I was hungry. My stomach craved, demanded food or it would definitely rebel. And there were no rest rooms or toilet facilities on the court adjacent to the building where I was assigned to teach.
I had had my stove-toasted, sawdust-filled, black bread early in the morning before I raced to my coaching job at the Pioneer’s Palace. I had taught two classes and it was now noon, and I had nothing to eat. I sat there on a tree stump waiting for my third and last class of the day to assemble, and wondered how I would make it through the day. The cold and refreshing water from the spring-fed stream by the Ararat had nourished me, but how much more water could it take. My stomach grumbled and rumbled and if I had to demonstrate another drive-in lay-up, I am sure that the water would squirt out like a water pistol.
My God how I missed my mother’s cooking; how I missed America. My country was my soul, and I had sold it to the devil.
I sat there in agony. It was my second year in the USSR. How many more would pass before the Soviets would open the door?
Could ‘they’ be watching me? Couldn’t they see that I was not ‘a sleeper’? Didn’t they know I had no secret means to exist; no American contacts? That I was but a young foolish fool?
They’d questioned me; they have released me. Was this their punishment? I would prefer death to starvation.
I looked up, there was a white-haired, elderly woman with a white flock standing before me.
“My son…my son…” she said. “Here, take this. Eat. Eat. We have been watching you. You look weak. And hungry.” She was one of the cooks who was charged with feeding the infants and the children at a nearby kindergarten (magabardez).
I could not accept the food. I knew it was meant for the children. But I thanked her.
She looked at me and said, “You must eat. You don’t have the strength to work. And I pray that wherever my son is, some mother will make sure he, too, is fed.”
I accepted the dish graciously. It was pilaf, a traditional rice dish, and made just as my mother would have.
The Soviets lost five million troops and more than 20 million civilians in their war against the Nazis. I would eventually learn that no family would be sparred and each would mourn in silence.
I had quickly learned to hate Stalin and the communists and what they stood for, but the people… the Soviet people were the most generous and courageous I have ever known.
First, I would like to thank you for delivering the wonderful speech this afternoon at VisTaTech on Schoolcraft College campus. I enjoy your speech and your book very much. The Repatriate is the book that I can remember almost every episode when I read it for the second time. You have a great way of telling a story, a very unusual story.
Secondly, while autographing my copy of book, you asked me where I was from and when I answered Taiwan, you told me that your daughter went to Taiwan for one year and loved it there. Then, you chuckled that “she is rebellious as me.” Well, going to Taiwan shouldn’t be considered as an act of rebellion. It is a lovely “country” (China does not agree with it), people are friendly. Probably you were worrying about a possibility of missile-firing from China, there are, as right now, over 1400 missiles aimed at the small Island. I am glad to hear that your daughter likes it there. I was there last November and enjoyed every second of my short stay at “home”.
Thirdly, about the U-2 incident. One month ago, my husband and I went to Cortez, CO, to visit our daughter and her husband. While waiting for our commuter flight from there to Denver, we found in the showcase of the small airport lobby, an airpressured suit and a newspaper clip about a U-2 pilot landed at the Cortez airport 50 years ago. Michael Hua, a pilot from Taiwan, was training in Texas then, found this little airfield to land when the plane was in flame. Back then, U-2 was hard to detect on rada, so it was quite a sight when the few night shift personnels saw a plane in flame landed on their airfield and a “spaceman” walking toward them speaking in accented English. At that time, the city of Cortez was debating if they should shut off the lights at night time to save money. Luckily for the pilot, the city kept the lights going, for he could not locate any other lit airfields in that part of Rocky Mountains area. This past August Mike Hua was awarded the “Key to the City” of Cortez at the 50th Anniversary.
Again, thanks for giving the literature world The Repatriate. Good luck on your second book, looking forward to reading it.