after some moments fully aware of being observed, I could
not avoid at least returning her look, as she was continued unashamedly looking
at me, and with a smile.
she said, of course in Russian, ‘I know it is impolite, but
my children are artists.’
when the man between us left, she started talking to me…of
her life, her self, her family, and with questions to me.
I quickly realized she was not some nutty old woman, but of
the old (Russian/Soviet) intelligentsia… Studied at the Preparatory School to
the Conservatory, then in the Conservatory. her parents had studied or worked
with Stanislavski himself...
where was I from?
impossible! Americans have closed faces, not often with
“character” like yours. they are even banal.
what is your “nationality” she asked again, meaning not what
we in the West mean, as I had already told her; but what culture, what people,
did I come from. French and Scottish-English clearly confirmed her point .
she spoke of China and India as coming world powers, and
what did I think of China being dangerous in future…
it is reported that in his last years Beethoven’s clothes –
unaware to him it seemed -- were unclean, and that he they even stank. my
passing Russian companion was a woman, so it was not nearly so bad, and
probably she didn’t notice the scent herself either. (I imagine it might not
have been so in the latter Soviet years.)
in the USSR such people were noted and noticed in public.
respected. turned to for guidance in life. now…? it was not clear the young
people across the wagon were even listening to her, to us, to her animated and
insightful thoughts and ideas…sadly become rare in Russia these days.
sspecially for a Steppenwolf
I remembered the years when I first came to Russia, in what
came to be the last years of the USSR. such conversations, such meetings, such
persons were not so rare.
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