The Russian Century

by George Pahomov

  I was assigned to a big freight boat, the Karl Marx. It was carrying the sunflower seeds and also butter. For weeks I hadn’t seen the butter. Russia exported everything: butter, ham, caviar. There was a crew of fifty-two people, fifty man and two woman.

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  I don’t know why, but I cut my hair then with a bang. I really looked like a gangster. Not the third-degree gangster, but the lowest gangster. I wore a brown flannel shirt and black skirt. There was no uniform; you wear what you want.

  Just before we sailed some kind of political commissar came on the boat and made a long speech how you are supposed to behave highly. All the crew, new and old, was given this lecture on behavior. We must remember we represent the new Soviet Republic abroad. This, you see, was in 1926. We must not involve in any political situation, but if we are involved, we must remember we are Soviet citizens and even if we are not members of the Party we must stick to the Party line. And he gave us to understand we had members of the family left behind.

  But I didn’t mind the lecture. I was afraid of only one thing—that they take me off the boat. Up to the last minute I was afraid they take me off. Only to travel! Only to live! I sent a telegram to Mother, “I’m going abroad. Thinking of you.”

  The machinery start! I thought, that’s it. Then the whistle blew which means all the crew must step ashore and be lined up. There came four NKVD man with four German wolfdogs, and everybody shout out his name. Then the NKVD man say that if anybody is hidden in the boat these dogs will tear him to pieces. The man standing next to me turned a green color and I got terribly frightened. It was something so undignifying hunting down the man with the dog. All this time, you must remember, I was an idealistic Soviet.

  Well, they went on the boat and started with the top deck and suddenly you heard this barking and screaming and saw the NKVD bringing a man all bloody and his flesh torn away. My God, I don’t like to think about it! Then we find out that two sailors were trying to smuggle out this priest. The boat was running on coal and in this place where the coal is they dig a hole and put a pipe so the priest can breathe, but the dogs find him and almost tear him to pieces. A very illustrating story of life in Russia. I was actually sick.

  They took the priest and the two sailors away and we went back on the boat. When we came to our cabins it was just as if a cyclone came. Everything was on floor. The NKVD search everything.

  Finally we sailed, but here I must explain that when you sail from Leningrad you go through the Neva River and a narrow strait until you come to this island and then on to the ocean. Up to this island is Russian water but when you go behind this island you are out of Russian water and the NKVD boat can’t go. The crew was praying to get on the outside of this island and I was praying too. Why I felt so guilty and afraid I don’t know. I had nothing behind me but the best work, but I was affected by this fear.

  Then just when we were on the Russian side of this island the machinery went -bump, -bump,-bump. We understood the captain had got word to stop

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  the boat. The NKVD, we knew, must have been questioning the two sailors and they had told something. And so it was. They had told about one more man and the NKVD came and got him and took him off the boat.

  I was a sailor third class and I did everything—washing the floors, polishing the brass and doing everything that they call in Russia unqualified work. I organized a literary circle and was so happy for it was such a success. Man attend it 100 per cent.

  We got our money in English—nine pounds a month—about $45. If a sailor has a family at home they took something for family, and pay them in rubles. Also we got a ration: sardines, cocoa, herring and all like these things. None of us eat it. We always save it and when we come to a Russian port there will be a lot of people there waiting, for they know every Russian sailor gets this ration. We weren’t permitted to sell it, but it was the most profitable thing there is.

  We came to Hamburg. The first officer called me to his office. “I hope you do understand,” he said, “that I’m not capitalistic inclined, but we are coming to a capitalistic country and Russian citizens must look a little more presentable in capitalistic country where they notice everything.”

  He was right to speak to me. I was poorly dressed. The boat furnished working clothes—overalls and wooden shoes that went clack, clack, clack, but I had nothing for the leisure. A sailor said he would take me to a place where I could get cheap things. I bought shoes made of material—not even leather, and an advertised suit. I spent altogether $3.25. I can’t tell you how I hated to spend money then on clothes.

  We were the first Soviet boat that came to Germany after the war. The Russian consulate gave a dinner for the crew and for the first course we had in little glass dishes a mixture made from cherries and other fruits and we just giggled and giggled; we thought we were so capitalistic. And they gave us presents. I got a thermos, the first one I ever saw, to keep drinks hot and cold. My God, why I need it?

  While we were in Hamburg the machinery of the boat broke down and we had to stay there for six weeks. Two sailors and I rented a bicycle and we went to many places in Germany. Then we came back to Hamburg and we bought together one bottle of champagne for $2.00 and saw night club entertaining. Girls were making stomach dances. They had on chiffon pants and small brassieres that just covered these little things. And their stomachs start to make this ocean movement. Believe me I never went through such an experience as these stomach dances. I saw it in its full swing—my first capitalistic entertainment. The sailor I was with got so excited with this movement, he cried, “God, isn’t that something?” but in Russian even more stronger, and slapped this strange woman, almost naked, who was next to him, on the back. And immediately the man with naked woman hit him between the eyes. The

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  sailor doubled his fist and hit him back. Then I was fighting. Then everybody threw chairs just like in movies. My God! How we were fighting! It was beautiful. People were so electrified from this stomach dance they had to discharge the excitement.

