Heart-to-heart letters: to MrRight from CCCP

Larisa Kharakhinova

Heart-to-heart letters: to MrRight from CCCP

Preface

Syberia, summer`89. I finished studying in University and was going home. One day one guy knocked my room in hostel. He was of leaders in our young communists organization. Quite pretty guy, spick-and-span.

– Hi, girls! Is there Larisa here?

– Here I am!

– I heard you`re going home, to Ulan-Ude?

– Yes, in days.

– Have you bought a ticket?

– Not for a while yet.

– I have a favour to ask of you

– What about?

– The fact is that – three germans came here in cultural exchange, from Leipzig. They want to the Lake Baikal. Could you accompany them to Ulan-Ude? But there – you must find how to get them to The Lake. We bear all expenses.

– Oh, yes!

– But here is one nuance – they are too capricious. They don`t like our dish, our hostel, mosquitos and, generally, our town in their eyes – solid wilderness. Not so civilized like cultured Europe. They disgust Syberia. They turn up noses at all and don`t want to associate (i.e.drink) with us.

– They disgust Syberia!?! And where have your germans dug in? Address, please! I`ll «acquaint their faces with table». We`ll see who is «cultured» here. I`ll compel to love every gnat in our wilderness.

– Please, more gently! We also, are going to Leipzig in exchange. How we`ll be met there depends on that how much these guys love this trip on the Lake.

– Well, I`ll try not to sully image of Motherland, I`ll put up a good show, being dragon, but devilishly charming one.

I saluted jokingly and made magnificent gesture type of knick-knack by hand, then turned round on the heals and went to create this `devilish charm` on my face for conquering germans.

Guests from Leipzig stopped at our student`s hostel. I knocked at the door and heard: “Herein!”

My sciolism in German was from childhood. Movies, movies, movies – of Second World War. And so, every «ich-bin»-phrase begot slightly bellicose mood. And maybe because of this ABC-reflex or something otherwise, some merry boldness suddenly has come on me, – I decided to play like in movies.

«Proud «Uberalles»? Well, I`ll remind you of The Spring-45! All these knights will fall in «sous l’ombre d’un klukva majetueux.»

Almost by kicking – I flung the door and «with corporal steps» came in the middle of the room. Standing in pose «a la Gestapo» – from well-known movies – (feet are hip width apart, arms behind the back, nose slightly up). I slowly look round this Trinity with leaden stare, in which I industriously put in maximum of mocking neglect, – not less than 9 grammes. Then, raising a little my right eyebrow and slightly frowning the left one – I enunciate like an iron commissar – in hanging silence:

– Guten Tag, genossen! My name is Lara. Ich! Bin! Lara! Who doesn`t like mosquitos here – please, hands up! Who`s not understood – hande hoh!

Three guys stiffen in astonishment, looking over this strange subject who has burst into their room in the `midmorning` and demands to lift their hands up. Then they slowly exchanged glances and began to smile.

– I`m directed to you from Committee. If you not against – I`ll be your guide and get you to the Lake Baikal. You must obey me – implicitly! Step to left – step to right – shooting – without warning! Questions?

They were not against, they were impressed by my `devilish charm`. But alas, my fount of eloquence was wasted in vain. Only one of them can speak Russian freely. And we went through the Syberia,in international company, playing cards, chess, chuck-a-luck, etc…

People in the carriage were looking through the windows upon our bewitching endless expanse. They admired aloud, somebody was shooting a film. While I looked at his kamera, another fellow in very white vest passed by me. I turned my head purely by reflex – that irreal white spot fell within my view, – all people around were in `march-in-field-colours` – but this «dude» made his defile in such a defiant snow-white vest, which – on his suntanned and straightened shoulders – looked «Super-Upper». And generally, all his slim body impressed like «das ist fantastisch!».

Later I saw him in our roomette. And we got acquainted, due to my germans. They told me that `this boy is riding in this train from Canada`. I amused a little with this `train-from-Canada`.

And here – I began to stare at him. It was the first human specimen from the ocean which I saw nearby. However, quite handsome specimen! Only – not a word in Russian. And my English was effaced from the memory, just after exam 3 years ago. Because of its complete uselessness.

His name was Brad.

