Lena Ilchuk's essay on VALENTINA

When I met her [Valentina ] she was 83 and I was 43. She could easily have been my grandmother, but became my friend. Remarkably clear of mind, a fine memory, a great sense of humor. She was very talented: a good seamstress and cook, [an amateur but passionate] painter, was a good storyteller. 

   The daughter of a landowner from Odessa [Imperial Russia], Valentina Demianovna [her patronymic] came to the USA in 1949 from Odessa, having passed through emigre camps in Germany. Her husband worked as an engineer in the [Odessa] water processing plant when the war [WWII] began. Before the Red Army retreated, they ordered him to blow up the waterworks before the occupying German army enters the city.  He did not fulfill the order. He could not bring himself to leave the city without water, understanding that that would bring illness and an epidemic state to the population.  What fault is it of the people that they have such a cruel regime, which ,wishing to harm the enemy, was willing to bring disaster to its own people? Odessa was occuplied by Rumanians [acting as Germany emissaries]. Under Rumanian occupation, [Valentina’s ] husband worked as the chief engineer of the waterworks in Odessa. And when [in March 1944] the Soviets returned and were approaching Odessa, he took his wife and little daughter and evacuated with the Rumanians through Bessarabia into Germany. He understood that the Soviets would not forgive him the failure to complete their order and would consider him as a traitor for cooperating with occupying forces. He was saving his life as well as that of his wife and child. Their [elderly] parents remained behind and that was a source of pain for him and his wife throughout their life as immigrants. They lived almost 5 years [1944-1949] among emigre camps in Germany Valentina remembered with horror.  They managed to survive thanks to the gifted hands of her husband, who would from time to time earn a few potatoes or an onion from the Germans for his work [as a watch repairman and mechanical engineer]. She was 36 years old when they finally arrived in New York City in 1949. 

   Then new ordeals began. At the [textile] factory where she was given work to bleach wool in vats filled with acid, she fainted after two days of this employment. She never returned. She began knocking on doors of stores where women’s clothing was altered. After several weeks of fruitless efforts, she got lucky. She was hired in an expensive lady’s clothing store. The pay was minimal, the hours were long, but this was the beginning of a normal working wage and the work was clean. 

   She remembered her carefree childhood with her governess and other tutors. [Valentina’s governess spoke German to her; and her sister Dusia’s governess spoke French to the girl]. She recalled the more relaxed times she had with her husband during the Rumanian occupation in Odessa. [1941-1944:  Free enterprise flourished during the Rumanian occupation] Valentina learned to paint silk scarves [using the batik technique] and [her mother-in-law could not get the scarves fast enough] to sell them in the open market and this brought in good money! This success gave Valentina an opportunity to dress well, have a good hairdo and be well turned out. She was a red-headed beauty, smart and loved life. She told me: “Lenochka, in my youth I was a sharp dresser and many men in uniform followed me about.” 

   And now this minimal salary, poverty and hurtful feeling for her husband, who could not sell his talents and also worked for a minimal wage. At this time corduroy velvet was very fashionable. Her husband invented a robotic stand which produced needles used in the manufacture of corduroy [textile industry required a lot of needles; a wire was fed from one end of the stand, bent and soldered the wire, forming a needle which dropped out of the other end of the device, producing dozens of needles each minute]. The owner of the factory was on the ball; he patented the invention which eventually made him a fortune; meanwhile Valentina’s husband received minimum compensation for his invention. 

   They lived in a small second-floor walk-up apartment. Disputes between husband and wife mushroomed, mutual accusations, witnessed by their little girl Elena. As soon as Elena grew up and married, Valentina moved out and got a divorce. 