  But in the middle of the fight the police came and here we were in the police station. Then somebody notified the captain and here we were back on the boat under arrest. Every day we were lectured and lectured on how to behave in capitalistic country.

  Then we went to Holland, Gibraltar and Constantinople. A man in a restaurant in Constantinople told me he’d like to give me a present. Of course, I love presents and he gave me an amber stone on a chain. It was the first piece of jewelry I ever had in my life and I thought it very beautiful.

  Then we went on to Odessa and from Odessa we went to many other places. Altogether my sailoring days lasted nearly a year. When they were finished, I had no money whatsoever. I had spent all of it in the countries where we stopped to see how the people lived.

  I wanted to bring something for the mother, but I had nothing except some antique flowers I bought in Gibraltar. Nothing else. My sweater was in shreds and my shoes torn to pieces, but I did have enough sardines from my ration to buy a ticket to Kursk.

  As I neared our house, I saw Mother talking with the woman from next door. They were outside sitting, eating the sunflower seeds. I slipped around and came in the back door and I heard Mother telling the most beautiful tale about me. How I was going about abroad, everywhere doing first-class traveling; all the places I was staying and all the beautiful clothes I was wearing.

  And there I was in the old rags! Oh, how guilty I feel to break this beautiful tale she was telling! I really couldn’t give her up before this woman; but after a while I say, “Sh-sh-sh,” and she heard me and came inside. I gave her the sardines that were left to quiet her down. With tears in her eyes she begged me not to go out in the town, and so for two days I stayed in the house.

  By now my brother Nikolai was a member of
the Communist party and was assistant manager of a repair factory shop. It was a small thing, but nevertheless he was quite prominent and he gave me the coupons for some material and Mother made me a dress. She wanted me when I went out to say it came from abroad, but it could be plainly seen it was made by the mother.

  THE SADDEST ROMANCE ONE CAN IMAGINE

  The most important thing as can be happened to me at a big skating rink in Moscow in November of 1936. You see I loved to skate more than anything.

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  I was not very fancy, but fairly good that’s just to be modest for once in my life, for to tell the truth, I was really very, very good.

  This evening when I was striding along fast and strong I saw in front of me a quivering figure, very unsure on his feet and z-zh-ip he went down. Then quickly with a z-zh-ip I cut the ice and came to a dramatic stop, and very beautifully my full skirt went around me. Now I understand my outfit was a little strange for the skating, but it was the best I had then. I had on a quite bright blue silk dress with a circular skirt and on top of it I was wearing a quite shabby man’s sweater, a beige-brown color, a black beret and heavy white socks and mits. I hadn’t developed at this time the talent for matching things. But no matter, for a very big orchestra would play for the skating and everybody would look so much more beautiful with the graceful movements than he actually was.

  Well, I helped the sprawled figure to his feet and immediately I saw he was a foreigner by the way he was dressed. His jacket and gloves and skates were perfect and he was also wearing a beret, which was most unusual for a Russian man in those days. He thanked me in Russian with the accent and I left him and went on my way. In Russia we consider it not polite to talk to a man you’re not introduced to, and especially if he is a foreigner.

  However as I went around I kept my eyes on him for my curiosity had jumped to the heaven—it was always before the Revolution and after the Revolution in Russia this great curiosity for the foreigner—and I noticed he kept his eyes on me. I pretended to pay no attention. Z-zh-ip I went by him. Z-zh-ip! Z-zh-ip! Once when I went by I heard him talking with a group of three people in English.

  Then he fell down again quite close to me and as I assisted him once more to his feet I said. “It looks like I will have to help you.”

  “Will you?” he asked very humbly with the shining eyes.

  “I can even teach you to dance,” I told him and I took his hands and explained. “Now you just make this: one, two, three; one, two, three.” He was a very poor dancer, but I did the complicated part going backwards. The orchestra played “The Blue Danube” waltz as if we especially asked and very soon we found we could go rhythmically together. We never spoke a word; we were so fascinated by the dancing. The evening was perfect. The music; the cold, sharp air; the lights; the gracefully moving people. We felt like we already know each other, for not even conversation can bring people so close together as dancing. Already, I suppose, it was the beginning of love.

  When the music stop, we talk. He tells me he is an American, and has come one year to Russia to gather material on Russian folklore; both old and new, and I tell him I’m working on the Journal de Moscou.

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  Then the music play and we dance again. Then his friends call him. I will remember forever how the woman call, “Robert, come here!” It is the first English I ever remember, “Robert, come here,” and he excused himself and went to talk to them and I just left.

  For several days I didn’t go back to the skating rink, but I kept very busy working in the evenings. I understood, maybe, he would come again to skate there and I was afraid of the development of this friendship because he is an American. Hundreds of people, because they were connected with foreigners, were arrested, and so I thought I had better no get involved with him.