What impressed me from the first sight – his eyes. His look was not such as of our guys, not like of germans. There was openness of some another strange `format` there in, unlike those I ever saw before. Such crystal-clear unprotected openness – it took my breath away when I met with his eyes – slightly sad, but the same time – mischievous – in the depth of them amused `micro-devillets`. And this `crystal-clear unprotectedness` was fraimed by such bent downiness of cilia – flapping by which he could drive away light-winged butterflies flying on such devilishly magnetic lights of his pupils which must be black like any respectable pupils, but his ones shone, not only in light of lantern on platform where we went to walk, but also in light of the stars above our heads.

Language barrier was overcoming with difficulties. Nevertheless, I knew that Brad was from Vancouver, he was 19 and went from Moscow to Nakhodka, from there – to Tokyo. I strained all my residuary convolutions to winkle out that little of English which remained in memory and tried to compensate shortage of vocalulary by gestures. However, in youth people understand each other easier. It`s enough that heart was alive and eyes not sleepy.

Then we exchanged with addresses and said `bye-bye` to each other. In the morning I came down from the train and he went on further. We parted …

In Ulan-Ude I dove in life of a young specialist on the armament factory. If someone that time would asked me : «Do you know what is Hades?» – I would answer without a bit of hesitation – «Yes!!! – It is our mechanoerecting workshop!» It was rumbling behind the wall which divided, not saving nobody of us – from its terrible roar. All conceivable and non-conceivable sounds of metal-to-metal interaction – clank, squeak, howl, scream – in ultrasound, knock, grind, repeating over and over again – didn`t stop – not for a minute. It was impossible to get accustomed to that. Sometimes I wanted greatly to become completely deaf, – such beyond all bearing! This continuous rumble blocked my ears, pulsated in temples, beated in occiput, cinciput, in all my head, which replied with terrifying migraines.

Deaf and almost dead I returned in hostel and fell down on my bed trying to relax this painful spasm in head. At night sleeplessness or nightmares tormented me. It all repeated day by day, from morning to evening. And no gleam could be expected in nearest 3 years which I had to work out there as a young specialist.

…And life in the country was very same as our mechanoerecting workshop… Perestroyka… Agony of The Great Empire… There was being broken Her backbone… and all conceivable and non-conceivable sounds of Hades resounded in aether. And also it blocked our ears and souls. Also there was a wish to become completely deaf. And there was sleepless the spirit, restless in anguish – amid awry reality of that time. And our, formerly, Victorious Spring-45 was advancing to December-91 of Belavezha Accords, which ment disintegration of USSR… breakdown of `The Great Empire`…

The only distraction was reading. One day I saw by chance a luxurious green book. It was the Big English-Russian dictionary, second volume. I bought it and immediately felt inspired with studing English. What for? Simply… And here I had remembered about Brad, like in far away fog, as if long – long ago we walked with him along the carriage on that night platform.

Looking in my new dictionary I wrote the first message and sent it to Canada. After that my heat faded away. This epistolary feat of arms exhausted my creative ardour.

But in pair monthes I received my first epistle from behind The Iron Curtain. And there appeared cheerfully-sinister thought – «Well, for now I`m under observation of KGB…» (`Cause of the armaments factory of mine).

Such was beginning of our correspondence, between two opposite worlds.

There appeared fervour. The factory already didn`t seem of Ninth Circle. In contrast to this Hades – there appeared second pole of reality which drew all my attention. Letters became necessary as the breath of life. I lived with them – from one to another. They, those letters from-out `The Iron Curtain`, changed my hopeless reality of those days, bringing there in – spirit of the game and courage of the careless youth. And my life was in them. And there glimmered my spirit, warmed by this irreal passion.

Our correspondence began as «Is there life on the Mars?» Such far-away and strange seemed his world to me. Which was the «happy-end» – read on further.

Letter 1

19.10.1989

Dear Brad,

Здравствуй, или, как там у вас – How do you do?

Do you remember me?

If you don`t, – look at the photograph and don`t break your head. My name is Larisa. I think that if I should write you «Hello, my fifteen-year-boy!» then it`s possible your memory remind you about our conversation. How are you? What is your dear health? What do you do now?

