Though I didn’t like Dostoyevsky, I had time to finish The Brothers Karamazov and took the next book on the list, Crime and Punishment.
When I finally went to the park, I sat on a bench with my back to the sun. I had learned my lesson. I had already laundered my new dress, which lost no color in the process. It was bright and beautiful with a nuance of blue. I waited for the young officer.
A week went by; he did not come. Every day I experienced deep disappointment upon entering the park and leaving it. Every day my dreams shrank. I even thought about talking to my mother. I cast the thought off; my parents had never allowed me to talk to strangers. I couldn’t talk to Rena as she was only seven.
The weather changed in August, and frequent rains prevented me from going to my park. I’d already read sixty pages of Crime and Punishment when the sun peered out from behind the clouds.
“Simona, don’t sit in this stuffy room. You can go to the park to breathe fresh air. It won’t rain today,” Mother suggested. I was reluctant to leave home. The disappointment I had experienced for so many days had taken its toll. I didn’t want to repeat it. Still a ray of hope was smoldering in my heart.
How refreshing it was to breathe the cool and clean air of the park after being cooped up in our stuffy, dark room. I enjoyed the sunlight and the light breeze. Recent rain had cleaned everything in the park, the leaves on the trees, and the narrow sand path I was walking along. From afar, I saw a shorthaired man’s figure sitting on the bench. I recognized him immediately and instinctively jumped aside, behind a nearby pile of construction planks. Standing there covered to my head by the planks, I heard the drumming of my heart. But I could not move. I worried that perhaps my face had become so pale that I might have exposed my vulnerability. I didn’t want to show my feelings to this young man. Thoughts flew through my mind, but I lacked the courage to leave my cover.
Meanwhile, the officer stood up and turned his head. He could not see me. Bent over, I stood behind the pile of planks, in mud, which hadn’t yet dried after the several days of rain. Like a periscope, I stuck my head up to observe the area. Suddenly, an idea hit me: my new shoes, they could be stained! Instinctively, I leaped back to the sand path, not realizing that the move could attract attention. It did. In a split second, the officer left the bench and headed toward me. In my green blue dress, confused, I was standing in the open field like a target. The meeting I had been dreaming about for so many days, at that moment, almost caused me to suffer a nervous breakdown.
“Simona, I’m so glad to see you again.” Smiling, he approached me with outstretched hands. He took both my hands, one still holding the book.
“Wow, you’re reading another book by Dostoyevsky. Let’s discuss it.” Walking toward the park, he talked nonstop about the weather and the rain. Listening to him, I tried to hide my nervousness.
As usual, there was nobody in the park. I sat on the bench. The officer did not. He put one foot on the bench and leaned over it, his head close to mine.
“Simona, all this time, you were on my mind. I consider myself lucky to see you again. I’d like to tell you something very important. Please, don’t be scared. I know you’re a smart girl. You ought to understand the difficult subject I’m about to discuss with you.” He looked straight into my eyes, no smile on his face.
“Simona, we live in a tremendously interesting time, but it’s also a dangerous one.”
“Why?” My voice returned to me.
He sighed. “It’s especially dangerous for you and me.” He moved closer to my face. “I’m not a Soviet officer; I’m an American.”
I wasn’t scared, though I was very surprised. “Where did you learn to speak Russian so well?”
“It’s my family’s language.” Then he added, “Tomorrow I’m leaving for America.” Shocked, I clasped the book to my heart. “Yes, Simona, I’m leaving for America because I am an American. The Soviet military commander has allowed me to wear the Russian uniform since we have done a lot for your country. You know the program of Lend-Lease. We have brought plenty of goods from America to the Soviet people. Tomorrow I’m going back home.”
My face betrayed me. “Don’t be scared, Simona. Our countries are allies, and America will continue to help Russia.” I wasn’t scared; I just didn’t want him to leave. Obviously in a good mood, he continued talking. “Oh, you’re wearing the American shoes. I recognize them. And the dress too.” He took his left foot from the bench, put up the right one, and leaned over it. His face was close to mine. He whispered, “Come with me to America.”
There was no thunder or lightning bolt in the sky. The earth in the park did not crack under my feet. I wasn’t dreaming. Everything was happening in real life. The sun looked at us and smiled. Birds continued their songs in different voices, peacefully watching us. The young leaves, swinging slightly in the breeze, sent me signals of approval. Yet my face must have expressed such sadness. He realized how shocked I was by his invitation. He quickly changed the subject.
“Have you heard about Tommy Dorsey and Glen Miller?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Are they athletes?”
He smiled. “Your dress, Simona, is very becoming to you. Do you know that there is a new fabric for clothes in America? You can hide a dress in your fist. The fabric is lighter than silk. It’s called nylon. Have you heard the name?”
“No,” I answered, while only one thought was drilling my mind. He was leaving. The news devastated me. His departure was like losing a friend, one who respected me as an equal in our discussions. I was fifteen. Maybe it was also a new feeling toward the opposite sex and the mystery of meeting a foreigner. I was listening to him talking about American women driving big cars, about their liberation, about new kitchen appliances, names I had never heard before.
“Do you know, Simona, what a wonderful feeling all men experience, sitting at the dinner table and admiring their mothers or wives serving dinner? What can be better than the peaceful picture of a family at a dinner table, after the war with its destruction and death?”
I nodded agreement. He couldn’t stop talking. Proud of the America he loved, he told me how beautiful his country was, describing different trees, lakes, and small towns. I loved my country no less. We lived in completely different worlds. This was clear to me.
To escape the sun, we moved from one bench to another, but he never stopped talking. It was a special day in my life. He took my hand and looked me straight in the eyes. “Simona, you’re an inspiring spirit of honesty in this unfortunate country. You’re an exceptional girl. I want you to know that. Can I write to you?” I didn’t answer. How could I give him my address in Leningrad? It was impossible. A letter from America would scare the neighbors to death in our communal apartment. Besides, I attended an all-girls school, and my parents did not allow me to talk to boys on the street.
Holding my hand, he waited for an answer. What could I say? After a long pause, he replied sadly, “You can’t give me your address. I understand.”
I didn’t know exactly what he understood. Yet I hesitated to ask. He carefully put my hand back on my book and stood up. His face serious, even stern, he said, “It’s better to say good-bye now. I’ll remember Minsk for a long time because of you. I wish you the best in your life. Please, remember a man from America. God bless you.” He took a few steps back then turned and walked toward the House of Government.
I didn’t move. My brain, as if paralyzed, didn’t work. My hands were still on the book. I watched the departing male figure getting smaller and smaller. When the silhouette disappeared, bitter tears rolled down my cheeks, dropping on the book. Dostoyevsky was weeping with me. I didn’t know how much time passed, but the entire hard cover of the book was completely wet. Quickly, I went to another bench under the sun and put the book down to catch the sun’s hot rays.
“What happened, Simona; did somebody hurt you?” my mother yelled in fear when I returned