Chapter 4: Diplomatic Relations, Part III

August 1981, Chicago, Illinois

“Mr. Stephen Mark Adams of Chicago and Miss Tatyana Ivanovna Voronina of Leningrad.”

We stepped through the door and I saw a line of people. Tanya leaned close and whispered, “Receiving line.”

We stepped forward, and we were greeted in turn by about a dozen people, including Tanya’s parents and an Assistant US Secretary of State. I didn’t remember a single name that was given, neither Russian nor American, except for Tanya’s parents and the managing director of the new business, Viktor Bykov, whose name I remembered because Tanya’s mother had mentioned it the other day.

A smartly dressed young man met us at the end of the line and walked us to a table at the front of the room. From the name tags, it was clear that we were at the main table. I saw tags for Tanya’s parents, the American guy from the State Department, and Viktor Bykov, along with women that probably were in the receiving line but whose names I hadn’t remembered.

“Good, so far, Stepa. Come, let us get drink and go meet other people our age.”

We walked over to a bar and we each got a glass of white wine. I was amazed that we were being served despite Illinois having a drinking age of 21.

“Tanya, why are they letting underage people drink?”

“Is official event. Rules are different.”

That was interesting. Given the way the US worked, the federal government couldn’t override state laws on serving liquor to minors as far as I was aware, but nobody was saying anything, so I simply let it go. I escorted Tanya, her arm looped in mine, to an area she had indicated where three other young couples were. She introduced me to them. Two were sons of members of the Russian trade delegation and one was the daughter of the deputy Russian Ambassador who was expected to arrive later. All their dates were Russians as well.

Everyone in the group seemed to be either our age or perhaps a bit older, and all of them spoke good English. I was glad because my Russian was limited to about five words. I might have to do what Tanya said and take a class in Russian, not so that I was ready for a Russian takeover, but so that I wasn’t «некультурный». I already spoke fluent Swedish and my Spanish wasn’t too bad. Adding even a bit of Russian would be cool.

We talked with the other young people for about fifteen minutes. Tanya held my arm the entire time, and I noticed that was true of the other young women as well. When I looked around the room, whenever couples were together, they stood as we were standing. Some obvious signal that I had missed must have been given because all of a sudden everyone moved towards their seats. Tanya nudged me and I walked her to our seats, pulled out her chair for her, then sat down.

“You are «культурный», Stepa!” she smiled.

It sounded like ‘kulturny’ so I guessed that was the opposite of «некультурный», and thus, cultured or polite.

“I do know a few things, Tatyana Ivanovna!”

“We shall see. Is long night ahead and there will be many chances to act like monkey.”

I chuckled, “I’ll do my best not to embarrass you, Tanya.”

“Is OK. People understand it is your first time. But I wish to show off!” she smiled.

Tanya was an intriguing young woman. She was only seventeen, but to me she seemed much older. I assumed it was a combination of conservative Russian culture and the situations she’d found herself in as the child of a diplomat for her entire life. When her father and mother arrived at the table, along with the other adults, I quickly stood up and saw Tanya nod her head in approval. I wracked my brain for proper formal behavior, but it was only vague ideas picked up here and there. My friends and I were very informal, as were all of our families, but I did know about standing when someone of a certain social rank, or a lady, came into the room.

Tanya was seated to my left and to my right was Viktor Bykov’s wife. I was careful to keep my conversation formal and polite and addressed her as Madame Bykov. To Tanya’s left was an American man from the receiving line whose name I could not remember, and I was unable to see his place card. As we went through the courses of the meal, the conversation ranged to every conceivable topic, with the exception of Soviet-American relations.

What I found interesting was, despite all the rhetoric and all the propaganda, every single Russian I had met so far, including Major Anisimova, was extremely nice, polite and friendly. I quickly scanned the room and finally found her, having missed her twice because she was wearing a military dress uniform rather than slacks and a windbreaker. She was sitting with another officer, a man, who was dressed similarly. I also noticed quite a few plainclothes security officers around the edges of the room, but without badges, I couldn’t tell if they were from the FBI, the State Department, Chicago Police Department, or some other unknown group.