Beforehand I want to bag your pardon for my mistakes – I write letter in English for the first time. This letter is written with helping of a dictionary. You can`t imagine my heroic unavailing efforts to express a flight of thought with my little English. How can I fly with a burden of a big and thick volume. It`s sad.

I see your lenient smile, but I hope, that my English will improve if we become friends. If you will be writing me, your letters will be stimulus for me to learn English.

Now, if you will write a letter, tell me about you. It`s interesting for me.

Good-bye!

P.S.

I think that the world is cramped – we shall meet again. We shall meet surely. Write me. I wait for your letter.

Larisa.

PP.SS. If you`ll write a letter, send me your photograph, please, because I can forget your face.

Letter 2

23/12/1989

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

How long was travelling your letter (and mine was too).

Thank you very much for it. Your picture (as your girl) is very nice. It was a happy chock to me. I like to receive letters unexpectedly (and with such pictures). The good mood is keeping long after. Your soft and delicate irony is charming. I`m shining still.

But my shine is clouded little with the thought about throes of creation that accompanies my writing each letter to you. Look, how I`m doing it.

First: I write it in Russian. Then I translate, then read, sadly laugh, think, smoke, drink some tea, think, tear it to pieces, immediately sorry about it and I begin all over again (the same story, etc). At last I despair, cross all out, take a new paper and give myself a promise to write for the last time and…

Enough about it!

Excuse my barbarian use of Divine English Grammar! I`m savage. But I`ll do all in my power to reform (myself). There is no Royal road…

Thank you for your invitation. I should like to see your birthland (very much), I was never being abroad, but there are many problems to do it.

1) One of them is an invitation. It must be official, signed and sealed, with the date (from… to…), etc. It may gives you many troubles. I don`t know how much nerves can be taken away by this procedure in your country. I don`t want to bother you.

– But let`s assume it to be made.

2) Then – wonderful events will come for me. – I`ll begin to draw up my documents… Oh, Brad, you don`t know what is it –`to draw up one`s documents to go abroad`! Even if I had known English tolerable I would not find my words to describe you that. Though, maybe, the devil is not so bad, as he is painted. (He is much worse!)

Let`s assume it to be made too.

Then, after long-suffering stage № 2 – it`s difficult to take ticket to Canada. Perhaps, you had never stand in a queue, therefore you cannot know what is it. But in our country…

3) Ticket-queue to America is the most long. If somebody wants to go to Canada, one must care about tickets long before.

`1,2,3` – this is concise description of my `unforgettable travel to Canada`. Of course, if to try – anything may happen. I hope all will be best. If you don`t afraid of troubles, try to realize point 1. Other I`ll take upon myself. Good luck to you! Далее –

I want to correspond with you, because I want to know who you are. I know about americans only from TV and newspapers. But I prefer to associate with a living soul. (I mean your soul.)

You`re retaining in my memory as a `fascinating infant with sad, but mischievous eyes`. Indeed you were such boy. Don`t be offended, please. I don`t want to hurt your feeling. It`s my way to speak. Hope, that you understand and forgive. I think that I cannot write about grave and sage things with such `smart` language as mine.

I don`t know what a style of letter must be, particularly to foreigner. My free-and-easy (undully familiar) style of conversation is a survival of student`s life. I write to my friends such letters. I have many girl-and-boy-friends in CCCP, we were studing together and our letters prolong our friendship and preserve the Warmth of our hearts. The human Warmth is the most invaluable treasure in whole Universe. Do you agree?

I can write some more, but I`m afraid to draw away your attention from your affairs. So: as my girl-friend wrote me one day: «целую в щечку и ставлю точку»

(Litterally: `Kiss you to cheek and put a point`.)

Your karate-dancer – Larisa.

P.S. Now is 1990! You`ll be 20! My congratulations to You!

And again – forgive my mistakes and unexactitude of my translation.

Good-bye.

PP.S.

Try to read between. Sorry, I am without dictionary, therefore –

I want only say that living speech is without rules usually. And my creation in this letter have a character of up-writing.( It mean =`living speech`).

I like life and I think that life is breaking all rules (not break, but is undependently from all rules). The life is living.

