MARIGOLDS GROW ON ROCK, TOO
When she was a small girl, Tetiana read the book Marigolds Grow on Rock, Too and, of course, could not have known that decades later, having been married, divorced, and failed to restore the family, left with her child, her life would take a sharp bend. It all happened and the middle-aged woman found herself in a place where tree grew from rock, precisely from gray but more often from incredibly pink granite. My former colleague was now in a backwater province of Maine.
On her way to the States, she had thought she would work hard on her English and grow roses. David, her future husband, had shown her a photo of his house by a lake surrounded by forest... A true Ukrainian, Tetiana had made a mental note of where she would have a small kitchen garden with beets and cucumbers. Instead, she would spend two years longing for Ukraine. David’s brother, seeing her condition, told her she was homesick. She couldn’t think of a better word to describe her feelings.
* * *
Many years ago, when she had came to a remote Polissia village in Volyn oblast, assigned a job there after graduating from a teacher’s training college, and later, already married, her friends called her Decembrist. Born in the suburbs of Lutsk, she had kept her home in Volyn warm with a stove which she fed with firewood and on which she cooked their meals, bringing water from the well in the yard. Now she had a modern-equipped kitchen, a washing machine, a dishwasher, and even a machine baking bread. Yet her letters home became sadder and sadder. David worked in shifts and stayed away from home for months on end. Her daughter studied at the local university. She had told David about the kitchen garden and he had brought a truckload of earth. However, beet, narcissus, and lilies refused to grow on the rocky ground. Strawberry and garden pansy were doing fine, but marigolds really blossomed.
* * *
She flew to America because she wanted her daughter to be happy. Her second marriage was anything but romantic. She and David had found each other by correspondence. He was no Prince Charming, either. A modest-paid worker, never married at 48, with a small house away from civilization, and arrears on mortgage. But it was something compared to absolutely nothing she and her daughter could expect in Ukraine. She and David had exchanged letters (her daughter, then a senior school student, had written her letters, of course, and later acted as an interpreter when he called). In Maine (she pronounced it Mine), there was little in common between them. “We even ate different bread, for he was diabetic,” recalls Tetiana.
“Of course, you know my situation and that I have to leave David,” she wrote to me. “But I didn’t know I’d have to leave so soon. A year ago his relatives had prejudiced him against me, telling him I’d leave him anyway. He could be Stetsko [Ukr. name often used to describe a bumpkin], but his relatives are smart, especially those with a divorce experience. And so my Stetsko wasn’t shocked when I told him I was leaving. The only thing he really cared about was money and real estate. He nearly killed me (in fact, he tried to, four times). Under the law of the state, the wife inherits half the property accumulated during their time in marriage. He has money stowed away on different bank accounts and in stocks. He wouldn’t give my daughter anything, so she had to take two jobs to pay for the university.
“The last eight months my Stetsko was treated for clinical depression — or perhaps his conscience was gnawing away at him, if he had any, for what he did to me. Twice I found a big nail or a screw in my car tires. They couldn’t have got there by themselves and I would be as good as dead on the speedway. Fortunately, I always checked the tires before taking a drive, because I never trusted Stetsko. On that particular occasion I thought something was wrong with the brakes, but I had them fixed only recently, so I didn’t bother to check everything. I should have, because Stetsko was at home before the next shift...
“Now Stetsko and his relatives don’t have the slightest idea about where I live and the color of my car. He has only my daughter’s POB number. I’m not even hiring a lawyer, because it costs so much. Let them divorce us the way they please. I want this nightmare to be over as soon as possible, so I can forget I have ever married a man even American women didn’t want. By the way, all my Lutsk friends that married Americans are also on the verge of divorce or in a state of undeclared war.”
* * *
“You ask if it was hard marrying a man I never loved. I see no future here, I left my heart in Ukraine. I endured all this for five years, for my daughter’s sake, reducing myself to nil as a woman. So I will stay longer if I have to. Not so long ago I read Schopenhauer. He writes that there is one mistake equally bad for all: conviction that we are born to be happy. Perhaps I shouldn’t be happy as a woman. Good enough to be a decent mother. I miss my home, Volyn, so much! I want to go to the forest and see snail clovers, anemones, primroses...”
Tetiana is a US citizen (when it came time she spent a year making up her mind).
STRING-PULLING REMEMBERED AFTER 12 YEARS IN SANTA BARBARA
Larysa Murchison (nee Petrova) looks like a well-to-do young American lady, except for a long luxurious braid bespeaking her Ukrainian parentage (Dave touches it lovingly now and then during our conversation). Many must envy her now. She is obviously happily married and she lives in Santa Barbara, California. Sounds like a fairy tale, bringing exotic pictures to mind.
She spent the first 18 years of her life in Mayaky, a village not far from Lutsk. She misses Volyn and visits it every three years. It is her husband Dave’s third and their 9-year-old daughter Michelle’s second visit. This time the Murchisons are in Lutsk to visit Larysa’s good old friends (this author happened to be present by sheer chance).
