Stationed For Good ... In Moscow. Vladimir JD McMillin

that Russian girl Galina? They are some of the best dancers. You probably don’t remember anything; you were so drunk. Jimmy, you should come along and see with your own eyes what goes on there. You don’t have to drink or even dance. You’ve got to get out and have some fun, man, or you’ll go crazy. I know I will. This country is nuts. I can’t figure out how people live here. Maybe Alex can tell us more about Russia. He’s been here two years already.”

      “You will never, ever understand the Russians,” said Alex. “Don’t even think about it. For me, the best way to forget what’s going on in the outside world is a full glass of vodka. You can buy it pretty cheap in the embassy store.”

      Paul nodded in agreement and shot Jimmy a glance.

      “These Russians are sure bearing down on their propaganda,” Alex continued. “They fear another war is in the immediate future. The paper said the government doesn’t want diplomatic relations with the American government but with people of America. Was it Hitler who said that if you tell people a lie long enough eventually they will start to believe it? That’s what the Russians are doing now. They’re drumming into the Russians’ heads how bad the Americans are, and soon these people will start believing it. It’s a sad state of affairs.”

      Jimmy had listened to Alex respectfully, but in silence. He didn’t want to argue about politics when he had just arrived in the country. He valued his friends but he already had doubts about the propaganda they had been taught about their new host country. After his tour experience in the city the day before, Jimmy had one only question for the other men—how could these boring, uneducated people build so many beautiful churches and palaces? But he didn’t dare ask them.

      In the evening Paul found Jimmy and said, “Let’s go. Let’s have some fun.”

      Jimmy sighed but followed his friend to the big hall. It was full of smoke and the smell of alcohol. He almost choked. The music was loud, everybody was smiling, and Jimmy saw the girls that Paul talked about. Some of them were gracious, good looking, and dressed very nicely. Jimmy went to the corner so that he could see the dance floor. He truly loved music and admired dancing, but he had never danced himself.

      The dance floor was crowded. Jimmy saw the couple Paul was talking about. They danced beautifully. The guy wore glasses and was skinny and tall. The girl was gorgeous—also thin, blonde, so flexible … and indeed they danced together the whole night. Jimmy could see that they were in love with each other. The more he watched them, the more they remind him of his favorite dancers, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

      By the end of the night, he’d stood in the corner for several hours, and to his surprise, he found that he genuinely enjoyed the party. When he went back with Paul he told him, “You know, you were right. It is fun there. I’m looking forward to next weekend.”

      “I told you, old boy,” Paul said. “Maybe you’ll find a girl for yourself there. They’re easy and no obligations.”

      Every weekend Jimmy was there, watching the dancing, and even having an occasional drink. But he hadn’t become acquainted with a single Russian girl yet. He was drawn to only one of them—Galina who always danced with John.

      She was different from the other girls. She never hit on other guys; she behaved respectfully. Nobody could say a bad word about her.

      Jimmy wrote letters home almost every day. He wrote his parents about these parties, what he liked and what he disliked about them, about Moscow and the Russian people. He was grateful that his parents seemed to understand him. In their letters back to him—his mom and dad wrote separately—Jimmy could see how carefully they were reading them. They discussed every topic that he raised. He wrote them once that most of the Americans in Moscow thought that if you didn’t continually bitch about the place, you were a Communist. “I have no intention of getting into a rut like many of them, getting drunk every night and carrying on,” he wrote.

      His dad wrote back, “Jimmy, you should have your own opinion on what is happening in this world and not just flounder in the water.”

      In one of his letters to his mom, he sent a picture of downtown Moscow. She was really impressed and responded to him right away.

      Jimmy was quick to answer her letter. “Mom,” he wrote, “you mentioned in your letter about how surprised you were at the architecture and modernity of the buildings here. Some of the apartment houses really look nice on the outside, but you ought to see the inside—they’re a sight. I never told you this before, but the average Russian is lucky to have two rooms for his family in a five or six room apartment with one shared toilet and bathtub. That is lucky. They’re really crowded together. ”