Этот сумбур подразумевает мои накопившиеся, рвущиеся наружу мысли и чувства, которые хотят сказать, что жизнь – это вечно живое, вечно изменяющееся. Её нельзя замуровать заковать в какие-либо жесткие рамки, она их ломает, рушит, прорывает и все делает по-своему,– вопреки и несмотря на. Язык – тем более, он рождается с каждым человеком и~~~~ достаточно. I`m sorry about this side of paper.

Larisa.

Letter 3

30.01.1990

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

Thank you for your letter. I was very glad to receive it. It was as a sudden ray of light in the darkness. I don`t want to say `in the darkness`, but your letters brightly stand out against a background of my daily occurrences. I don`t like the humdrum of life.

It does not mean that my life is boring. I have much to work. I work at a factory as a mathematicion. I`m a young specialist, just after studing. But I don`t like my work. I don`t like factory in general, because it is converting living people into machines. I feel that in myself. It`s sad.

It`s sad too, that this city is strange for me. I left my friends in the past. Now, we can only write letters each other and sometimes, at the meeting, call up old memories: `Do you remember…?` and so on.

New Year night I was alone, because my aunt and uncle had gone to their friends, and I was `tete-a-tete` with TV-set. I was looking in a dark space, dreaming about something. There was a candle on the table in front of me and New-Year tree was shimmering behind me. All around was silent and slightly wistful, beautiful and mysterious. Indeed, it was miraculous.

I cannot express (describe) it in my words, but imagine – falling snow, somebody`s remote revelry, silence, pensive loneliness – only you and nothing else, only you and millions snowflakes and stars, flying through the darkness. You are face to face with the whole Universe. Past and Future, Space and Time, Life and Death are mixed in a phantasmagoric dance…

Wonderful and rare state of mind…

I was sitting in an arm-chair, drinking champagne and reveling my mood. It seemed to me, that it could continue eternally.

All was exellent!

Suddenly I felt poetry in my heart…

It happen sometimes and there is nothing of terrible. It is a pernicious habit, but more harmless than to smoke for example. I took a paper, pen and began to dush off. And here my inspiration decided to splash out into English. I was understanding that it`s blasphemous, nevertheless, my Muse is capricious and if she had taken something into her head – I am weak to stop her. – I am a slave of my weakness.

In short – my New Year masterpiece:

There is no Love – only illusion.

There is no thruth – only confusion.

There is no Dream – only small hope.

There is no anything – only sad mope.

Just after writing I became to be proud of myself. I was up in the pink clouds.. I had a radiant picture of… Shakespear, Byron, Shelley… I decided to continue this enumeration –

There is no ….? – here my vocabulary had run low. I floped down on the ruthless-sharp stones of the reality. Yes, `confusion will be my epitaph`!..

The enchanting New-Year night was going to the end…

Here is lyrical digression about my English. I can compare it with roaming in a dark forest. Without seeing my pass I now `forehead against the tree`, now `foot into ant-hill` or sprawl. But I try to march as if without embarrassment, careless whistling. Probably it`s fun. Oh, Teacher, don`t laugh at my first clumsy steps.

How did you meet the New-Year? What holidays do you like? And what do you like in general? What is more often in your mood – cheerfulness or sadness? How had it happen that you came into our country? What the wing or wind had brought you into that train?

By the way, I inquired about a trip abroad, the results are sad. Yes, it`s expensive (only tickets are cost my whole year`s salary), but it`s not only expensive – it`s impossible, because there are no tickets to Canada. Many people wish to fly there, and soviet air-lines cannot satisfy all (i.e. the tickets, which one can buy for the roubles have been sold forward to year).

So, my travel to Canada must remain only in dreams. It`s not the most sad thing in my life. For example, imagine, that I cannot comeback from Canada to CCCP by the same reason – that is more sad and fun, isn`t it?

So it goes…

There are many problems in our country nowadays. This time is very difficult for us. Yet, I believe in bright future. Time will show.

Such long letter is this. I cannot another.

Now it`s cold. Temperature is about -40 C.

I like skiing too, and I like to dance, but now I must sit at my table whole day. It`s terrible. Гиподинамия is my whip. (I cannot find this word in my dictionary, it means `without motion`). I dream to go in for sports and not smoke. When the winter will finish I`ll begin to run every morning and jump and dance and fly and… –I like to dream, do you?

Now is night. All around me is sleeping. Only my window is warming a cold darkness.

Silence… immobility… rest…

So long, Brad!

