to this man, then it was possible for her to be close, also. He was on the same planet - that was a wonderful start.
She looked again at the color of his eyes. How wonderful to really look into them. His wife and daughter had been killed in an accident. She wondered what his wife was like. Did he ever beat her? No. His eyes were too kind. Was she beautiful? Yes. Natalya decided she was beautiful. She was already developing fantasy scenarios about them being together - how their wedding would be, what their children would look like. She knew she was acting like a silly school girl but she couldn’t stop herself. She was absolutely out of control. She spoke out loud in English: “Natalya Valentine. Mrs. Natalya Valentine. Michael and Natalya Valentine of Sacramento, California.” She loved the sound of it.
She looked around to ensure no one had heard her. She sat down the magnifying glass and put the picture carefully into her purse. It was lunchtime and she had a few minutes before her art class started so she went to the geography section of the library and found information on Sacramento, California. The book was almost thirty years old but it would at least give her an idea.
Let’s see, she thought, scanning the information, it’s the capitol city of California with a population of about two hundred and fifty thousand. Probably more now. It’s called the River City because of two rivers running through it. Hummm. She wondered if they were as big as Mother Lena.
She continued scanning. It rarely snows. Oh, good! But it gets very hot in the summer. Oh, not so good. It is located about a hundred and sixty kilometers east of San Francisco, close to mountains and Lake Tahoe. What a strange name for a lake.
She looked at some agriculture and recreation pictures. The people in the pictures were all smiling and happy. People in Yakutsk did not smile often. There weren’t many reasons for smiling in Yakutsk. Life was one discomfort after another. Every day in winter people froze to death, and every day in summer people drowned in Mother Lena, or were crushed or chewed to death in unsafe machinery, or beaten to death by drunken husbands or criminals.
Paging through the book, Natalya saw Sacramento’s beautiful capitol building with a dome shaped roof, looking much like the American White House. And that was all the information she could find. The school did have one computer with access to the internet but she had never tried to use it. She would have to ask for help and that would mean explaining why she needed it and she didn’t know anyone in that area well enough to comfortably ask.
She put the book back on the shelf and heard, “Natalya.”
She turned around and saw one of her best friends, Enna, who taught math and social studies. “Hello, Enna. What are you doing?”
“Just on my way to my math class. What are you doing?”
“I was just looking up some information on California. I have family there.”
“Really? I hear a great many Russians and Ukrainians are moving to Sacramento.”
“Yes! That is where my cousin lives. Her husband is rich and she has a big, beautiful house.”
“Ah, lucky her. Well, da skorava, Natalya.”
“Da skorava, Enna.”
The rest of her day was spent wondering what she should do. She was going to write to Ludmilla tonight, but what should she say? Should she just be honest and tell her that she wanted to marry her next door neighbor? No. Get serious, Natalya. That might get back to him and scare him off. She would just write to Ludmilla and tell her that her neighbor seemed very nice and to tell her more about him. That was a start. Ludmilla knew the story of the picture but had never seen it. Natalya did not want to tell her yet that her neighbor was the man in her vision – that was too much too soon. She had to proceed carefully; she had to think clearly and be smart.
That night, she wrote the letter. The part she put in about him was very simple.
Your neighbor looks like a very nice man. Tell me more about him. I am interested. And, it wouldn’t hurt to send more pictures of him.
That was it. A strong hint that she was interested, but not too blatant. If she had been writing anyone other than Ludmilla, she would have been more discreet. But, knowing Ludmilla, this would be handled properly. She thought this would do. Now, all she could do was wait.
The night after the fiasco with Donna, Mike was at the Hermann’s for, according to Ludmilla, a good Siberian dinner. It was delicious. They had meatballs in heavy, spicy gravy, a cold pea salad, black bread, and borsch, followed by some fruit paruskees that reminded Mike of apple turnovers.
After dinner, Mike insisted on helping them clean up. It didn’t take long. Ludmilla had cleaned most of it while she was preparing it. She was an immaculate housekeeper.
When Ludmilla was out of the kitchen for a minute, Rolf asked, “How was your date last night, Mike?”
“It couldn’t have gone worse if I had planned it.”
“Oh?” said Rolf. “What happened?”
“Well, according to her, I should be ready to marry her right now.”
“I see,” he said.
“I mean, that was only our third date. I told her I just needed some more time and that wasn’t what she wanted to hear.”
Rolf leaned up against the counter. “How did the subject some up?”
“Well,” he said sheepishly, “she wanted to, ah, …”
“Consummate the relationship?”
“Yes. In several different ways.”
Rolf laughed. “Interesting.”
“She’s a beautiful woman but it’s like she wants me to commit and I’m not ready for anything like that.”
Ludmilla came in. “What are you two talking about?”
“Mike’s date last night.”
“Oh? Did it go well?”
Rolf shook his head. “No.”
“No? Why not.”
Rolf looked at his wife. “Various levels of commitment.”
“The greater on her part?” asked Ludmilla.
Rolf nodded. “The greater on her part.”
Mike folded his arms and leaned back. “She’s a nice lady. But, to tell you the truth, she just doesn’t ring any bells for me.”
Ludmilla looked puzzled. “I’m not familiar with bell ringing in a relationship.”
Mike leaned forward and explained. “No sparks, no chemistry, no magic.”
“Oh,” she said. “Ya ponemyyo. I understand.”
“She’s beautiful. But I look at her and, I don’t know, there’s nothing special.”
“Yes,” said Rolf. “That’s important.”
“Well,” said Ludmilla. “Perhaps in time.”
Just then Greta came in with a large scrapbook in her hands. “Momma said that tonight we should show you pictures of her home in Siberia.”
“Really? Great. I would be very interested.”
They all moved to the large family room and Greta placed the scrapbook on the huge oblong coffee table. She smiled up at Mike. “Sit by me.”
“Love to,” he said.
Rolf sat on Mike’s other side and Ludmilla on Greta’s. The little dog crawled up on Greta’s lap. The first picture Mike saw was some shaggy, tough looking little horses in a picket corral. A hard, lean, Japanese looking man was standing by them.
“This is my uncle