Moscow Cockroaches
“To UFOs.”
“I have some vodka in my room.” Akwasi’s face is beautiful with that big smile. “I love Russian vodka. Let’s go get it. I should’ve brought it with me in the first place. How silly of me. But now I can offer you a tour of my room.” He laughs whole-heartedly. “Come on, come on. You guys must be hungry. We’ll grab some bread and salami.” His accent in Russian is minimal.
His dwelling is packed, wall to wall, with expensive furniture and sophisticated stereo equipment the likes of which we can only dream of. Rows of books line the shelves of several elegant bookcases. I’m impressed—envious. Why is it that we, citizens of what’s supposed to be the most advanced country in the world, barely get by, while visitors from the ostensibly troubled African continent enjoy such comfort?
The room is the same size as ours but features only one bed, carefully made. Many compelling tools and gadgets lie about, too numerous to take in at once. Books. A stack of cassette tapes by the stereo, a row of LPs. Even the pens and pencils on the desk are not from around here, their shapes interesting and strange. In the dim light, I can’t tell what function every item performs—nor do I want to act as if I’m in a museum.
Akwasi must have his own army of cockroaches. I don’t ask. We return with a tall Stolichnaya, a prettier export-only bottle with a label in English. It’s going to be a good evening. Akwasi brings a loaf of bread and a variety of cold cuts. Nikolaj fetches a cut of bologna.
“Why did you decide to come to the USSR?” I ask Akwasi.
“Colleges are very good here.”
“What do you study?”
“Math.” He smiles his great smile.
“Me, too.” I say. “At Leningrad State. And you, Nikolaj? What’s your major?”
“Biology.”
“Let’s drink to math,” Sergey says. “Let’s drink to biology.”
We toast, compare our plans. We are drunk and sleepy by the time we resolve to go to bed. It’s almost 3 a.m.
“Make sure you check your bags in the morning,” Nikolaj laughs. “These guys!” He points at a cockroach making its way along the wall next to us. “They love to pack themselves along.”
“Thank you. It would have never occurred to me.”
We exchange names, phone numbers, best wishes. I will never see these two again, and that’s okay. This meeting has enhanced my life. Soon, it’s Sergey, Dmitry, and I again. We turn off the light. This way, we can talk and fall asleep without having to observe the cockroaches going about their business. I hope none of them falls on me.
Two summers from now, the three of us will stay at the dorms again, back in Moscow to apply for our US visas. Another life will be just around the corner then, but, at the moment, I can’t even imagine it.
One day, the cockroaches will become a nostalgic memory.
I propel myself through time to be there.