  Then I was sitting at my desk one day, writing something, and I heard two people come up and this man on the paper said very officially, “Nila, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Robert Magidoff.” Robert asked me for a walk and I forgot all my resolutions and here we go.

  After that I began to see him quite regularly. We went dating out to the tee-ater and hiking in the country and skating on the ice rink. Then suddenly an incident happened that almost ruined the romance in the bud. We were walking and a piece of dust came to my eye and there were tears just running. Robert in any circumstance, even on an uninhabited island, will always produce a clean, nice handkerchief. So it happened this time; he produced the handkerchief and gave it to me and I put it around my eye and came home with it, saying, “I will wash it and give it back tomorrow.”

  The next day I washed it and put it near the window to dry and the wind blew or something and it went away. I just left the room for one second and when I came back it was gone.

  I was horrified. I was sure Robert would think I wanted his friendship just for this fine handkerchief. I went to all the shops to try to find a handkerchief like this; but, my God, the few handkerchiefs I found were made of the roughest material that would tear your nose away. When I asked in one shop if they have a man’s handkerchief the clerk ask, “What, madam?”

  “A handkerchief,” I say.

  “I’m working here already for ten years,” he say, “and I never heard of a handkerchief.”

  I even went to the second-hand stores. Americans would pay a lot with pleasure for the things they could buy in these second-hand stores: pearls, crystals, silver, rubies, diamonds, furs, grand pianos, but, of course, not one handkerchief. The old sheets and the old pillow cases when they would be torn would be used for the nose; a real handkerchief, never.

  For days I would not see Robert because of this damned handkerchief. I kept telling him I had work to do and had no time to see him; but one day when I came out of my apartment house there he was waiting. I felt I ought to go through the ground I was so embarrassed. However, I never mentioned

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  the handkerchief to him until years later and, of course, by then he had completely forgot it.

  It was a long time, though, before I understood a handkerchief like this one was not so important to an American. Because of the terrible shortage of all kinds of consumer things in Russia, I felt a…a…how do you say it?…a awe, but really it was more than a awe, almost a reverence for American goods. The Russian government never considered worthwhile what the people like; it never spends the brain or the money for the bright, attractive things, just the absolute necessary things. It condemned as capitalistic tricks all the miracles of the five-and-ten.

  So I admired extravagantly almost everything that Robert had; but one time I admired something that made a big joke. We were going on a picnic and he came with the dark glasses and it was the first time in my life I saw the dark glasses.

  “Really, you can see through them?” I asked.

  Robert got real proud of his country and said the technical technique in America is unbelievable. Take the glasses for an example. You can do anything with them. You can drop them on the floor, you can sit on them, and then be took the glasses and threw them down and they went into millions of pieces. That was the funniest thing as can be.

  I wasn’t an exception, though, in loving everything from America. All the Russian people loved everything from abroad. The Russians’ favorite word is zagranichnyi—from abroad. I remember on the newspaper there was a messenger boy and he came up to me and ask me to do him the greatest favor. “Will you ask your American friend for the labels off his clothes? I want very much to have something zagranichnyi.”

  So Robert cut the labels from his pajamas, his shirts, his BVDs, his hat, from everything possible—and brought them to me in an envelope, and the next day the messenger boy showed up all in labels on the outside. There came Macy suddenly on the back of the cap and Gloomingdale [sic] on the front of the shirt, but the funniest alliance, as I understand now, was the Broo
ks Brothers on the Russian tie.

  Every time I went out with Robert, everybody sit and wait my appearance and greet me with, “So?” which means what I learn about America? Sometimes I had no time to learn anything—we were busy loving—and then at the end I’d say to Robert, “Please tell me something quick to tell about America.”

  However, it was most difficult to find in Moscow a place for hugging and kissing. Robert was renting a room in one part of Moscow for a fabulous sum, but under a condition that he never bring a wife or somebody to live with him and, of course, I had no room of my own, and it was not permitted to go like to the Cherokee Park for loving, and we had no car for parking.

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  Then I got a wonderful idea. We would go to the big station where trains come in every few minutes, and whenever a train came in we would rush into each other’s arms and kiss and kiss, and then wait for the next train. But one day the militia man came up to us and say, “You have met enough trains now. Go home!”

  That was the one funny incident of our courting, for to tell you the truth it was the saddest romance one can imagine. Not because of me, but because of the circumstances. By this time I love Robert very dearly and he loves me; however, I thought his stay in Russia was almost over and if I married him I will never get permission to go out of the country. Robert will have to leave me and I know how hard that will be on him, especially if there is a child, for I understand by now how wonderfully kind and gentle he is.

  So I explain him all this, but he argues he loves me so much he will fight until he gets me out. After I marry him he will register at the American embassy that I am his legal wife, not just his girl friend. I am his wife for good or for worse whom he want to take with him home.