“Ukraine was an altogether different country when I left it 12 years ago. Now I even have to argue with my friends in Lutsk, saying that a lot of positive changes have taken place, but it’s because such changes are best noticed by a person who doesn’t visit often,” says Larysa. “I’m glad that my friends have made good careers. They live in a way they wouldn’t have dreamed of 10-12 years back. I can tell that they work hard, but I also see the result.”
“Perhaps complaining about life (bad cucumber harvest this year, the piglet has no appetite, must be sick, holubtsi [cabbage rolls filled with mincemeat, rice or buckwheat, chopped onion, carrot, and spices] turned out too dry) is a national Ukrainian trait?”
“I’d say it is a Slavic trait, for we hear the same complaints from our Russian and Polish friends... But now I’m no longer ashamed to invite my husband’s relatives and colleagues to Ukraine, to my beloved Lutsk.”
“What about those changes Ukrainians here don’t seem to notice?”
“First, the way Ukrainian cities and villages look. Neat cottages, tidy courtyards. Well, the roads are still bad. If they look dirty and are unpaved, the houses nearby also don’t look too attractive. I like to see people lay tables festively and you don’t have to use blat [string-pulling] to get quality products and pay extra as before.”
“You still remember blat after 12 years in the States.”
“I sure do, how could I forget? The way one had to call friends in retail to get food for a party or family celebration. Now you walk into any store in Ukraine, particularly in Volyn, and you are met with smiles and shown respect. My husband is very impressed by Volyn. Compared to other Ukrainian regions, it has many advantages. Every time Dave asks, Are we in Poland? I say we are still in my native Volyn, in Western Ukraine, and that it’s so well tended by its people.”
* * *
Among positive changes Larysa Murchison noted that Ukrainian people have bolder looks on their faces, that they are not afraid to do business. She made a good business career in America. Her elder daughter Yaroslava Petrova is following in her footsteps (she grew up in Mayaky and misses the village, visiting her grandmother every two years). As a US citizen, Jasia Petrova studies international law at a prestigious university. From Mayaky she would travel to Rome for practice at the US embassy.
Larysa’s current business has nothing to do with what she did in Ukraine (she taught English at a higher school and wrote a candidate-of-science dissertation). The Murchisons run two rehabilitation centers in Santa Barbara. Both are like hotels where one can live for months, even years and undergo medical-social rehabilitation. Her staff includes quite a few Russians and Ukrainians. It is her way to help Slavs survive in a strange environment. She was the fist to start in such business in Santa Barbara, proving to the American community that there was no reason for fearing Slavs, that they were decent and hard-working people. She says they have so many eager customers they have to keep waiting lists. Once two Russian emigres had no money to pay for the accommodation, so she let them live for a while free of charge.
“How did your husband take it, being an American and counting every cent?”
“You know, he cried yesterday when we met with my friends... He said we Americans are a poor nation, we can’t afford such sincerity and warmth in our relationships. He also said he was happy to see one thing never change in Ukraine: being ready to help each other. Dave is only too well aware of how important helping others is for me.”
As we talked I could see that Dave was eager to join in, but for the language barrier. Finally he said and Larysa translated:
“It’s very important to understand that we are all one human family, that our systems can borrow a lot from each other. You can borrow from us the responsibility of bureaucrats. Our bureaucrats won’t send you from one office to the next, but will busy themselves with your problem. We can learn from you being emotional, your ability to value not only money, but also human deeds. It’s important for you to have the right kind of political system, something like we have in America. The Americans would’ve never put up with a regime that doesn’t give a damn about a man in the street. Your people don’t trust your regime. They say mind your business and I’ll mind mine... When you can change these moods, all those changes we already see in Ukraine will become even deeper.”
* * *
Their marriage did what could be described as uniting not only two nations but also perhaps two civilizations. Larysa met Dave in Santa Barbara and it was love at first sight. They became lovers three days later and when Dave proposed to her several weeks later Larysa said yes without the slightest hesitation. When asked about the secret of being happily married, Larysa replied:
“Dave loves in me, a Ukrainian woman, something he knows he’ll never find in any American women. They wouldn’t cook breakfast, wash his shirts, or smile even when in pain; they wouldn’t show such patience, remain cheerful and straightforward. They wouldn’t show such appreciation of what your husband does for you, your relatives and friends... You should see all those people coming from Ukraine and living with us in Santa Barbara, for months at times! Dave would open not only the doors of our house for them, but also his heart. It is also true, however, that you won’t find many Americans like Dave. At the same time, he remains realistic and practical in his American way where I am more on the emotional side. Dave says the Earth should be turning in space three times faster with me on its surface. This combination of different qualities, each complimenting the next, is perhaps what has yield the result we have.”
* * *
Of course, Larysa would want Dave to know the Marenych Trio when he heard them; to know how mushrooms grow in her Volyn when she serves him mushroom soup. She would want to see the Hagia Sophia or Lavra of Kyiv in Santa Barbara, to add beauty to this paradise on earth every American dreams of visiting (it knows no fall or winter, just a lasting summer). She loves to impress her husband with Ukrainian cultural and historic relics, so they visit together. Larysa says she is happy, for there is her Dave to rely upon.
