Marina Velcova and the temptation of America by Albert Russo (world best books to read txt) 📕

and the tears stream along my cheeks. The two officials stare at me without flinching, then the chubbier one turns toward his superior who gives him a slight nod.
Marina, my poor Marina, what have they done to you? Her face is marked with deep scars, they broke her nose, and look how painfully thin she's become. With her back hunched she looks double her age. Forcing a smile, she points to Johnny who is playing with letter blocks in the comer of the tiny cell next to the bunk. I go over to the child and lift him up. He stares at me with his big googly eyes and I whisper, “Papa, Daddy." I kiss his forehead and say in a louder tone of voice, purposely, for we are being watched: “Soon, you will both get out of here, and I'll take you to America; it's a promise."

ASTORIA, Queens, fall 1972. This long silence is excruciating. My letters remain unanswered, even those I address to Pavel and Ekaterina. Mother is very good to me, but one day as I was in a terrible mood and talked to her curtly, she blurted out: “Why did you have to go to that goddamn country? I had warned you. But you're so pigheaded. These communists are not human. Look in what a fix you've put us!" She then became hysterical and I had to calm her down. Upon my suggestion, we went out to Nikos', a Greek restaurant five blocks away from our apartment building. Mother loves their lamb pilaw and desserts, especially their bakhlavas and Kadaiffs.

I'm distraught: Marina is dead, DEAD. She has allegedly succumbed to bronchial pneumonia. The murderers! Eyes blurred, I reread Pavel's letter for the umpteenth time, as if behind the words a message were hidden which I somehow have to decode. Try as I may, I end up being more confused. A terrifying thought crosses my mind: Did they torture her because of my visit and what I said? Were they afraid that I would appeal to Amnesty International as I threatened - it slipped out of my tongue, I was so enraged - and that Marina, once freed, would denounce them?
Again, I peruse Pavel's concluding paragraph which by now is engraved in my memory: "Our greatest consolation in all this sadness, and we are indeed grateful to the authorities for it, is little Johnny's presence with us. In spite of everything, he has a jolly disposition, so please don't worry for him. No one can replace a mother, but he is still very young and we believe he will be happy with us..." Because of their censorship and for Johnny's well-being, Pavel had to be "grateful to the authorities." Ha, I could kill them!
I sent Pavel a cable then a letter. In vain! But the worst is that at the Consulate they refuse to grant me a visa, pretending I've made up the whole story. This time I do listen to Mother and don't flare up in front of them. "Think first of little Johnny and of your in-laws," she says. "Let things cool off for awhile, you don't want them to be harassed any more than they have been." I shall arm myself with patience and approach them again and again, a thousand times if necessary, until they yield.

VIENNA, Austria, spring 1974. I couldn't believe my eyes when I recognized Marina's handwriting on the envelope last week in Astoria. I had finally given up all hope of ever seeing my little Johnny or Pavel and Ekaterina. Then in May, last year, I met this wonderful girl, Candice who has now become my wife and knows all about the tragedy.
I called Marina immediately - she had included her telephone number - expressing my amazement and delight to learn that she was alive and well and, of course, I couldn't conceal the fact that I was now married. After an uneasy silence Marina said: "When could you come to Vienna, both of you? I shall send you the tickets and you'll be our guests. I know you're dying to see Johnny and Hans, too, wishes to meet you."
"What a twist of fate!" I say to myself with a knot in my throat as the taxi stops in the driveway of an ltalianated mansion surrounded by a lush park with twin pools and sculptured fountains outside Vienna. All along the ride, I haven't released my grip on Candice's hands, lest my soul should escape.
I have never seen Marina so radiant and beautiful. With that gray and blue silk chiffon dress, the pink Hermès scarf and those black suede shoes, she could pass for a high-fashion model.
'When Hans learned what happened to me, after your visit in Prague, he notified the authorities and threatened to cease all business relations with Czechoslovakia if they didn't release me and Johnny. They agreed only upon the condition that I never disclose what I had gone through. That is why my parents lied to you. And he saved us. So here I am, after the plastic surgery, Mrs. Hans Klotz. Johnny will be back from school in an hour..." Imprint

Publication Date: 11-11-2009

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