Moonlight in Odessa by Janet Skeslien Charles

Author:Janet Skeslien Charles
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2010-10-06T13:00:00+00:00

‘This tea is awesome,’ he said. Jane used that word all the time, too. It must be an Americanism. ‘I’ve never had anyone take care of me like this . . .’

‘You’re in Odessa now. The most hospitable city in the world.’

‘In the galaxy,’ he seconded. ‘It seems like a beautiful place.’

‘It is. I love Odessa. I love it here. But . . .’

‘But?’

Odessa will always be here. Don’t they call the city Odessa-Mama? She’ll be right here, waiting for you if you want to come back. You’re young, you should go, explore, live.

‘I’m wondering if there isn’t more.’

‘More?’

‘I want . . . I want . . .’ I couldn’t articulate the things I desired. I looked down at my hands.

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I have trouble finding words, too.’

I smiled gratefully.

‘Ti – krasivaya.’ You’re beautiful. Then he said, hello and thank you in Russian.

‘You’re very welcome,’ I replied. ‘How?’

‘I wanted to be able to say a few words of your language so I’ve been listening to tapes in my truck. I should have said hello in Russian to your grandma yesterday, but I was too nervous.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘What a lovely, unexpected gift.’

There was something in the air suddenly. Something charged and fragile. He leaned towards me. I leaned towards him. Our lips connected. He tasted like warm raspberries.

After a moment, he pulled back, ‘I don’t want you to catch my cold.’

I smiled shyly. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’

We chatted all afternoon. I was surprised at how much we had in common. For example, we both liked the Beatles. We both wanted two children. We both dreamed of going to Paris. We both loved the sea. He loved looking at my pictures, and I loved having my picture taken. Neither of us understood why people thought football was so interesting. If given the choice between happy or rich, we both chose happy.

And twenty years wasn’t so much, was it? Boba and I were dear friends. As were Valentina and I, despite a gap of thirty years. Most women married older men. After all, as we learned in health class, girls mature faster than boys. Tristan’s years meant additional experience, which was a good thing, wasn’t it?

For dinner, I served Tristan a large scoop of Boba’s mashed potatoes and a succulent thigh.

‘You don’t have to wait on me,’ he said. ‘You should dish up. Ladies first.’

No Odessan man would ever think like this let alone say such a thing.

‘You’re a good cook,’ he said.

I should have admitted that I couldn’t bear to touch a chicken carcass let alone roast it to perfection as Boba had. But I wanted him to think the best of me. So I said, ‘Spacibo.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he replied in Russian. Nechevo.

‘It feels good to sit here with you. Usually I’m so busy with work that I never get home before seven. My friends think that I do too much. That I want too much.’

‘Well, we wouldn’t be sitting here if you weren’t such a hard worker, if you hadn’t taken that second job.

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