Read Online Moonlight in Odessa by Janet Skeslien Charles - Free Book Online Page B

smile was sinful and he was as seductive as he was arrogant.
    ‘Still sitting in the back?’ I asked. ‘When are you going to learn to drive?’
    ‘Oh, I can drive,’ he assured me.
    ‘Backseat driver,’ I mused, careful to look straight ahead so he wouldn’t think I was interested.
    ‘Are you getting in or not?’
    ‘Not.’
    The car sped off.
    Standing in the jam-packed aisle of the bus, overwhelmed by the smell of sweat and diesel, I admitted the ride home would have been faster and more comfortable in Vlad’s car. But mobsters were just plain trouble. Plus, a neighbor would surely see me get out of the Mercedes and then everyone on the bloc, including my Boba, would find out. Gossip was a four-course meal to neighbors on a feeding frenzy. You couldn’t cough without them telling everyone you had pneumonia.
    As the bus bumped along, I wondered about the letters. What did strangers looking for love say to one another? I wanted to take a peek and wished the bus wasn’t so crowded. Had the men enclosed photos with their letters? Were they handsome? Perhaps, just perhaps, I would find an American man of my own. The pensioner next to me started coughing and didn’t even cover his mouth. I tried to inch away from him but there was no room. I sighed. I longed to see Jane’s world of sparkling streets and cars for everyone.
     
    Jane. My Jane.
    Came, saw, went .
    Going, going, gone .
    Friends and neighbors emigrated to Israel and Germany.
    The American missionaries I befriended stayed for a year, then moved on to the next sad spot in the world.
    Eventually, everyone left.
    Even Jane.
    I remembered the day I accompanied her to the airport. She nearly vibrated with giddiness, so happy was she to leave. But in the shadow of my long face, she was sensitive enough to hide her joy. She was going home to a real family. I’d met her parents and sister when they’d come to visit. Jane was so lucky. And when I was with her, I felt lucky.
    She hugged me tightly one last time – her fingers spread, aligned on my ribs – before dumping her huge black purse onto the conveyor belt of the X-ray machine.
    She stepped through the metal-detecting arch.
    ‘I’ll write!’
    She’ll forget me.
    ‘I’ll call!’
    They always do.
    ‘I’ll be back!’
    Nu, da . Yeah, right.
    She passed through the door that led to the West. I remained. Bereft. Standing in the gloomy Soviet airport, staring at that door. People went in and never came out. One more person gone from my life. My feet were so heavy I couldn’t move them. My soul hurt. It felt brittle and black and sad, like a burnt blini – no, a charred blini that was at least a hundred years old. People jostled me and I knew I should leave. I just wanted to stay in the same building as her a little longer. Just five more minutes.
    What would I do without Jane? How was it that a farmer’s daughter from the other side of the planet understood me better than the girls I grew up with? I remembered all the times we sat in Boba’s kitchen and talked. When I’d told her about my father abandoning us, she clasped my hands in hers and said, ‘I’m so sorry. It must be very difficult for you.’ This sympathy is like dew on the soul: it refreshes and cleanses. If I’d told Olga, she would have replied, ‘So what? You think you’re the only one with problems? Let me tell you . . .’ And she would have listed every disappointing man she’d met or seen on television since she was ten. (‘Can you believe Pugachova’s husband? A cheater, I’m sure of it!’) Of course I didn’t mind listening, but it was a relief to be with Jane, to talk and be listened to.
    I barely registered the shouting behind the door. In Odessa, there is always some commotion or another. Then I heard Jane’s voice. She flew back out the door, broke the grasp the security guard had on her upper arm, and hugged me again. ‘Dasha,’ she whispered fiercely into my ear. ‘I know you think that once people leave