When dessert was served, an Under Secretary of State made a short speech introducing Tanya’s father. He gave a short speech, about five minutes long, and then turned the podium over to Viktor Bykov who spoke about what he called a glorious agreement to set up the Belarus Tractor business outside of Milwaukee, and his hope that this would further peaceful relationships between our two great countries.

The tone of the speech had me looking for one of those bags that airplanes had in their seat pockets. I was a very direct, very blunt person who didn’t beat around the bush. Mr. Bykov’s speech was so flowery, it was like an entire botanical garden! He could have said everything in about two minutes, but it took more than twenty. I simply smiled, ate my dessert and drank my coffee while he droned on. I joked to myself that if I had to listen to speeches like this, I might change my mind about escorting Tanya to future events!

When Mr. Bykov finished, there was thunderous applause. I applauded because he was finished, not because I was particularly thrilled with anything he said, because it basically boiled down to the Soviet Union opening a distribution center near Milwaukee so they could sell tractors made in Russia to farmers in the Midwest. Granted, that was a good thing, but hardly worthy of the kind of applause he was receiving. I wondered if Tanya would call my thoughts «некультурный». I suspected she might, because this was the kind of thing she’d been exposed to for her entire life.

A few minutes later, the members of a string quartet walked in and, after checking their instruments, began playing. Tanya leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“We must wait until father and mother dance before we can leave table. Otherwise is «некультурный».”

I nodded, and we waited, drinking coffee. It was about ten minutes later when Mr. and Mrs. Voronin got up to dance and Tanya tapped my arm. I stood up, helped her with her chair, took her arm, and walked to the dance floor where I was sure I would make a fool of myself or ruin her shoes by stepping on her toes! I took the proper position and placed my hands as Tanya had shown and took the first step.

“Good! You remember. Do just what I taught you,” she said with a smile.

I managed not to make a complete fool of myself, though I did miss a few steps here and there. Each time Tanya patiently explained what I should have done, and we completed our first dance without me once stepping on her toes! We went back to sit down and have a glass of water and when Tanya was ready, I took her out to the dance floor and once again managed not to look like an uncultured monkey.

The rest of the evening was spent dancing, talking with her friends, or sitting at the table drinking water or coffee. I enjoyed myself despite the overly formal nature of the gathering. For me, a party was everyone kicking back and relaxing. This was anything but relaxing! I’d be more stressed when the reception was done than when it had started, mostly because I was constantly thinking about what I should do and how I should act. When the ordeal ended, we said good night to Tanya’s friends as well as the others at our table and I took her on my arm and we went back to her room.

“You may change in bathroom. Just put on comfortable clothes. I will change here. Please ask before you come out, so I am properly dressed.”

I took my bag and went into the bathroom. I took the garment bag out of my overnight bag and hung it on the back of the door. I carefully removed the rented clothes and hung them neatly in the garment bag, then put on my black sweat pants and sweat shirt, my tube socks and sneakers. I opened the door a crack and asked if it was OK to come out. Tanya said ‘not quite’, though a minute later she said ‘OK’.

I walked out, and she was wearing what looked like loose fitting silk pyjamas, a loose-fitting blouse and soft shoes that reminded me of ballet slippers. She looked quite cute and very informal compared to just ten minutes before.

“We have ten minutes before we go to parents’ room, Stepa. Come, sit,” she said.

We sat on the couch and she sat close. I put my arm around her and she snuggled close to me.

“You did well for American boy!” she giggled.

“You think Americans are uncultured?” I asked.

“Yes. Too informal in public. «некультурный».”

“That is how things are here. I think you’ll find it’s even worse than you thought if you end up at Harvard. College students in the US are about as informal as anyone in the world, I suspect. We got rid of our Aristocracy 150 years before you did, so perhaps that’s part of why.”

