Excerpt
The bus drew up in front of the Hotel Rossiya, which had space for 6,000 guests, Natasha informed them. As they unloaded, she called out, “There are so many rooms you must memorize which door we are entering by—the East Door—or you’ll get lost.”
“Holy cow, look at this lobby,” David said. “You could set the entire town of Plainville, Saskatchewan, in the centre and you’d still have room for a square dance.”
Jennifer noticed Maria, her white dress now wrinkled from travelling, leaning back, hands on her hips, her mouth hanging open as she took in the enormity of the crystal chandelier that loomed over them. She looks how I feel.
At the desk they were handed their room keys in return for giving up their passports and having their names recorded on a folded card. “Take the card up to your dezhurnaya—there’s one on every floor—and she’ll help you,” Natasha called out.
“To our what?” asked Maria.
David was heaving his giant suitcase toward the elevator despite admonitions from Natasha that the baggage would be taken care of. “Your dezhurnaya,” he replied. “She’s a kind of floor clerk, a concierge or pit bull, depending on how you look at it.” He enjoyed Maria’s look of horror.
Just outside the elevator on Jennifer’s floor an elderly woman, the dreaded dezhurnaya, sat knitting. She demanded to see the card issued moments earlier, grunted her satisfaction and resumed her task. After Jennifer found her room with its adequate single bed and adjoining bathroom, she pulled out her notebook. She had considered recording her first impressions of the Soviet Union in an article for the university’s newspaper. Now, with pencil poised, all she could think of to write was: “Nice room, stale smell. Maybe cabbage. Radio permanently on.”
She paused to fiddle with the knob but she could effect no change in volume. Judging by the announcer’s monotone, he appeared to be reading from the telephone directory. Perhaps he’s there to put us to sleep. “Buildings huge, sidewalks huge, hotel huge.” Hmmm, she would have to find another word for huge. “People grim.” She hadn’t met many yet, but the porter who had nearly run over her, their officious tour guide, and the cheerless dezhurnaya had certainly been grim. Hemingway could rest easy; the article did not show promise. She decided to search for Professor Chopyk’s room instead so they could finish drafting their schedule of lessons and sightseeing for the next five days.
Libros Libertad 