I
Edisto Island, 1987

Parenthetical heads in Russian, Cyrillic keyboard
(Honey, that was a brand-new button-down shirt)

Innocent red-winged blackbirds dropped dead in droves
from the wax myrtles while she fried bologna and ruined
another of his shirts. The birds succumbed to the chorus
of Grace Greater Than Our Sin sung again and again and again.

The mirror was cloudy with salt and her voice had frightened
the curtains into flight. Shaving was slow, the coffee wasn't
whitened but paled with rye. For Rose, he had left the poppies
at home. Whats the word after sin? Before sea waves cold?

Despair, Rose. He watched her at the stove, in his shirt, aloft
in delight, reflected in the pitiless glass. The whiskey began its
aid. There were children watching his cigarette, his slow shave.
I thought Quakers didn't sing. What rhymes with sea waves cold?

Grace untold, honey. Her husband was expected by the weekend.
That would call for a cordial hello, and a civilly prompt goodbye
before the weeks sheets were discarded and Rosalie began to cry.
You know, we could drop some of these kids off at your sisters

on the way to Saluda. We could stay at the Oaks we could eat
boiled peanuts and walk the tracks all the way to Green River.
We could get back here in time, easy. Theres plenty of time, Rose.
But of course there wasn't, isn't, won't ever be. Time never slows,

keeps scratching its name in whiskers and coffee cup rings. All she
did was shake her head. That's silly, Mister Initials, you already paid
up through til the end of the month. Why would we want to leave?
Then she stopped, became herself and said I know who you have to see.

Shes so pretty and shes so much smarter than me said the woman from
the magazines. I know you need an engineer. I cant love you clean, but
you can poison me. The children were staring, so sandwiches appeared
with grapes and cheese and tangerines. And then they walked to the sea.

She was whistling. He was drinking slowly and steadily. A child, his son
perhaps, rode on his shoulders over the dunes, empty in the scorch of noon.
Rosalie shed his shirt and tied it around her head. Her slight, freckled
breasts were bare. Honey, I dont suppose you remembered a swimsuit?

Whats to see? These? Make me laugh, she said. No, a very attractive
young woman who wont still be shilling shampoo if a camera appears,
Rosalie, thats whats to see. Pelicans and dwindling whiskey marked
the time. He took the sun on his shackle burns and the cross-hatching

of quirt welts on his back. I know what you want, she murmured. Tell me
what I want, honey. She counted sunny heads. You want me to save you.
He smiled and didnt speak. Well, I will, Mister, Ill save you all over the
place. You get out there up to your waist and Ill save you until you beg

me to quit and you cant hardly stand to get saved again. All you have to
do is write me a song. She called the children to draw near, to come hear
Mister Initials' song. I dont write songs, Rosie. Curious, the children were
coming to listen to the mystery. Come on kiddos, Mister Initials always

got a pen, even on the beach with his friends, dont you Mister Initials?
Her voice was steady but her cheeks shone with tears. And he did, he did,
he did have a pen. He wrote on his hand and then on the inside of his arm,
hurrying a verse and then another before she could crumble. He sang

Invite me with a teacup.
Wear a party gown.
Ride that bridled pony
And sip until you drown.

The children giggled. Rosalie stared up the coast. His voice was smoke.

Invite me with a teacup.
Gussy yourself in sleeves.
Invite me with a teacup.
Rosie, ask me not to leave.

Lets toss a brick through
The candy-store window
And lets eat ourselves sick
We'll build a fire of bon-bons

And see what makes us tick
Youll have a ribboned pony.
He'll swim unless he drowns
And then well sink in sad degrees

Invite me with your teacup, Rose,
Oh, with your teacup, please.

Teacup, Teacup, little Teacup Rose
Tip her over and she strikes a pose.

