Anna Leva - Into the Glorious Unknown

Into The Glorious Unknown

Anna Leva

Copyright 2018 Anna Leva

All rights reserved

ISBN-13: 978-1-7241-2556-9

For Jude, who asked me to write For Mum here

CONTENTS

PART I. ITALY

CHAPTER 1

Dulles Airport is busy. She searches for a place where no one will see her but she cant find one. She walks past the bars serving burgers and sandwiches, past souvenir shops and duty-free stores, not paying any attention to whats going on there. Her eyes are fixed on her feet making steps on the soft, blue carpet, taking her closer to her gate.

Theres no place to hide. Boarding has already been announced and they have started with business class and passengers travelling with small children. The area next to the gate is full of people anxious to get onto the plane as soon as possible, probably so they can get an overhead locker for their luggage. Thats the last thing that shes worrying about at the moment where to store her bag. She could keep it on her lap or under the seat. Or just throw it away. She doesnt care.

Shes in no hurry to get onto that plane the plane that will take her away against her will, transport her across the pond, as Americans would say, to the other continent... Why do they diminish this vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean to the size of a small water reservoir? She used to feel a sense of awe when she heard someone say Atlantic Ocean something so huge and so far away from the place she comes from. In her mind it was always connected to the great adventures and discoveries she had read about. But for Americans its just a pond. Which takes about eight hours to cross.

She sees an empty seat next to a window which looks relatively secluded (as much as one can be secluded in an airport) and quickly jumps into it. Her eyes are already moist. And sitting down makes it worse; tears start to gather in the corners of her eyes, getting ready to break out and run down her cheeks. This crowded airport is the last place she wants to be right now. She wants to lock herself in a small room, climb into bed, curl up into a little ball, and just cry for a week. She feels an irresistible urge to relieve her body from all the salty water accumulated inside. But here in a public place she has to control herself, look normal, behave normally, hold back her tears. Somehow... some way... Stop, get a grip.... Oh, damn it! The tears are released and they roll down her face, leaving thin, wet traces on her cheeks. She has a cheap souvenir baseball hat with a Yankees logo and she pulls it down to her nose so that no one can see her crying. She feels ashamed being in such a state in public. But she cant do anything about it.

Through a fog of despair, she hears some people speaking her language. An irritated voice that sounds like it belongs to a middle-aged woman is complaining about something. She tries to ignore it and doesnt let the details of those complaints reach her brain. She already hates that language and those people. Not that she never met Russians on the streets of DC, but they didnt disturb her as much there as they do here. Now shes coming back to their world.

It was such a beautiful November day today. In the morning she walked from Georgetown to downtown Washington, taking the long way through P Street (she liked those short street names!) and past her favourite bakery. At Dupont Circle she thought about shortening the distance and taking a metro. But no, the day was too warm and sunny to spend any part of it on a train. She just continued walking and watching people: they passed her on the pavement, they were sitting in cafs and talking, they were driving their cars and letting her cross the street. Just people living normal lives. Did she look like she had a normal life as well?

In the light of the morning sun the leaves were glowing with all the vibrant colours of autumn. Through the breaks in the trees she could see the famous buildings in the distance; the buildings which were familiar to her from her English textbooks. Back then in her school in the small Russian town of Murom, those pictures looked unreal and unreachable. A picture of the moon didn't feel much different to her than a picture of the Capitol building. She gazed at its big white dome, no more than two miles away. Real. And it felt so special. She shaded her eyes from the sun. No, it was not the first time she had seen it; there had been dozens of times already. But each time she had this feeling, as if she had jumped inside that English textbook to another reality. And yes, it was still another reality no matter how many times she saw it. She simply did not belong there.

She went to the National Mall and walked alongside the pond. It was her dream to see the famous cherry blossoms there someday. But today, with everything glowing yellow, it was very beautiful anyway. And then she saw Jim, cheerful and smiling as always, still talking on his phone as he approached her. His black coat was wide open, his eyes shining. What was he smiling about, she wondered? Was he happy that she was leaving? Was he fine not seeing her for the next several weeks, months, who knows? He stood there with a grin on his face while she couldnt swallow the lump that had settled in her throat. But she didnt say anything, she just smiled back.

He mouthed hi and silently kissed her so that the person on the other side of the phone wouldn't hear it. He finished his conversation and turned to her. It was time to take her to the airport.

...

Now she is sitting here, alone, waiting to board and crying. Flying to the country where nothing good waits for her. Why cant she just feel grateful for the happy times? Why does she have to feel so weak and miserable again? And now the worst is about to happen. She just cant control it: she starts to sob, tears coming out in bursts, her body shuddering. No baseball hat can hide it anymore. She clamps both her hands over her face and bends forward, placing her elbows on her knees.

Hey, are you okay? Someone touches her shoulder gently.

Not really, she replies, taking one hand away from her face and trying to focus on the man through the tears, but I'll be fine. My visa has just expired and I have to go to Russia. But I'll apply for a new one and will be back soon.

Okay. He flashes a small, polite smile and slowly steps aside.

Does it actually make any sense? To apply for a new short-term tourist visa (the only one she could get) and come back, stay in Jim's house for maybe one more month, and then end up at the airport on this seat anyway?

Its the last call, so she has to tear herself from this seat and force her body into the plane. She is among the last passengers to board. Hmm... it was not such a good idea after all. Now everyone is going to stare at her in sympathy. She rummages through her bag for a tissue, wipes away the tears, blows her nose, pulls her baseball hat farther down, and slowly moves through the rows. Slight dizziness causes her to sway to one side. But she holds her balance and patiently waits for the passengers to finish their arrangements with their luggage, coats, or whatever theyre doing while they stop her getting to her seat. Shes not looking; shes not interested.

Finally, moving at a snails pace, she approaches her row. The aisle seat next to hers is occupied. And the passenger in it looks somewhat familiar. She tries to remember where she may know him from. Oh, its the same guy who asked her if she was okay several minutes ago. She notices a subtle movement of his right eyebrow. It seems like he feels slightly uncomfortable having her as a neighbour; he would probably have preferred someone normal.

Her tears have already dried up. It is just her face, swollen and flushed, which distinguishes her from all the other passengers. She feels like a glowing red bulb attracting everyones attention. She doesnt want to stay seated even for a minute. She stands up and pushes her way to the bathroom. There she washes her face, removes the traces of mascara, applies some tonal cream and powder, puts some eye drops in, takes several deep breaths, and strides back to her seat. She sees the spiky top of her neighbours hair from behind.