Take care of yourself.

Your lonely friend – Larisa

P.S. How can I forget you? (You are a `ray of…`)

Good-bye! (Bye-bye…)

Letter 4

15.02.1990

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

Your letter is before me at last. I`m thankful for your care for my person. It`s so kind of you.

But I wrote, my travel to Canada cannot be real, at least in these 1-1,5 years. Money is not tremendous problem – to realise it (tickets) – is the task.

I am a simple soviet human and cannot fly over the ocean. Yet, I must say: 1. the travel is not the end in itself, 2. I cannot even imagine to come there in your absence.

I agree with you in `…it would be to complicated a pattern for either you or me to comprehend…`– as I understand,– indeed, to write each other as `Soviet to Canadian` is not natural. And God forbid to write seriously about own political opinions or about home-foreign policy of countries.

Policy – momentary, human soul – immortal.

So, let`s talk about eternity, infinity… etc

There exist two humans, who write letters. It`s possible, they will never meet once again (agree, there is any charm in this – `letters from nowhere`). They are like two straights in Euclid space, intersected in one point and speed away – each to own eternity and infinity. Good luck for them!

My dear infant, may I try to explain you the sense of `…sad, but mischievous eyes…` what it means.

`Sadness` is not a simple sadness, it means that inexpressible and agonizing-beautiful state of human soul, when you are looking at the stars (or at the sea),

`but mischievous`– it means `homo sum humani nihil a me alienum puto`. Now, I think, it is not far from truth. (Believe me, I never mistake).

You can say that it is only compliment (or slander?) – if you think so => I pass. But there are no many people who can be rewarded such a compliment from me. (Be proud!!! – ha-ha)

What is concerned my apologies for my writing – well, I take into my consideration. И понеслась душа в рай! (и туша вдогонку)

Yes, it`s difficult, but interesting to communicate with a foreign language. Particularly, when you try to express something non-concrete, but ephemeral, ellusive. – Like an elefant in a china shop.

Что ж, the elefant is a noble animal. Let`s excuse it`s awkwardness in the shop.

As I can see, you began to touch with Russian language. I salute this. Здоровья, счастья и успехов на этом тернистом пути!

As usually I write letters at night, sometimes whole night. Do you want to hear one story before your sleeping? (But why do I think that you read it at night?). When my brother was infant (he is the same age with you) he liked to listen to me.

This is a short, naive story with happy-end.

… Once upon a time there lived a girl named Little Red Riding Hood – a dreamy and diffident teenager. She was a pride of her school – not smoked, not drank, got exellent marks, and what is more – she believed in Communism, in short – model for imitation – and she walked with vigorous strides to this `bright future of all mankind`. The horizon was clean and serene, daybreak coloured her youth in loving-pink tones. She was luxuriating under father-mother wing, flying somewhere in clouds, building castles in the air,–the world was beautiful and wonderful!

One day this pink-cheeked child entered to university, far from home. What happened afterwards – nothing is known…

Only lifeless ruins of beautiful in former time castle are mourned by the grey clouds and every night heart-rending moans terrify wayfarers. Ghosts are naughty.

But what has become of child? What does she build now? Does she believe in something? Where is she tramping with such bitter and devastated smile?

…Such emptiness, heartache, and no one to stretch out their hands

In comfort when storms overtake us.

Desires! What the use of desires unfulfilled, vain demands?..

So year follows year – all our best years escape us.

To love… but why should we?.. For a while it is not worth the strain,

And no one can love on for ever.

But look in your heart… does one trace of the past yet remain?

The joy of it all, and the sorrow – mere wasted endeavour…

The passion? Why, sooner or later their honied distemper

By rational caution is cured at one stroke…

And life – if you care to look round with cool-headed attention –

Is simply an empty and rather a second-rate joke. (Lermontov, 1840, Great Russian Poet)

Child of Time! – Cheer up! Eppur si muove! Look, new dawn smiles for you.

At this optimistic note I`m finishing.

I wish you happy dreams.

Don`t forget, write.

Твой далекий друг – Лариса.

P.S. I`ll soon go to official journey, and I don`t know how long it will be.

Please, write me to the address bellow.

670000, USSR, Ulan-Ude, Borsoev street 21-54. This is address of my aunt. I don`t have constant address, but this one is const.

