Stalina: A Novel Part 16

"That water is polluted."

Maxim, did you not find my mother infuriating toward the end?

"Mother, I have many memories of swimming with you there. The beautiful gardens and fountains of the Winter Palace in the background. The fried fish sandwiches we used to have for a picnic. It was a pretty place, wasn't it, Mother?"

Maxim, I know you are not my uncle. It was on one of our swims that my mother told me about you.

"Then put me in the sea, Stalina, if that's what you want."

"Is there someplace else?"

"I want revenge, Stalina."

"With your ashes? For whom?"

"Find Nadia's parents; spread me in their midst. I want to hara.s.s them for all time. They don't deserve any peace."

"I am not sure where they are, Mother."

"Find them. They had your father sent away."

"How do you know that, Mother?"

"They were both informers. Radya used to say she got all that caviar and fine wine from a cousin who worked on a s.h.i.+p. It was all arranged."

I know where Nadia's parents are, Maxim. They live here in America in the Brighton Beach. You may keep some of her ashes, spread some in the Gulf of Finland, and send the rest to me to take to Brighton at the beach.

Yours truly,

Stalina Folskaya, Sophia's daughter

He wrote back. Quickly.

Dear Stalina,

Your letter came today, and I write to you as I await my dinner at the Cafe Karenina, near the Maryinsky Theater. Perhaps you know the place. Your mother and I had dinner here often. I will go to the opera this evening. Carmen is playing. The maitre d' led me to a table in a corner from which I have the advantage to view the entire restaurant. Each table is decorated with a white linen cloth, a small white vase, and a fresh cut yellow rose. I want to set the scene for you, Stalina, because if you are anything like your mother, you will love all the details.

The vaulted ceiling of the cafe is painted with elaborate medieval-style tapestry hunting scenes. Knights on horseback in full armor pursuing unicorns and lions with wings. The restaurant was originally called "The Gryphon and the Unicorn," but Leo Tolstoy supposedly ate here and enjoyed himself tremendously, so the owners renamed it Cafe Karenina. The paintings are still a tourist attraction, of almost equal popularity as the famous beef goulash. The original owner's twin daughters painted the murals and were renowned for their ability to paint a canvas simultaneously without speaking about its contents.

The waiter has delivered my stew and refilled my wine gla.s.s. I thank you for offering me a portion of your mother's ashes. I will spread some in the Gulf of Finland as per her request. I will use my few connections to get the doc.u.ments needed to safely send the ashes to you. Expect them soon. I hear Brighton Beach in the winter can be very much like Leningrad, only a bit warmer. It is up to you to honor your mother's request to spread her ashes near Nadia's parents. Revenge is a strange animal. The past does not change. They were wrong to give your father up. An easy target because he wrote poetry when he was angry and wore that odd chapeau. I am much more pa.s.sive, and that could be the reason your father tolerated me. He knew I would be there for your mother. It was difficult for us all, but please know that I did my best to make her happy.

I have your mother's copy of Through the Looking Gla.s.s. We used to read it to each other. The pages still smell of her rose attar perfume. If you don't mind, I would like to keep the book. She must have held it after holding a leaky ink pen because her thumbprint is smudged permanently onto the first page. If I remember correctly, this book was also a favorite of yours.

I am deeply sorry for your loss.

Sincerely,

Maxim K.

I can see why my mother loved Maxim, but I think he may be mistaken about the thumbprint. My father's fingers were always covered in ink from his writing. His thumbprint decorated the first page of my copy of the same book. I know the beginning of the story from memory.

"Chapter One, Looking Gla.s.s House. One thing was certain, that the white kitten had had nothing to do with it-it was the black kitten's fault entirely. For the white kitten had been having its face washed by the old cat for the last quarter of an hour (and bearing it up pretty well considering): so you see it couldn't have had any hand in the mischief."

When my father read about the naughty kitten unraveling the ball of yarn Alice had been tending to in the quiet of the afternoon, he made it all seem so real. It was snowing in the story, just like it is here today. Alice thought the snow hitting the windows sounded like kisses. "Just as if someone was kissing the window all over outside," she told the kitten as she settled in for her famous nap.

Here at the Liberty Motel, Svetlana has grown full and round in the care of the crow under the pines. I named the crow Zarzamora, like my hair dye from Cuba. I like to call her ZZ for short. Svetlana goes out every day to see her, even though I have started to leave food for her in the linen room. She goes out when it snows to visit with ZZ even though there are no worms to be had from the frozen ground. When Svetlana walks in the snow, she shakes out her paws every couple of steps as she makes her way toward the pine trees. After some initial squawking and mewling, both animals settle down and sit together quietly. They linger. The cat's nose and the bird's beak twitch when they smell something on the wind. A car coming up the drive, or the linen room door opening, interrupting their business of shuffling through pine needles to find slow bugs. I started taking photographs of these two, but it felt like I was intruding. I have no desire to exploit their love. Leave the lovers alone. This is the policy I have adopted for my customers at the Liberty as well.

