Last day. There is another “plenary session” scheduled at the Gorky Street Intourist Hotel (where we had the Galladeena) after breakfast. For “sharing” and “completion”. We also want to get in some shopping and see B. again, and I want to go back to see the Medvedkovs and take some things to them. The loneliness their situation and the courage they show has touched me considerably. “Vishnu” (the sweet, quiet Yoga instructor from Denver) tells us of a meeting he has set up with a Jewish dissident and wants to know if we'd like to take part. We decide to pass on the “sharing” session and do the other things. Dennis and Gerrie will go to the session. Ron then tells us of a meeting with Raikin that has been set up for 2 PM (leave from the hotel) so if we want to be in on that, be sure to be there.

Off on the Metro to meet the dissident. Group includes Vishnu, Judy (his lady friend, sweet, pretty, so quiet that I know little about her), David (the Peace Pilgrim, who is very impressive in his grasp of the language in so short a time), Judy W. (the savvy psychologist I talked to in Finland – is a Jew – I think of her as one of the “insurgent group” on this trip), and Myrna (wife and mother from Denver, another of the “insurgents”). A provocative beginning – our instructions are to ride the Metro down three stops from the hotel (in the last car) and get off and wait. We do so and cool our heels for a while, assuming the KGB is watching our every move. Guy comes and sits down on a bench near us and reads a paper as he and we watch a number of trains go by (making us all the more sure he's after us). David goes over and sits down by him and makes conversation, comes back and says “He's fine”. David is great. The most innocent creature imaginable. (Then a train comes up and the guy waves to someone and gets on – evidently David was right) (Shelley is sure there has to be someone from the KGB watching us – she simply won't have it any other way – says that's the way it is in all the spy novels she's read). We laugh and joke and fool around until Walter comes waltzing up, late.

He's in his early 20's, has a big Afro and a big smile. Smart kid with a wonderful sense of humor. Leads us to his apartment. We have to pass the big stadium built for the '80 Olympics and see that it's in the same shape most of the “new” apartments are: façade crumbling, sidewalk unfinished, general disrepair – a sad sight and eloquent testimony to poor workmanship, lousy materials, lack of concern or all three.

Walter's apartment is pre-Revolutionary and is an earlier version of all the others – run down, slummy building, stinking stairway (no elevator at all in this one) and a warm cheery apartment. (There is constant evidence of a kind of national inferiority complex with regard to the living standard here – either a reluctance to have people – Americans – see their homes, or a tendency to apologize for them)

Walter introduces us to his father who is a great looking man (it is his 50th birthday today) with a wonderful physique that gives evidence of his military career, a handsome Russian/European face, a wonderful, strong smile and almost no English.

Walter speaks openly with the evident agreement and support of his father (who later says he would have advanced further in the military had he not been a Jew – tells at one point of having a superior say to him that he would have been better off if he hadn't written a particular letter to someone in Israel – only he had never told anyone about the letter). He detests the system and wants out. Wants to go to either the U.S. or Israel. His cousin had a great deal of trouble getting out (his cousin is in Denver and is known by the folks we came with) and as a result he knows what to do and not do. Says that as a result of his distaste for the system he's sure he's more critical and more aware of the “oppressive” atmosphere, but he feels very much oppressed. Says it's mostly a feeling, a reaction to the style of life here, where people watch you and criticize, “shake their fingers” at you if you behave in a manner thought to be inappropriate. Says if you sit in the subway with your legs crossed a certain way there is criticism, if you have too open a manner, or are acting in a way thought to be not consistent with the ideal, there is criticism. (What's not clear to me is whether this is a Russian trait or this pertains to the Socialist or Communist ideal)

Walter says, among other things, that there is a quota of 4% on Jewish enrollment in the medical school, so he had to choose something else, but “it's difficult to learn what you don't want to learn.” He is now an engineer and works in a rubber plant. Says choosing a college is a serious question because you want to find one that has a military program (evidently like ROTC) which precludes military service, otherwise service is compulsory and it is something that, he says, includes all the worst aspects of the society he hates. (evidently most kids smart enough to go to college strive to avoid the military, which sounds familiar) He says he couldn't apply for a visa to emigrate while in school because the minute you do that they throw you out of school and you're drafted. Since he hates his job and can, by law, only change jobs once a year, he doesn't want to apply now for fear that it will affect the possibility of his getting a better job. A real Catch-22.