“Perhaps, but Russians have always been conservative. Is very much so in public, and even in private. I was so with you until today, no?”

“You were. I prefer informal. The reception was a bit uncomfortable for me. It was too stuffy.”

“Stuffy?”

“It means overly formal. Everyone pretends to be very polite and acts strange.”

“Well, is not act for Russians. We do not talk like Americans. Here I see people are too free with things, especially how they dress and talk about things.”

“Things?”

“Men and women. Sex.”

I chuckled, “Yes. We use sex to sell everything from toothpaste to cars and people do dress in ways that show a lot of skin.”

“Is «некультурный». At least in public. You do not see kissing in public like here. Or people walking in street with bodies hanging out of clothes.”

Or maybe they really hadn’t gotten rid of their aristocrats. Tanya sounded like a member of a highly privileged class that might have had some other name, but was still aristocratic. The dress at the reception, the music, and the behavior had trappings of what I understood of British aristocracy. I had to tread carefully, though, because I didn’t want to offend her.

“Tanya, everyone tonight dressed and acted just like British aristocrats. And the things you are saying sound like complaints from the upper class about the lower class.”

“Perhaps is true, but everyone in Russia behave same way except criminals,” she said with a frown.

It hadn’t been my intent, but I did seem to have managed to offend her. I decided to simply drop it and let it go. It was a conversation for another time.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. Forget I said anything. This is all very new to me. I was «некультурный» to say it.”

She smiled. “Is time to see parents.”

We got up and went next door. She knocked and her mother opened the door and invited us in. Anna Voronin was dressed similar to her daughter and Minister Voronin had on a track suit. They both looked much more comfortable.

“Good evening, Stephen Rayevich,” Mr. Voronin said.

“Good evening, Ivan Konstantinovich,” I said.

He smiled and kissed me Russian style. It took every bit of willpower to not flinch. I hadn’t even kissed my dad since I was eight or so.

“This is my wife, Anna, and of course, you know Tanya,” he said. “Please, sit at the table. The food will be here shortly.”

His English was exquisite, though I detected a slight British accent. That didn’t really surprise me because most of my Swedish friends spoke British English rather than American. We all sat down, with Tanya to my right and Anna to my left. Mr. Voronin poured vodka into a glass and handed it to me.

“«За здоровье!»” he said.

One of the few Russian words I happened to know.

“To your health!” I answered.

He drank his glass down and I followed suit. It burned on the way down, but I managed not to choke on it. He took a pickle from the plate in front of him and ate it immediately, and I followed suit. A smile from Tanya showed that I had managed to get it right.

“Well, for an American, I am impressed,” Anna said. “How did you know to do this?”

“I watched your husband and simply did exactly as he did. I do not wish to appear «некультурный»!”

Tanya’s father nodded his head and smiled, “We will make a good Russian out of you if you allow it!”

I’d just recently managed to become a semi-mature adult with Swedish sensibilities. Now I was supposed to be a Russian! Of course, there was nothing wrong with knowing multiple cultures.

“Thank you, Sir,” I answered.

There was a knock at the door and Mr. Voronin went to answer it. A waiter brought in a table, accompanied by the male agent I’d seen with Major Anisimova, though he was wearing a suit rather than his military dress uniform. Plates of fruit, cheese, and black bread were set before each of us, along with a dish of butter.

“Stephen Rayevich, you are able to take the metro home, according to my daughter. How late does it run?” Mr. Voronin asked.

“Yes, I can do that, Ivan Konstantinovich, but I don’t know how late it runs. I’m new to Chicago. I can always take a taxi, if you are asking because you wish to drink with me.”

“Yes, that is why I’m asking!”

He poured another glass, and we drank as before, eating a pickle afterwards. I wondered what the significance of that was. Another thing to research. I did need to be careful because I didn’t want to get drunk. I hoped Tanya’s dad was OK with that. I’d already had enough that I knew I’d be a bit tipsy in short order.