as though afraid he would place too much of himself before this woman. He ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee. She ordered an English muffin and tea.
“You will be talking in the seminar about the Soviet psyche?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“We’ll go from here to the university, and I’ll introduce you to the chairman of the department.”
The waiter came with their breakfast, and they ate quietly.
She opened a manila folder and pulled out a schedule. “Two days in seminars with students, morning and afternoon, lecturing on the Soviet psyche, and an evening lecture open to the public on the Soviet Anti-Fascist Committee.” She handed him the folder, retaining the carbon copy of the schedule.
Ilana Davita watched him eating. She admitted to herself a hesitation: what should she say in the face of this KGB presence? “My parents were Stalinists back in the thirties. My father was sent to Spain by his newspaper, the
New
Masses
, to cover the civil war. He tried to save a nun during the German bombing of Guernica, and both were killed. I often wonder what he would say if he were alive today.”
“Your father?”
“My father. If he were alive today, what would he be saying about the KGB and the Soviet system?”
“What was your father’s name?”
“Michael Chandal.”
“I thought your name was Ilana Davita Dinn.”
“Dinn is my stepfather’s name. He adopted me. My original name was Chandal.”
He went on eating. When they were done, they left the restaurant, crossed the street, and walked the two blocks to Columbia University. They headed for the Russian studies department. She introduced him to the chairman, a tall, lanky man with a crew cut. The three of them went off to a small lecture hall where Leon Shertov was scheduled to conduct a seminar. The chairman introduced him to the waiting students. Ilana Davita, who was a teaching assistant, took her seat among them.
“Mr. Shertov is one of the more recent experts to come out of the Soviet Union and to work with the State Department on the Soviet Union’s way of looking at the world. For more than twenty years he was an integral part of the Soviet regime. His topic is ‘The Soviet Psyche.’ This is a four-part seminar.”
Leon Shertov spoke in a spare, riveting voice. Part of his talk he devoted to the Soviet Union’s relationship with the foreign press. Later, Ilana Davita asked if he had ever heardof the journalist Michael Chandal. He paused, looked at her, and said that for two weeks in 1936 during the Spanish Civil War, he had worked for Tass in Moscow, and that that correspondent’s articles had passed regularly through his hands. He would have them translated and then would reread them carefully. They became part of the daily briefing book for Stalin and the Kremlin.
After the public lecture that night he saw Ilana Davita and asked her when they could sit and talk. They arranged to have a drink in a nearby pub.
It was crowded, dim, and smoky. They followed a waiter to a corner booth, where each ordered a beer. Leon Shertov leaned back against the bench.
“What is your dissertation, Ilana Davita?”
“Babel and Camus: Twists of Fate and Faith. Babel’s
The Red Cavalry
and Camus’s
The Stranger
.”
“Interesting.”
They talked at great length and with intimacy.
She talked about her early life. Her father was a foreign correspondent. Her mother, Channah Chandal (her father called her Annie), was an immigration social worker. Both were very active in the communist cause, holding meetings regularly at their home, which her mother continued even after her father was killed. Her mother broke with the party because of the Hitler-Stalin pact. Her close friend, the European writer Jakob Daw, spent time at their home in the early forties. He introduced Ilana Davita to literature and writing and stories. U.S. Immigration deported him to France, where he died of pneumonia.They started a new life—as an observant Jewish
“You will be talking in the seminar about the Soviet psyche?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“We’ll go from here to the university, and I’ll introduce you to the chairman of the department.”
The waiter came with their breakfast, and they ate quietly.
She opened a manila folder and pulled out a schedule. “Two days in seminars with students, morning and afternoon, lecturing on the Soviet psyche, and an evening lecture open to the public on the Soviet Anti-Fascist Committee.” She handed him the folder, retaining the carbon copy of the schedule.
Ilana Davita watched him eating. She admitted to herself a hesitation: what should she say in the face of this KGB presence? “My parents were Stalinists back in the thirties. My father was sent to Spain by his newspaper, the
New
Masses
, to cover the civil war. He tried to save a nun during the German bombing of Guernica, and both were killed. I often wonder what he would say if he were alive today.”
“Your father?”
“My father. If he were alive today, what would he be saying about the KGB and the Soviet system?”
“What was your father’s name?”
“Michael Chandal.”
“I thought your name was Ilana Davita Dinn.”
“Dinn is my stepfather’s name. He adopted me. My original name was Chandal.”
He went on eating. When they were done, they left the restaurant, crossed the street, and walked the two blocks to Columbia University. They headed for the Russian studies department. She introduced him to the chairman, a tall, lanky man with a crew cut. The three of them went off to a small lecture hall where Leon Shertov was scheduled to conduct a seminar. The chairman introduced him to the waiting students. Ilana Davita, who was a teaching assistant, took her seat among them.
“Mr. Shertov is one of the more recent experts to come out of the Soviet Union and to work with the State Department on the Soviet Union’s way of looking at the world. For more than twenty years he was an integral part of the Soviet regime. His topic is ‘The Soviet Psyche.’ This is a four-part seminar.”
Leon Shertov spoke in a spare, riveting voice. Part of his talk he devoted to the Soviet Union’s relationship with the foreign press. Later, Ilana Davita asked if he had ever heardof the journalist Michael Chandal. He paused, looked at her, and said that for two weeks in 1936 during the Spanish Civil War, he had worked for Tass in Moscow, and that that correspondent’s articles had passed regularly through his hands. He would have them translated and then would reread them carefully. They became part of the daily briefing book for Stalin and the Kremlin.
After the public lecture that night he saw Ilana Davita and asked her when they could sit and talk. They arranged to have a drink in a nearby pub.
It was crowded, dim, and smoky. They followed a waiter to a corner booth, where each ordered a beer. Leon Shertov leaned back against the bench.
“What is your dissertation, Ilana Davita?”
“Babel and Camus: Twists of Fate and Faith. Babel’s
The Red Cavalry
and Camus’s
The Stranger
.”
“Interesting.”
They talked at great length and with intimacy.
She talked about her early life. Her father was a foreign correspondent. Her mother, Channah Chandal (her father called her Annie), was an immigration social worker. Both were very active in the communist cause, holding meetings regularly at their home, which her mother continued even after her father was killed. Her mother broke with the party because of the Hitler-Stalin pact. Her close friend, the European writer Jakob Daw, spent time at their home in the early forties. He introduced Ilana Davita to literature and writing and stories. U.S. Immigration deported him to France, where he died of pneumonia.They started a new life—as an observant Jewish
Similar Books
