The Man with the Notable Face by Jaroslav (Jerry) Petryshyn

Author:Jaroslav (Jerry) Petryshyn [Last, First name]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-77180-548-3
Publisher: Iguana Books
Published: 2022-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Woodal did not know exactly where they were, except that it was in the northern section of the city. “We’re almost there,” Irene informed him as he made another right turn, judiciously following her directions. To the left loomed the Byzantine dome of the Eastern Orthodox Church. “The hall is beside the church.”

“Right.”

Woodal had been in an indecisive mode for a week, and he knew he had to get on with it — ferret out what Glinka knew or did and finish the assignment. There was no denying that he was intrigued by the old man’s mention of having met Stalin. Under what circumstances? Why? Was it significant? Had to be, since Drydenko and Bakinin were vitally interested, albeit for different reasons. Or was it something else entirely? At one point he drove by Glinka’s abode, intending to speak with him, force the issue if necessary. Instead, he continued on downtown and dropped in on Irene at Swartz’s office to take her for lunch.

She was the crux of his procrastination. He couldn’t afford to get too intimately involved, but here he was still cultivating her and rationalizing it as a need to gather more information, even when it was obvious that there was no more to be had. The truth was, she was enjoyable company, and he decided for reasons that were at best ambiguous, if not outright muddled, to wait until after he accompanied Irene to the wedding before taking any decisive action.

Meanwhile, he had a few days to kill at Drydenko’s expense (more likely and indirectly the Soviet state’s discretionary fund). He explored the city, marveling at its diversity, richness, and available amenities. Capitalism may not have paved the streets with gold, but it seemed that not only the bourgeoisie but also the proletariat were doing well. Certainly, it didn’t take a back seat to London in that regard. Nor did the surrounding countryside, he discovered. Of particular note was his road trip eastward on Highway 16. In the hotel lobby, he picked up a brochure on a Ukrainian Heritage Village and decided that it may be of interest. Why not? He had time on his hands while he worked out what was to be done.

Driving on a double-lane highway with wide shoulders into shimmering heat waves rising from a hazy, flat horizon, it seemed that the land was similar to the steppes back home. Good farming country, he deduced, appreciating the seas of purple and yellow interspersed with verdant fields and black summer-fallowed strips. In the distance, scattered throughout the checkerboard fields, stood stands of poplar, aspen, and spruce. Through the open window he inhaled the earthly fragrance. It reminded him of his own rural beginnings, even as he wondered why there were no agricultural workers to be seen…

In due course, after passing through some kind of wild preserve — far off he saw buffalo grazing — Woodal spotted his destination and made a right turn into an entrance, beyond which was a collection of old buildings.

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