Heads You Win

“Leningrad, in the Soviet Union.”

The officer filled in a couple of boxes before he continued. “Are you this lady’s husband?” he asked Dimitri.

“No, sir. Mrs. Karpenko is my cousin, and her son, Alex, is my nephew.”

Elena obeyed Dimitri’s instructions and said nothing, because she wasn’t willing to lie.

“So where is your husband?” asked the officer, his pen poised.

“He was—” began Dimitri.

“The question was addressed to Mrs. Karpenko, not you,” the officer said equally firmly.

“The KGB killed my husband,” said Elena, unable to hold back the tears.

“Why?” demanded the officer. “Was he a criminal?”

“No!” said Elena, raising her head in defiance. “Konstantin was a good man. He was the works supervisor at the Leningrad docks, and they killed him when he tried to set up a trade union.”

“They kill you for that in the Soviet Union?” said the officer in disbelief.

“Yes,” said Elena, bowing her head once again.

“How did you and your son manage to escape?”

“My brother, who also worked on the docks, helped smuggle us onto a ship bound for America.”

“With the help of your cousin, no doubt,” said the officer, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” said Dimitri. “Her brother, Kolya, is a brave man, and with God’s help we will get him out as well, because he hates the communists every bit as much as we do.”

The mention of God’s help and hatred of the communists brought a smile to the officer’s face. He filled in several more boxes.

“Are you willing to act as a sponsor for Mrs. Karpenko and her son?” the officer asked Dimitri.

“Yes, sir,” responded Dimitri without hesitation. “They will live at my home in Brighton Beach, and as Elena is an excellent cook it shouldn’t be too difficult for her to find a job.”

“And the boy?”

“I want him to continue his education,” said Elena.

“Good,” said the officer, who finally turned his attention to Alex. “What is your name?”

“Alexander Konstantinovitch Karpenko,” he announced proudly.

“And have you been working hard at school?”

“Yes, sir, I was top of the class.”

“Then you will be able to tell me the name of the President of the United States.”

Elena and Dimitri looked anxious. “Lyndon B. Johnson,” said Alex without hesitation. How could he forget the name of the man Vladimir had described as the Soviet Union’s greatest enemy, which only made Alex assume he must be a good man?

The officer nodded, filled in the final box, and added his signature to the bottom of the form. He looked up, smiled at the boy, and said, “I have a feeling, Alex, you’ll do well in America.”

8

SASHA

En route to London

Sasha was sitting in the corner of the railway carriage when the 3:35 shunted out of Southampton station on its way to London. He stared out of the window but didn’t speak, because his mind was far away in his homeland. He was beginning to wonder if they’d made a terrible mistake.

He hadn’t said a word since they’d climbed on board, while Elena didn’t stop chatting to Mr. Moretti about his restaurant as the train rattled through the countryside toward the capital.

Sasha couldn’t be sure how much time had passed before they eventually began to slow down and the train pulled into a station called Waterloo. Sasha immediately thought of Wellington, and wondered if there was a Trafalgar station. When they came to a halt, Sasha took Mr. Moretti’s bags off the rack, and followed his mother onto the platform.

The first thing Sasha noticed was how many men were wearing hats: flat caps, homburgs, and bowlers, which his teacher back home had claimed simply reminded everyone of their position in society. He was also struck by how many women were strolling along the platform unaccompanied. Only loose women were unaccompanied in Leningrad, he’d once heard his mother say. He’d had to later ask his father what a loose woman was.

Mr. Moretti handed over three tickets at the barrier, before leading his charges out of the station where they joined the back of a long queue. Something else the British were renowned for. Sasha’s mouth opened wide when he caught sight of his first red double-decker bus. He ran up the spiral stairs to the top deck, and took a seat at the front before Mr. Moretti could stop him. He was captivated by the panoramic view that stretched as far as the eye could see. So many cars of different shapes, sizes, and colors that stopped whenever a traffic light turned red. There weren’t many traffic lights in Leningrad, but then there weren’t many cars.