Excerpt
The Aeroflot plane thumped ominously as it cut through an angry dark sky then levelled out into a bank of ragged grey mist. From her window seat Jennifer White felt a thrill as she watched a distant lightning bolt crackle between two high, purple storm clouds. She glanced at the tour group around her, squirming uneasily in their seats. Fifteen Russian language students from Canada—17 counting herself and Professor Chopyk—sandwiched in rows seven through ten. She smiled when she observed that Chopyk was wedged in beside a garlic-breathing Armenian tourist. Anything that caused discomfort to her fussy, aging professor gave her a moment of pleasure. On his other side sat a student, Lona Rabinovitch, who remained unruffled by the turbulence and continued to page through a glossy magazine, using one elegantly manicured fingernail.
The seatbelt lights flashed on and the stewardesses became grim.
“Now there’s a pair of healthy-looking women,” David Joiner, another student, had remarked when the group had changed planes in Montreal. Two stocky women with ample chests and wide hips, plumped up by years of perogies and sour cream, they were dressed in utilitarian navy blue serge uniforms.
When Maria Shevchenko had asked for a pillow, one of the Amazons had snapped in reply, “If there are no pillows above you, then there are no more pillows. Where do you think I would find more pillows?”
Maria had apologized in her quiet voice, while the others snickered. Poor Maria, she’s such a gentle soul, thought Jennifer. Maria was an English major with a family interest in Slavic languages. She had spent her last few hours before leaving Vancouver visiting her Ukrainian grandmother in hospital. This loving ritual had no doubt scored her points at home but had not endeared her to Professor Chopyk or to Jennifer, who had waited at the gate anxiously for the young woman’s last minute arrival. Two more minutes and they would have left without her.
Another lightning bolt flashed, closer this time. With a slight shudder, Jennifer turned her head away from the storm clouds. Paul Mercier, in the next seat, touched her arm reassuringly and smiled his slow, lazy smile. “We’ll make it, Jen. We’d better. I’ve waited 15 years to see this country.”
She nodded.
Libros Libertad 