Which she finally did, and the children rioted into mimicry and
A realer delight than their parents ever hoped to feel again. Gizmos,
lets say goodbye to the ocean. Mister Initials left his medicine
way back home and now hes got to leave. Wave goodbye to the

ocean. Wave goodbye to the ocean. Dont cry, wave goodbye to the sea.

She kissed him at his car, held his head,
whispered his brief, plain name in his ear.
Why couldnt you love me? Why couldnt you stay?
Why couldnt I save you? Why cant I ever see myself
in your blue eyes again? Why couldnt you love even
a little bit of me? But he just turned and drove away.

The poppy fields died in an early freeze that year
and he was released. He never harvested them again.
But it wasnt yet that he was freed. He couldnt bear
to see her on the screen. He tended his garden late

at night and talked to no one there.
I loved you, Rosalie, more than air
or blood or bread. I wish that you had seen
that the ocean was cold and dirty then
and that my eyes are merely green.


(We grope for the wall like the blind, and we grope as if
we had no eyes: we stumble at noonday as in the night;
we are in desolate places as dead men. We roar all like
bears, and mourn sore like doves: we look for judgment
but there is none; for salvation but it is far off from us.)




II
Moscow, 1990

(Grandmother, lets get out of here before its too late.)

Too many people spoke English and that left him confused.
His reflection was succinct: crisply shaven and tidy in tweed,
With a red silk tie and a steaming paper cup of coffee that
Smelled mercifully of pertsovka. A Camel burned in hand.

It was ferociously cold. He buttoned an unfamiliar topcoat
And asked a passerby where they were. No Russian, the little
Man answered. So he tried English: Please pardon me, sir, but
Could you tell me where we are? The laced coffee was cooling.

Of course: On the Anna Street. This was fine, but incomplete.
Thank you, and the Anna Street is in? The small man grinned.
Welcome to Helsinki, my friend. Thus began a flood of hard
cash and bribery, stumbling East with every song long depleted.

My wallet and my life in shattered prose left the Finn delighted. The little man earned his fee and seemed to relish it. The Gulf of Finland slipped away and I stole back into my exile in Russia. I arrived illegally in Saint Petersburg without carte or portfolio,
but assured that bluster and arrogance would gain favored treatment among the slaves.

On the train, I sat next to a thick, gnarled, wrinkled woman.
There isnt a potato anywhere near this pitiful train, she said. She pursed her lips. And if you had listened to your mother better youd be wearing warmer clothes.

Grandmother, it'll probably be mid-summer's night when this train comes to a halt. That's what has been predicted. Rejoice! Only four months. It'll be summer when we arrive and my clothes will be too warm and out of fashion. I'll be a disgrace.

But perhaps itll be unseasonably cool and youll be chilled while you wait in a short line for crates of fresh melons.
Yes, grandmother, and its also possible that refrigerators will be free at the mineworkers store.

She tapped my knee without turning her head. More likely there will be submarines full of cutlets and ikri rolling across Pushkin Square. The train headed toward the vast dark of the interior.
She said,I'd appreciate it if you didnt call me grandmother again.

May I ask your name?

My name wouldnt buy you warmer clothes.


Probably not. Why do passengers insult one another before theyve even been sold sugar for the tea that'll never arrive?

Why do you have that brown vodka hidden in your coat and why are you trembling? The heat's been on since we crossed the river.

I'd say thats probably my business instead of your's, grandmother.

Marina.

I beg your pardon?

You may call me Marina, and if youd drink a little less you might remember that a bird isn't a tree.

I couldn't think of what I'd said to give myself away. She smiled. I was a schoolteacher, but I wasnt a very good one. Everyone could see through me, even those stupid children. Is your Russian good enough to know the word askew? Thats how to describe your unintended license: simple lindens and noisy ravens. The words are identical, but not everyone can make the distinction clear. Your pronunciation is admirable. You almost sound like one of those ridiculous Muscovite crooks with a dacha in Khimke. The coat: your coat is your silly undoing. Even one of those Khimke fools would have worn it inside out or traded it for an airplane. Pretend that I am your grandmother and give a gift to an old woman on an ugly train: Tell me your name and then tell me about your home.