Walter says Stalin killed 30 million people, not 10 million as the books say or “a few thousand” as one of our Intourist guides said. Says emigration (Jewish) reached its height during the Breshnev years of Détente, but has changed. Andropov closed the borders, he says, and Chernyenko said the “Process of reunion is over” and claims that no one now wants to emigrate.

He says “Jews are bargaining chips”.

He hopes Gorbachev means an easing of restrictions. Says the 27th Party Congress in February of 1986 may mean a lot about how effective Gorbachev can be. Says to watch for the replacement of Gromyko – indicates if that happens it will mean Gorbachev is really holding all the cards.

Says his mother and father live in the Crimea and would love to emigrate as well, but says his father fears that, at fifty, he wouldn't be able to find work. Says, of leaving his family, that should he be successful, they'll miss him and he them, but they want him to be happy.

After a while we thank them and head out. Leaving Vishnu and the two Judys, Shelley and I and David and Myrna retrace our steps to the Metro and head down for the Medvedkov's.

Yurii is home and welcomes us as before. We talk some more and he gives me pictures of the two girls for the Amnesty International report. He discusses his group with Myrna and David and we give him some of the things (like Boyd's appointment book) that we had intended to give to our “counterparts”. (Dennis had sent along a copy of a book by an Eastern author because he had seen a copy of “Autobiography of a Yogi” in the apartment yesterday.

Then it's off on the Metro to see if we can catch up with the group going to meet Raikin (although we're already late). We get to the Gorky St. Hotel just in time – call B. and she's not available until dinnertime so we tag along.

Raikin is in a home for retired motion picture and theater people which is very impressive – the best building we've seen so far – well-constructed and decorated with care. Raikin is quite old and rather enfeebled (Gerrie said she kept expecting him to keel over). He's really very sweet, but it quickly becomes clear that it's all a hustle – Joseph Goldin is doing his pitch for the Space Bridge, using us to impress Raikin and using Raikin to impress us, while he's trying to get Raikin to get to Gorbachev for him. It's like being back in Hollywood. Bugs the shit out of me to be wasting my time here. Swami Sach, Barbara Hubbard, Ron and Patricia are all called upon to say their particular pieces about how important this thing is. Michael, too. Most are fairly circumspect about it, but Michael and Barbara seem to have bought the whole package. As a matter of fact, Michael seems to get more Russian every day. Finally we leave the poor old man to his rest, but by now there is only time to race back to the hotel and pack before dinner. (Have to vacate the rooms by 7 PM and head for the train station by 8:30)

B. does agree to come to the hotel for dinner as we have to pack and pick up some last minute things at the Berioshke (the hotel's foreign-currency-only-shop). B. shows up and it's wonderful to see her but it's a bittersweet exercise. She has a picture and a letter for D. (with specific instructions to keep them in separate places so that if one is discovered at the border they won't be connected). She and Shel, who have made an intense connection in this short time, have a hard time keeping the tears away. B. is clearly very lonely and though she won't say so directly, clearly longs to be in the U.S. At one point she admits, “I may have missed my chance”. She maintains the droll wit, however, which seems to protect her, and soon has a large contingent of the delegation totally charmed. She seems to be, with her years, her charm, wit, class, her bittersweet view of things, her love of country and yet the inability to express her deepest yearnings, a perfect analogy for this place and its people.

The dinner is chaotic, with toasts, hugs and various expressions of feelings by, about and for each other on the part of the group, some of which is splitting off to go south to Tblisi and the Caucasus for another week.

Withal, we're able to give B. a sense of our appreciation and leave her with a few gifts, both for herself and “her children”. An incredible discovery was made which gives a sense of true magic to the connection Shel and B. have experienced. It turns out that a long-time friend of B.'s in NY is a long-time friend of Shel's aunt Nanette. Nan and B. had met and had taken an instant liking to one another, and here were Shel and B., years later, experiencing the same thing. It was quite something to watch. B. was dumbfounded as Shel explained her connection to Nan (Shel was just as staggered). B. looked at Shel, her eyes full of tears, pulled at the sleeve of her dress and said, “She gave me this dress!” A very emotional time.