With love – Larisa.

Letter 5

Сегодня я чувствую в сердце

Неясную дрожь созвездий…

(Ф.Г.Лорка)

23/02/90

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

Today I`m feeling a writering mood, so one more immortal chef-d`oeuvre of inspired scribblerness is doomed to appear before your indulgent look.

Likely, as a result of my work with a dictionary I become an irrepressible prattler, who talks sheer nonsense. Indeed, I play with English language as a little girl, who has seized upon her loved toy. Чем бы дитя ни тешилось, лишь бы не ревело.

Simply,–today is the week-end,–vivat!

Oh, it`s such pleasant in Sunday morning to have sleep myself out, to stay little in a bed, to forget for a short while about affairs and give myself up to a blissful philosophizing – a weak-willed body, lazy thoughts, the room is immersed in a sweet languor. Time is slumbering in the kingdom of sleep. Such beautiful to dissolve in the tender arms of Morpheus!

Stand up and fight!

Oh, homo sapiens! (Oh, oh! You are a sapi – yes!)

I throw the window open – a joyful wind burst into my room. – The weather is fine! – The sun is shining, sparrows are gaily chirping, children are noisy on the yard. – Spring!

Spring – shortage of vitamins and peace of mind.

Spring – the time of Love.

Today I love myself. It happen not every day, but today – I admire the sun, the sky, the life!

All is glittering, playing, singing… the heaven fly open!

And even, – can you imagine! – One decrepit fly crawled out from nowhere to buzz her happy hymn of Waking. How and where could she have been sleeping whole the winter?

Oh, wonderful world! I`m touched. Nice God`s creature! It must be so difficult and comfortless, in winter, to sleep among cold stones. `I admire her bravery and perseverance at fighting such a task as this`

// Excuse my little plagiarism. I study your letters diligently. To the point, in the last one the phrase: `I bid you my heart`. Please, explain me. Is it idiom or it`s accepted to write in that way? What it means? How and when can this be used? In my dictionary: `bid` – it`s written something concerned auktion, card games, order.//

I would be standing at the window and wasting sentiments whole day, but today I must kiss my adorable aunt, have been sitting in a library, run along shops – авось(maybe) – it`ll happen to be something-somewhere. Usually, it`s seen from a distance. If you see a crowd(a queue) => go there, if you see a tremendous crowd => run there, you`ll never mistake. Join to this united collective and be meek, but careful (else you`ll be trampled).

Here you can hear last news and rumours, see many interesting people and events, resentfully philosophize about high assignment of Human. After all you`ll be rewarded for your patience.

One day, with my dear cousin I walked along a street. Suddenly we saw a big crowd. The force of reflex threw us into this disturbed mass. As it `d turned out, it was a meeting of protest against soiling Lake Baikal. My young cousin rushly entered in a Committee of saving. Now, at unlimited sittings-meetings these «heros» save our beautiful lake. I laugh at her. Poor girl! But youth is so hasty. I was the same too. I love my cousin, the only allied soul in this city, who truly loves me. Every Sunday evening we usually walk and talk – about many things – about Time and about ourselves.

This time is nervous. There are many irritated people. – They don`t notice the spring – they run somewhere with preoccupied faces, fuss, bustle. The city seems an alarmed hive.

I return home. Tomorrow again the factory – it`ll be tomorrow, but now – I`ve turned on my table lamp and music, sit down in the arm-chair and take a book. Here is such silently and quietly. Loudless music`s tenderly lulling my resting body and nerves, shrouding my mind and carrying away, far from this dissatisfied world.

It`s playing `King Krimson`, my favourite concert `In the court of the Krimson King` (Epitaph – oh, it`s deadly beautiful, Moonchild,etc). I catch the кайф (slang ~~satisfaction). A cup of coffee, a cigarette… it would be fine here a small glass of cognac and … second one… (ha-ha) – in-general – it would be fine. Alas, presence of absence…

I take the russian-English dictionary and go away from all this vanity of vanities.

This evening I devote to you, my dear far-away friend. From-under my pen it`s born this funny and touching letter.

Night on the yard… Time to sleep.

My God! It`s already after midnight. We`re been sitting up very late.

Good-bye! Don`t consign to oblivion.