My name made her laugh. It's the same as the name for the despised traffic militia in the capital.

It was fifteen hours to Moscow. I was sick of posing and we were both sick of being slaves, so I whispered in her ear through the night. Marina had never heard of peanuts or a cool tomato sandwich with mayonnaise and salt and pepper on toasted bread. It isnt easy to explain Silver Queen corn or hardware stores or instant coffee, oriental lilies, tobacco barns, oysters, felt-tipped pens, automatic transmissions, wainscoting, pimiento cheese, sand castles, paper clips, cotton underwear, white gas lanterns or multiple sclerosis. Marina Kostnikova got the best I could offer. I told her about three-ring notebooks and Shetland ponies and shotguns and legal pads, bacon, the nature of a curve ball, drive-in theaters, vacuum cleaners, cloud seeding, suspension bridges, onion rings and wedding bands and my forsaken Quaker faith.
I told Marina about driving. She looked out the window when I bought another bottle from the porter.

She said, Why aren't you getting drunk? But she didnt wait for a reply. She knew the answer.

She asked about flatware, church, circumcision, geography, handguns, the census, weaving, Geronimo, cremation, italics, convertibles, Autumn, Billy Graham, Mexican food and the House of Representatives. I was completely smitten with Marina Kostnikova and she was completely pleased.

Not enormous, my policeman, but simply large; not stunning, but unusual. Try to let your tongue get looser when you say the Vs and youll be okay. Get rid of that vodka and walk with me when we arrive. And you told me you once had a wife.
I once had a wife and now Ive got another, grandmother Marina.

Describe her to me before the train pulls in. The train was already moving slowly in the dark, making a wide bend, making us wonder whether we nearly there. Moscow arises from a blasted plain. The fields were blank.

She's small and very fair. Shes 29, I guess. I havent seen her in a, a while.

Does she look like one of those pretty gypsies that beg near Saint Basils?

No ma'am, she looks like an actress pretending to be a librarian. Sort of like a smart, expensive putana visiting her parents.

You promised not to say vulgar words to me.

I'm sorry. My wife doesnt like it here.

<span style="font-weight:bold">Not here? What more could she want?</span>

Carrots?

That would be a fine idea. They taste no worse no matter how you cook them. Thank you: this greatly helps me to picture her.

She looks as though she came from Ireland.

Where did she go next?

I dont understand, grandmother.

You didnt meet her in Ireland, so where did she go next?

Oh. She never went anywhere next. When I said she was from Ireland, I meant to say that her hair is like mine but redder and her eyes are very pale. There are people who look this way in Ireland.

Like Raisa then?

No, matryushka, Raisa looks Russian.

Oh course she does, thats why I asked.

To our right, across the gutted, muddy fields, the night burned in the dismal orange of Moscow. There were huts we could see, and bitter ditches of untended earth, pathetic rows of starved potatoes and tractors mired to the axles in the mess. The passengers snored and moaned and farted, and I chuckled at the more robust of the gas.

Quit laughing at cabbage and explain to me why youve left this Irish scientist and how she's been so lucky as to avoid bearing your children.

I haven't left her and she can't have children. How did you survive the bad years, Marina?

Like this one, you mean? Answer my question or I'll move to a better seat.

Matryushka, do your children hate you?

Of course they do, theyre intended to. Answer me or I'll tell the conductor that you were drunk and you pissed on me while I was asleep. If I have to, I'll piss on my own bag and still blame it on you. Youll get to spend a few happy days with the Blue Boards and they wont fill your coat up with that brown vodka. And doesnt that stuff make you pee strange?

Yes. Sort of green. But how did you know that, schoolteacher?

Her sidelong glance was a withering drought. Why are you not with her?

I dont know. I make her very sad. I had work to do.

