiled horror on her face. All of them running, running past her, ignoring her.
★
Douglas was buried in Toronto, in the small graveyard near their home. Jennifer’s father became even more distant with her, and the very life went right out of Jennifer’s mother. She blamed herself for not keeping watch, and oddly enough, she also blamed the lake, but not Jennifer. It was too deep, too wild. Yes, she should have been more vigilant, but they should never have gone to such a dangerous place, she told the family.
Jennifer knew the lake was not the problem. She had been the problem. She had let her brother drown. Though her father had said nothing to her, she knew that he would add another black mark to her name in that mysterious record book that parents keep.
Later that same year Lila got word that her sister Eva had been killed in a car accident. She could scarcely mourn—she was already in such a depression over Douglas. Bad things come in threes, Lila told Jennifer. Sure enough, her friend Svetlana’s daughter contracted polio and died. Now Lila wanted to keep Jennifer home from school where she would be safe from the disease that was crippling so many children. But Jennifer and Jacob insisted that she attend school, and Jennifer stayed healthy. She loved school and earned mostly As. From her school life she drew much of the attention and encouragement she was not getting at home. Her teachers thought her a model pupil.
At home, her mother had retreated into silence and servility. Her father rarely spoke to Jennifer, directing his commands through her mother: “Have the child clean up the kitchen. Make sure she’s dressed for Sunday school.”

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Jazz with Ella

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Excerpt

Jennifer had the feeling she’d been checkmated. He had not been concerned at all about her disappearance—he only wanted to ensure she did more than her part.
“Which students?”
“David needs to develop better written skills. This is a credit course for him, and right now I can’t give him a passing grade. And then there’s Lona. Don’t know what to make of her. She wants a grade for the course, too.” His voice descended to a hush. “I really don’t consider her a serious student.” He hesitated and Jennifer remembered that she was supposed to be finding out Lona’s agenda and reporting back to Chopyk. It didn’t seem very important to her.
They had reached her room, but under no circumstances was Jennifer inviting Chopyk in. “I’ll deal with the students, Professor,” she said abruptly. “Goodnight now.”
He harrumphed by way of comment, bowed, and left her. By the time her head hit the pillow she had already forgotten how irritating he was.
She dreamed a familiar dream. She was hovering over a lake or a pond—sometimes she was in the lake—but this time she floated above it. Her fingernails had unaccountably grown extra long like those of a Chinese mandarin, and she clawed the water searching for the face that she knew would be there. The eyes that stared up at her from among the water weeds were usually familiar eyes—her little brother—and she must save him. She alone could save him. But her outsize talons snarled in the weeds and she could not scoop up the boy. Water trickled through her fingers. And when she gazed into his eyes—now she was closer, inches above the water—she saw not her brother at all, only the blue grey eyes of the attractive stranger, sinking fast.

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Jazz with Ella

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The tour wound up at the fairground’s major landmark—an impressive communications tower. Natasha launched into her set speech. Several of the group yawned.
“Excuse me, Natasha,” interrupted Ted. “In Toronto, we’re just now building a free-standing tower like this one—for telecommunications. It’ll be the tallest in the world.” He beamed proudly, removing his baseball cap and flicking one hand through his curly hair.
For a split second Natasha’s face twisted in rage. Colour rushed to her cheeks and she drew up her chin.
My god, I think she’s going to explode, thought Jennifer. Several of the students backed away hurriedly.
“How many metres?” Natasha snapped.
“Oh, well, I’m not sure…”
“Ah.” Recovering, Natasha smiled triumphantly. “But this one has a restaurant at the top…that revolves.” Ted smiled and shut his mouth.
“I thought she’d lost it that time,” Paul muttered to Jennifer. “Have you noticed how touchy the Soviets are when you criticize—or even make a suggestion that anything could be wrong in their country?”
“Yeah, they’re pretty defensive.”
“I’m too tired to take in any more,” Paul continued. “Let’s zap over to that ice cream stand and sit on the grass for a while.” The two slipped away and were not surprised to see Lona and David following them.
“Whoo,” David shuddered, sprawling beside the others to suck on a strawberry cone. “You have to have the constitution of a bear to see this country right.”
“I hear we’re going to visit an elementary school tomorrow,” said Lona. “I think I’ll pass and go to the Trediakovsky Art Gallery instead. I must see the Rublev icons.” She rearranged her cream linen suit and settled gingerly on the grass.
“I’d like to meet the children,” Jennifer said mildly, dusting off her faded blue jeans. She was aware that she was supposed to be supervising this unruly crowd, but she was torn. In her opinion they were over-supervised between Natasha’s military command and Chopyk’s academic requirements. Fortunately, this morning the professor had dashed off on his own errand, putting her in charge. Surely the students could be allowed to explore at their own pace? That’s what immersion in a country was all about, wasn’t it?