Then bags and pictures and time to get on the bus. Shelley was a wreck, as was B. The horror of having to get in that bus and drive away, leaving her there, was/is difficult to express. No system has the right to arbitrarily visit that kind of grief on a human being.

To the train. Shel makes two more calls trying to reach people she was asked to say hello to. Reaches one.

It's the same circus with the bags, and once in the compartment it's all elbows and knees again, but this time there's a difference, a slightly gleeful undertone. We're going home. We again share the compartment and a lot of laughs with our traveling buddies the Weavers.

Much alcohol and hi-jinx are evident as the train pulls us through the long day/night toward Finland. Up late in Patricia and Gary's compartment (which they again share with Diana and Pail Cookbook) telling jokes and stories and being goofy.

Sunday May 26

Again, not much sleep. The beds haven't gotten any longer in the ensuing time. Morning comes and with it the border. With that come the border guards and the searches and the fear of confiscation – will they find the pictures, the names, the numbers? How closely will they check dollar amounts on the two declarations? (You fill out one going in and one going out) How do I now explain the missing $250 I gave to B? I shouldn't have declared it on the way in, right? But who knew? (What if I hadn't and they had counted my money?)

Then comes the last stop on the Soviet side and the requirements that we change rubles back into dollars – (the big black-market sub-economy is a great concern, causing them to be very careful about amounts of cash coming in and out.) – it's a mad dash and a nervous-making wait in line with constant looks over the shoulder to see if the train has left yet.

Back in time and off we go to the border. And in they come. It's amazing how powerless you feel when these stern-faced guys in uniform take your passport away and begin asking questions. But, again, we get off without a second look (must be our honest faces).

As before, some have a fair amount of trouble, are checked thoroughly. One person had notebooks and address books gone through – I'd have sweat bullets it that had happened to me. But it didn't and we're through! With pictures for Amnesty International and letters and everything!

We stop on the Finnish side for passport check and although no-one lets out a whoop of joy (or at least no-one that I heard), I'm sure a number of people feel like doing so. (Presumably they refrain at least in part because the train crew is Russian and they don't want to offend.)

Get off for a stretch and get a game of hacky-sack going. Great fun. No doubt about the fact that it is clearly a lighter, less oppressive feeling over here.

Dennis said it perfectly. As the train pulled away from that brief stop on the Finnish side, Gerrie (the mother hen) expressed a concern about whether everyone got back on OK. Dennis said it was clear to him that if in fact anyone did get left behind at that stop they would be OK and we'd see them in Helsinki. If it happened on the other side, he said, you just don't know if you'd ever see them again.

Arrive in Helsinki and get another bus to the hotel (the Presedenti this time). Eat, shower and talk to a reporter (same one I had seen at Haiko). Then Shel and I take a walk and try to see if we can do any shopping even though it is Sunday. Only things available are some snacks for the plane, but as we walk around we remark at how bright and cheery this place looks as compared to the last time we were here (when we thought it somber).

Because of a quick plane connection we had had to say a fast goodbye to some of the group (the East coast contingent) at the railroad station. Patch was one, and his lady Linda. They became friends we trusted and cared about. His “nasal diplomacy” was bizarre and outrageous and it was always done with a lightness of heart and a clear intention to be positive and joyous. Taught me a lot. (At the last dinner at the hotel a round of toasts were offered. At the end, Barbara M. Hubbard got up and said all sorts of glowing New Agey kinds of things and asked for a minute of silence for a prayer for our successful continuation/completion, or something like that. Made me uncomfortable as hell, but it's hardly the kind of thing I know how to stand up and object to, nor would I see much point in doing so – so, in Hubie's words, I had to “eat them feelings” – until, that is, Patch stood up, on the heels of “moment of silence” and said, in a loud voice “Now lemme hear a big-ass belly laugh!” and everything was fine.) Quite the diplomat.

Finnair to Seattle . Back in the US of A. Shelley had to have a cheeseburger, so we found a restaurant. Waiter came by and smiled and said hello to her. She said, “Do you know how good that feels? That just doesn't happen in the Soviet Union .” How sad.

Western to LA, Whew

page 6 of 6

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