foreign blood. “I could be Jewish like you,” she once said to me. “You never know. There were all kinds of people in Uzbekistan during the war. The first time I met your mother and looked into her eyes, I felt something special. Like we belonged together.” My mother believed much the same thing.
We walked hand in hand, like we were young again, along the path into the little local zoo. “It’s hard for me,” Anna said. “I could tell your mother anything.”
“You can tell me anything, too,” I said.
“No, you’re a man. It’s different. Yeah, I can tell you. But listening. You don’t hear what your mother heard.”
“Yeah, it’s true.” I looked at the scene in front of us, a strange mix of African savanna and crusty snow. “We’re kind of like these monkeys. It’s fucking cold. It’s fucking sad.”
“I would come to this zoo a lot when I first came here,” Anna said. “Maybe because of what your mother told me when I first met her. In Russia, I was like a cat in a cage.”
“She was never too subtle about Russia, was she? She’d come here, too, especially in winter. Watch the bears.”
“It’s funny, the bears,” Anna said. “We spent so many years killing them all off and now we save a few just to lord over them. It’s a sick affair when you think about it.”
We made our way over to the bear display. I waved my hand to them in a mock show of kinship. “At least these aren’t freezing like the African charismatic megafauna,” I said. “Sure, they are behind a wall. They don’t get enough exercise. But they get all the food they need. Pampered, with servants, really. This is kind of like a resort for them. Probably they get on the scale at night and worry about their weight.”
“You don’t know anything about it, Sasha. You never were caged in your life. Don’t be silly. But your mother did like bears, it’s true. It’s a Russian thing, I guess. I like them, too. Another thing you couldn’t possibly understand.”
“My passport says I fully understand. Plus, I’m good at clichés.”
“It’s cliché because it’s true. Maybe you do understand. Your accent is shit, though. Even in Uzbekistan they probably still speak Russian better than you.”
“Yeah, probably. Look at that one over there.”
“The light brown one? With the missing fur?”
“Yeah, that one. Mangy or something. That was Mother’s favorite. We’d come here before her chemotherapy sessions. She’d stand and watch him carefully. I swear he’d watch her back.”
“He’s watching you now.”
“Maybe he’s watching both of us,” I said. “I’m sorry to inform you, dear bear, but your number one fan will not be coming to see you again.”
“Now you’re talking to a bear instead of me?”
“He’s a Kodiak. Probably in the old days, the Russians up there in Alaska, they talked to his ancestors. I’m continuing a proud tradition.”
“If you had children, you wouldn’t be talking to bears. You’d be with someone fresh and young, someone with a little of your mother inside. A new generation.”
“I have a child.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like you even know him or her.”
“Anna, you know you’re making me feel bad, right?”
“I’m not trying to do that. I’m trying to talk sense to you when your guard is down. You still have time. You’re still young. People live forever nowadays. Find yourself someone already. It’s well past ridiculous.”
“What is ridiculous?”
“I’ve been married three times. I have both two children and two grandchildren.”
“And a third grandchild will come sometime this month, although I shouldn’t congratulate you before it happens.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“Is this some sort of race?”
“No, it’s not a race. But I lived. I didn’t stop. I had my work, sure. But I tell you, even today at my age, I know that I am still capable of falling in love completely, openly. You are, too.”
“Now you’re talking
We walked hand in hand, like we were young again, along the path into the little local zoo. “It’s hard for me,” Anna said. “I could tell your mother anything.”
“You can tell me anything, too,” I said.
“No, you’re a man. It’s different. Yeah, I can tell you. But listening. You don’t hear what your mother heard.”
“Yeah, it’s true.” I looked at the scene in front of us, a strange mix of African savanna and crusty snow. “We’re kind of like these monkeys. It’s fucking cold. It’s fucking sad.”
“I would come to this zoo a lot when I first came here,” Anna said. “Maybe because of what your mother told me when I first met her. In Russia, I was like a cat in a cage.”
“She was never too subtle about Russia, was she? She’d come here, too, especially in winter. Watch the bears.”
“It’s funny, the bears,” Anna said. “We spent so many years killing them all off and now we save a few just to lord over them. It’s a sick affair when you think about it.”
We made our way over to the bear display. I waved my hand to them in a mock show of kinship. “At least these aren’t freezing like the African charismatic megafauna,” I said. “Sure, they are behind a wall. They don’t get enough exercise. But they get all the food they need. Pampered, with servants, really. This is kind of like a resort for them. Probably they get on the scale at night and worry about their weight.”
“You don’t know anything about it, Sasha. You never were caged in your life. Don’t be silly. But your mother did like bears, it’s true. It’s a Russian thing, I guess. I like them, too. Another thing you couldn’t possibly understand.”
“My passport says I fully understand. Plus, I’m good at clichés.”
“It’s cliché because it’s true. Maybe you do understand. Your accent is shit, though. Even in Uzbekistan they probably still speak Russian better than you.”
“Yeah, probably. Look at that one over there.”
“The light brown one? With the missing fur?”
“Yeah, that one. Mangy or something. That was Mother’s favorite. We’d come here before her chemotherapy sessions. She’d stand and watch him carefully. I swear he’d watch her back.”
“He’s watching you now.”
“Maybe he’s watching both of us,” I said. “I’m sorry to inform you, dear bear, but your number one fan will not be coming to see you again.”
“Now you’re talking to a bear instead of me?”
“He’s a Kodiak. Probably in the old days, the Russians up there in Alaska, they talked to his ancestors. I’m continuing a proud tradition.”
“If you had children, you wouldn’t be talking to bears. You’d be with someone fresh and young, someone with a little of your mother inside. A new generation.”
“I have a child.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like you even know him or her.”
“Anna, you know you’re making me feel bad, right?”
“I’m not trying to do that. I’m trying to talk sense to you when your guard is down. You still have time. You’re still young. People live forever nowadays. Find yourself someone already. It’s well past ridiculous.”
“What is ridiculous?”
“I’ve been married three times. I have both two children and two grandchildren.”
“And a third grandchild will come sometime this month, although I shouldn’t congratulate you before it happens.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“Is this some sort of race?”
“No, it’s not a race. But I lived. I didn’t stop. I had my work, sure. But I tell you, even today at my age, I know that I am still capable of falling in love completely, openly. You are, too.”
“Now you’re talking
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