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Jazz with Ella

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The day’s itinerary included lessons, a visit to the Kremlin and Lenin’s tomb, followed by a trip to the Lenin Museum. Evening was reserved for the ballet.
“I’m thrilled about the Kremlin,” whispered Paul, “but frankly I don’t want to see the Lenin Museum.”
“It’s early days yet,” Jennifer whispered back. “Don’t start an international incident.” She speared a wedge of sausage that sat in a grease slick beside a rubbery poached egg. “The bus is leaving at 9. Let’s eat this delightful repast and get going.”
★
Yawning and groaning, the group boarded the bus under Natasha’s watchful eye, then waited while Paul was dispatched to round up the twins who had already found the hotel’s souvenir shop. “Just ask if they’ve seen two copies of Liza Minnelli wandering about,” Hank called after him. The twins certainly resembled the movie star although with an extra twenty pounds of weight per twin.
They waited again while Professor Chopyk delivered a brief but pompous speech of welcome. Aaargh! Why does he do things like that? Jennifer thought. It’s so irritating.
The bus took them across Red Square and parked two minutes later at one of the Kremlin gates.
“That was hardly worth the ride,” grumbled Marty.
“Arriving by bus marks us as foreign visitors,” said David, who was laden with camera equipment, “and we get privileged treatment on the tours.” It was true. Natasha marched them behind the Kremlin walls, past the many line-ups, ignoring the passive stares of the crowds, and ushered them into each historic location. They visited the quiet, simple Church of the Assumption, examined the Tsar’s Bell that had never been rung and the Tsar’s Cannon that had never been fired, and they gazed across a closely guarded, cobblestoned courtyard at the imposing edifice of the Supreme Soviet.
The Kremlin’s armoury museum was not a house of weapons as Jennifer had expected. Instead, it was a dazzling display of fine crafts, jewellery, ornate costumes, royal regalia and richly decorated carriages.

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Jazz with Ella

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Excerpt

Jennifer suddenly realized she was the hostess. “Listen, let me order some drinks or coffee. Tell me about yourselves. Do you live here in Moscow?” She moved to the phone then realized that room service might be a foreign concept in the Soviet Union.
“No need,” said Misha, pulling two tall bottles of fizzy water from his satchel. “We cannot stay very long and we have brought some drinks. May I pour?”
“Yes, please.” She picked up the two cups that sat beside a metal teapot on a corner table, and Misha poured and passed the drinks to his wife and Jennifer. He took a swig from the bottle.
“We live in Tula,” Marta said. “It’s about 60 miles south of Moscow. You know about it?” Jennifer shook her head. “The traditional samovar town—we make the finest samovars for all of the Soviet Union there. It’s also close to Tolstoy’s estate, Yasnaya Polyana. You are a language student, correct? Surely you will be visiting the home of such a great author?”
Misha cut in, “You must come to visit us. Tula is 100 kilometers east of the village where my father and your mother were born.”
“Yes, I’d like that,” Jennifer replied. She had so many questions. “When my mother got to England and met my father it was the start of a whole new life. She wouldn’t have known that her brother was still alive. Did he go back to the village after the war?”
“Only to find everyone gone: father and mother dead, sisters missing,” Misha replied. He fell quiet for a few seconds. “He said it was the saddest moment of his life.”
Misha continued to describe their family background, Marta chipping in occasionally and smiling fondly at Jennifer. Even little Nadya left her magazine and put her arms around Jennifer’s neck, calling her “auntie.”
I could grow quite fond of these people, Jennifer thought.
“We have applied to leave the country,” Misha told her. “As you know, Jews are allowed to leave—some of them. We will go to Israel.” He looked about uncomfortably. “But perhaps it’s best not to speak of these things here.” He nodded at the wall indicating a grating with a tilt of his head. Of course, microphones. They had been told that the hidden spying devices were in all the hotels that catered to foreign tourists.

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Jazz with Ella

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Jennifer swallowed her protest and asked instead, “Is it my teaching ability that’s a problem?”
“Honestly speaking, Mrs. White, though you lack the rigor necessary for academic research, your teaching ability is sound. Hoefert said as much to me just today.”
Chopyk fiddled with his glasses for a few seconds. He was a small man, not quite her lanky height and seemed dwarfed behind the antique oak desk. She willed herself to wait patiently.
“How shall I put it? I’m a bachelor, as I think you know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in marriage vows.” Already she had an uneasy feeling where this monologue was heading. “Since the advent of the pill,” he shot her a quick look, “young women, even married women, have so much more freedom.”
“Well, we’re not kept chained in the kitchen,” she responded pertly.
He appeared not to have heard her but went on, eyes on the ceiling. “Just, please—if you’re going to share leadership of this trip—remember you are a mature woman and a professional academic.”
Mature woman? She was about to turn 30. She wasn’t ready for the old folks’ home yet. “I would always act with professionalism, if that’s what you mean…Has there been some suggestion that I haven’t?”
“It pains me to mention this”—though he didn’t look pained—“but word of your marriage break-up and consequent separation has circulated within the department with some vigour.”
“That’s my personal business,” she murmured.
“Not if we’re travelling together with a gaggle of adolescent students. Do you understand? You must be an example to them.”
At least the interview had cleared the air on that score. After that, while trip preparations got under way, there had been an uneasy truce between them, and she found she was looking forward to the opportunity to teach as much as she was looking forward to the Soviet Union.
★
As the plane bucked and rolled, Jennifer’s ears popped, and she recalled reading how dangerous it was for a plane to land during an electrical storm. Where were the emergency exits? One passenger, a sombre man who had embarked at Paris, appeared to be praying. Paul had closed his eyes though she was comforted to see that he was still smiling.

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