I was sitting alone in one of the pews of our church, in Spruce, Michigan, thumbing through the Bible, pausing to read from Isaiah. I was in a rare, melancholy mood, built up over the weeks by staging several ‘book talks’. I sought my escape in this sanctum, instead of joining most of the members of our congregation who strolled into the “coffee room” to enjoy baked goods, tea, and coffee provided by various members of the church.
I opted instead for the serenity, the quietness of the sanctuary.
My wife was busy carrying out the myriads of tasks she had volunteered for, and I did not expect to hear from her, so I was surprised when someone tapped me on my shoulders during my mediation. I turned to find one of the pillars of the church standing behind me. She immediately apologized for interrupting my thoughts, and informed me there were two elderly gentlemen “downstairs who would like to meet me.”
“They wondered if you would join them,” she said quite nervously. I immediately replied that I would only be happy to meet the gentlemen.
She led me to the gentlemen and introduced them, for I had not known them. One immediately asked, “Are you the one who wrote The Repatriate?” I nodded that I was the author of the book and waited for the criticism.
These were the elderly statesmen of the church, very conservative, and I sensed that they were about to blast me for praising Nikita Khrushchev, the man who took over the USSR shortly after Stalin’s death. Or would they take issue with me for including “sex” in the book. One of the members of the congregation had informed me that she refused to read the book because she had heard from others about the illicit sexual context and encounters that I incorporated in the text.
Therefore, I was pleasantly surprised when one of these gentlemen said, “I just want to say that I truly enjoyed the book.” He added, “It validated what I always believed…not only of the bread lines and food shortages in that country, but the cruelty and the oppressiveness of the Soviet government. I just wanted to thank you for writing the book.”
I thanked him for the compliment.
“I hope,” said the other man, “you don’t stop there. Please write about your life after you returned from the USSR. I am sure the readers would be interested on how you adjusted and what our government had to say.”
I told him that I am presently at work on the second book and hoped to be finished by mid-summer of 2010.
Miraculously surviving 13 years behind the Iron Curtain, Tom Mooradian had the opportunity to see what no foreign correspondent, no western journalist, no diplomat was permitted to see: the Soviet Union as the Soviets lived.
I was sitting alone in one of the pews of our church, in Spruce, Michigan, thumbing through the Bible, pausing to read from Isaiah. I was in a rare, melancholy mood, built up over the weeks by staging several ‘book talks’. I sought my escape in this sanctum, instead of joining most of the members of our congregation who strolled into the “coffee room” to enjoy baked goods, tea, and coffee provided by various members of the church.
I opted instead for the serenity, the quietness of the sanctuary.
My wife was busy carrying out the myriads of tasks she had volunteered for, and I did not expect to hear from her, so I was surprised when someone tapped me on my shoulders during my mediation. I turned to find one of the pillars of the church standing behind me. She immediately apologized for interrupting my thoughts, and informed me there were two elderly gentlemen “downstairs who would like to meet me.”
“They wondered if you would join them,” she said quite nervously. I immediately replied that I would only be happy to meet the gentlemen.
She led me to the gentlemen and introduced them, for I had not known them. One immediately asked, “Are you the one who wrote The Repatriate?” I nodded that I was the author of the book and waited for the criticism.
These were the elderly statesmen of the church, very conservative, and I sensed that they were about to blast me for praising Nikita Khrushchev, the man who took over the USSR shortly after Stalin’s death. Or would they take issue with me for including “sex” in the book. One of the members of the congregation had informed me that she refused to read the book because she had heard from others about the illicit sexual context and encounters that I incorporated in the text.
Therefore, I was pleasantly surprised when one of these gentlemen said, “I just want to say that I truly enjoyed the book.” He added, “It validated what I always believed…not only of the bread lines and food shortages in that country, but the cruelty and the oppressiveness of the Soviet government. I just wanted to thank you for writing the book.”
I thanked him for the compliment.
“I hope,” said the other man, “you don’t stop there. Please write about your life after you returned from the USSR. I am sure the readers would be interested on how you adjusted and what our government had to say.”
I told him that I am presently at work on the second book and hoped to be finished by mid-summer of 2010.