Chapter Twenty: To Come Again.

My mother's ashes arrived from Maxim in a cigar box wrapped in the yellow ap.r.o.n my mother always wore. The pockets were decorated with traditional embroidery in red, yellow, and blue dancers skipping along the front of the ap.r.o.n. My father bought it for her when he was on a trip to Warsaw. She wore it every day, taking it off only when she went to bed. She often looked at ap.r.o.ns sold in the markets, but she never purchased a new one. Maxim included a note with his package.

Dear Stalina,

As you know, your mother, Sophia, was very dear to me, and I mourn her pa.s.sing. I visited her even when she did not recognize me anymore. I have taken care to spread her ashes in the Gulf of Finland. The days are getting a little longer now, and I had a sunny afternoon for the travel to Peterhof. There were people swimming in the gulf even though the temperature was close to freezing. The cold water does not appeal to me, but the swimmers all looked vigorous and pleased with themselves. Your mother was a wonderful swimmer. There may have been someone swimming that day who swam with her at the Academy. I threw her ashes out across the top of the water. They stayed on the surface and formed a cloud that changed shapes as the current moved back and forth. I stood at the water's edge and watched as the cloud of ashes first came toward me and then drifted steadily out to sea. The small, gentle waves were like your mother's elegant, long-armed strokes taking her farther and farther away from sh.o.r.e.

One of the nurses at the rooming house told me that the night your mother died, there was some confusion over fish b.a.l.l.s in the commissary. She became hysterical and threw them across the room. They brought her back to her room to calm down. She put on this ap.r.o.n, which she had hidden under her mattress, and demanded that the staff let her do the cooking. They finally calmed her down by offering her a lipstick. She painted her lips and then used the lipstick to write something on her bedsheet. There is a mark on the ap.r.o.n where she patted her lips. I thought you might like to have the ap.r.o.n. Your mother was a wonderful cook. I hope you learned her recipe for cherry pie, which was a favorite of mine. It is good to know you seek happiness in America. This concept seems very foreign, but very commendable, if not a bit lovely and naive.

Nostrovya,

Maxim K.

I was surprised Maxim did not know the poem my mother wrote on her top sheet. I did not want to break the spell of his ardor. Maybe the people at the rooming house knew he was not her husband and hid my father's words from him. I was inspired by his story of the ashes and was excited to be taking them to their requested liberation.

"I have to go to New York to pick up my mother's ashes. There is some regulation," I explained to Nadia. Maxim had in fact sent them to me directly, but I lied to Nadia. "I also want to take this opportunity to see the Statue of Liberty, and if I have time I will go to Brighton."

"The Statue of Liberty-I have only seen it in pictures. It will be good for you to see Brighton Beach. My parents will be happy to have you visit."

Revenge is filled with subversion like a blini stuffed with mushrooms.

Nadia continued, "They will walk you along the boardwalk and you will see the ocean."

"I would like that."

"Take a day away from the motel; you have been working without a break. I'll have one of my boys cover for you."

"Thank you, I could use a day off. It has been a hard time for me," I said.

Perhaps Nadia had no idea how her parents betrayed mine.

"Stalina, what happened with you and Amalia?"

"She stole something of mine from Russia, sold it, and believed it was her right to do so. There was no place for me with her anymore. I am happy living at the motel."

"Have you heard from Mr. Suri?"

"Yes, a postcard came the other day."

I showed Nadia the postcard of a rodeo in a shopping mall in Oklahoma. At one end of the rodeo ring there was a ten-foot-high model of the Statue of Liberty. Mr. Suri's handwriting was small, tight, and very delicate.

Dear Stalina,

On the way to Arizona, I made a stop in Oklahoma. Garson has joined me here to complete the journey together. The replica of Lady Liberty reminded me of the motel and you. Maybe you should get one for the entrance. I am fascinated by the rodeo. Taming the wild beast. I bought a cowboy hat, and Garson got a whip. Whatever happened to Svetlana and the crow? Does the life of a motel manager suit you? I'm sure it does. If you still think of me, I hope it is as a friend. I will send my address when I arrive at my destination.

Yours truly,

Franklin Suri

"He really cared for you, Stalina," Nadia said after reading the card.

"I liked him very much; he was hardworking," I said.

"I hope I didn't stop anything between you two, but he was ruining my business."

"I think he is happier now that he has gotten away from the motel. I don't think he was a true believer in the short-stay concept."

"Not like us! Short stays forever!"

"Short stays forever!" I joined in.

"Our customers return for their short stays, over and over," she said.

"They come and hope to..." I stopped and waited for Nadia to join me.

"To come! And come again!" She laughed and threw her arms overhead and then embraced me. Two days later, I took a day off from work.

Chapter Twenty-one: Brighton Beach.