   Only in 1972 Valentina finally found prestigious work as a teacher of Russian [to the military] in Washington, D.C. After a short time, she was invited to a similar position teaching Russian in the Monterey Presidio [in California, where there was a foreign language facility for the armed forces in the US. Here she worked for 8 years and earned herself a retirement pension.] This was a good time in Valentina’s professional life. Students adored her.  She often organized Russian-style gatherings at her home; she treated her students to Russian meat pies [pierogi] and tea. Among her students were enlisted men, as well as officers and generals. They often sent her flowers, greetings and remembered her on special occasions throughout the year. [Valentina retired to upstate New York in 1981, where her daughter’s family moved and remained there till 1993]

   Valentina’s daughter found work in Sacramento, CA . [in 1993] and invited her mother to join her there. In Sacramento Valentina lived in an two-room apartment in a retirement community, surrounded by her own paintings which she began to paint upon retiring from active work. Her paintings were largely of flower arrangements ; they were painted in bright, cheerful colors which [apparently] reflected her inner life.  Some of her paintings are now hanging on the walls of my home; looking at them brings me joy. That is how I met Valentina for the first time: her paintings, photographs, books and she herself, cheerfully and intelligently smiling at me.  She also had a nearly antique Singer sewing machine, which she used to hem some of my skirts. At a later time she allowed me to sew on this machine myself. She no longer drove a car herself  and was always happy to accept my invitation  to go out for ice cream or sometimes for lunch. At that time I had recently arrived in the US, could not allow myself anything extra and these small moments of happiness were very dear for both of us.  She was glad to go out of her home and I was fascinated to go out [with Valentina] to the little restaurants in our area. She had no girlfriends. In the retirement community where she lived they often had organized entertainment, card games and Bingo. There was much entertainment to be had. She never participated , even though she struggled with loneliness. When I asked her, why she does not participate in the programs available, she answered: “Not interested in joining the crowd of old ladies.” In her heart she was 20 and that is why her company was interesting for me. She read a lot, mostly biographies. Sometimes she would share what she had read with me. At that time I had difficulty grasping the straightforward language of authors like Danielle Steel, who was recommended to me [by others] for polishing my English. 

   Valentina’s Odessa humor brought me delight. Once she and I stepped out of an ice cream cafe parlor , she stopped and said: “Lenochka, wait a minute, my  “stocking dropped “ [“чулка впала” this is idiomatic Russian, jargon hard to translate] and began pulling her knee high stocking up  [in the middle of the parking lot]. When this is said by someone in today’s [Soviet] Russian, it is not funny; but when this is said by a barynia [landowner] from the last century, remembering her governesses and calls the toilet an “ubornaya” [“уборная” another idiomatic term, basically a “dressing room” ] this recollection comes to me with laughter and delight. 

   Her health was then good and once Valentina startled me. She and I were invited to visit mutual friends, recent immigrants, who purchased a home and organized a house-warming.  The little house was old, the heating system was not yet working; outdoors, even though this is California, it was still wintertime. The interior of the house was horribly cold.  How the new owners lived there is beyond me. Only people with our [Soviet] experience, can tolerate such conditions and even invite guests into this cold environment. We were sitting and talking; once in a while Valentina poked me in the side, reminding me she is ready for another drink “для сугреву” [for warmth] . And so she “gulped down” 6 shot glasses of Vodka, and this at 86 years of age! And “sober as a judge” [ “ни в одном глазу”] . Her speech was coordinated, only a little more cheerful.  We did not catch cold, even after such a visit; apparently we used the correct preventive tactic. 

   Valentina died at 93 years of age. She suffered from arthritis; her illness spoiled her personality; at the end she did not rise from her bed. At that time I saw here not so often. In my memory she remains cheerful, good-humored, happy to see me, treating me to all kinds of sweets with tea. She was a person from the previous century, from the previous life, about which I read only in books. If not the immigration, I would never have had a chance to meet such a person; I call such people “walking history” and she was very interesting to me. 

   Valentina’s funeral was in the Holy Trinity Monastery in the village of Jordanville, New York.  I was not present at the burial and cannot lay flowers at her resting place. What is the purpose of going to the gravesite of a person who is gone? They are alive while memories of them still live in our mind. 

Lena Ilchuk, Sacramento, CA      May, 2011