You work seems to pay well. Is it something I could do?

My best guess is that youre trying to ruin fifteen fine hours in five cold minutes.

What work, small man?

Work they pay me to do so that they can throw it away. And I buy some things and I send them home. I buy some things from home and I give them away here. I've got enough money to have the driver run this train backwards to Leningrad and get rid of you. No one's going to miss another nosy aunt.

I see that you are a criminal, but I knew that when we could still smell the Baltic. You haven't slept. You still shake and you drink that common piss. And you're too stupid to be a spy. Young policeman, if my grand-daughter brought you home for snacks I would be pleased. I'd probably pretend for a little while that you were a Muscovite or perhaps I'd be willing to act as though I believe that you were from provincia trying to impress us. But sooner or later, you who never smiles , would laugh at something and I'd see your teeth. They can't be real, but they're too crooked to be false. Open your mouth, please.

Marina...

Open your mouth, policeman, I want to look closer.

I couldnt think of a polite way to refuse such a strange request, and, in truth, I probably would have eaten her string bag if she'd asked me to. I opened my mouth.

Thats what I thought. All your teeth are white, even the tops. How do your doctors do that?

My teeth?

Your teeth.

Doctors didn't do anything to my teeth. These are just my teeth, thats all.

How do they make them appear to be so white?

You make me ashamed, mother Marian, and I don't want to answer you. No one did anything to my teeth. If you'd listened to your mother better you wouldnt ask such rude questions. Arent you troubled by the distress youre causing me?

I thought you were going to make the train go backwards to get rid of me.


Maybe I'll just jump out the window when the train slows down.

Why wait? The windows won't open anyway, and the train will speed up when we reach the Garden Ring. Maybe you should just tell me what the doctors did to your teeth. Have you always been smoking?


I've always been smoking and I want to give you a gift: I think you'll enjoy my teeth.

They might not fit. I've begun to think you might have to take them out one at a time.

Submarines might be giving out free grapes at the Tall Place near the toy store.
I might be a ballerina and your teeth might weigh me down when Baryshnikov holds me over his head.

We were teasing with the brittleness of too-bright lovers soon to part. The train had slowed at the yard-limit signs near the famous station where Lenin had disembarked. The coach lights slowly rose and Marina Kostnikova sat stiffly upright again. She spoke very quietly without turning my way. She said, There are some gifts I would accept. I'd like you to teach me to say something wise in English.

I thought for a while, and then said this: Love.

Love.

Is.

Is.

Kind.

Kind.

Love is kind.

Love is kind.

She practiced it quietly for a time. What does it mean?

In Russian, I said, <span style="font-style:italic">Love is kind.

Love is kind?

That's it.

You better be telling me the truth, policeman.

Well, I could teach you to say that if youd prefer.

No, I like this one. Love is kind?

Love is kind. Your pronunciation is good.

I've heard it before, I think. Is it religious?

It is, but it doesn't have to be.

Who said it? God?

No, I dont think so. A tax collector who saw a bright light on the road to Damascus said it.

And you pay attention to a tax collector?

When tax collectors make sense, I do.

Are you a Christian, then?

No, matryushka, no longer.

Perhaps this is one more thing youre wrong about. Will you remember me?

I will.

How will you remember me?

As the mountain grass cannot help but remember the sleeping hare.

Those were beautiful words before you stole them from Yeats. But perhaps this is finally one thing youre right about. I regret not having anything to give you.

I had gathered all the money I had with me into as tight a bundle as I could make of it along with an address. Go see a man at this address. Tell him youre to have my apartment across from the skating pond at Archangel Park. Tell him what I just taught you and he'll hand you the keys And then I kissed her. It was long and thorough, with both of my hands on her stunned cheeks. Try to remember me as well.

I started the long, long walk West, toward home. I used my steps for cadence and I walked to the verse of an unsteady beginning:

Quakers ran the
Underground
Railroad, so to
Set slaves free.