Chapter 59: End of the Line

March 15, 1983, McKinley, Ohio

"I'm Clarissa Saunders, and this is Mike Loucks! We're Sophomores, and we'll be your guides for your campus tour, and we'll do our best to answer any questions you have."

I surveyed the prospective Freshmen and wondered if I'd looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck when I'd been on my first campus visit. I probably had, and several of the High School Seniors in our group certainly looked that way, especially one guy who was about an inch taller than I was, had black hair, dark brown eyes, and wore glasses. His skin tone suggested he might be Hispanic, but I wasn't sure. What I was sure of was that he looked about as nervous as the proverbial cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

"Hi," I said, walking over to him and extending my hand. "Mike."

"Jorge González," he said, taking my hand and shaking.

"Where are you from?"

"Puerto Rico."

"Puerto Rico? And you're interested in coming to a smallish State school in southern Ohio?"

"I'm visiting six schools on this trip, in Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois."

"What are you going to major in?"

"Electrical engineering. How is the program here?"

"I'm probably the last guy you want answering that question! Clarissa and I are both biochemistry majors with plans to go to medical school. Most of my friends are either in biology or biochemistry, though I do have one close friend who is a computer science major, and my roommate is an economics major."

"Well, how are the professors?"

"Mostly good," I said. "There are a few bad ones, but everyone knows who they are, so they're pretty easy to avoid unless you need a course only they teach. Fortunately, I haven't found myself in that position."

"Where are you from?"

"West Monroe. A little town about forty-five minutes west of here. It might not be the middle of nowhere, but you could probably see the middle of nowhere from my house! McKinley is only slightly better!"

"This is the kind of place I think my mom would want me to go."

"Is it up to her?"

"If you ask her? Yes. She came with me. Thank God these tours are only for students, and the parents have a separate tour!"

"They wanted you to be able to talk to us."

"Mike?" Clarissa called out.

"Sorry, duty calls! It was nice to meet you!"

"You, too."

We shook hands again, and I joined Clarissa at the front of the pack. We were at the dorms, so she was going to take the girls, and I was going to take the guys. Her group would tour the dorm that was 'girls only', then meet us on the 8th floor of the Rickenbacker dorm where we lived.

"Is that your girlfriend?" a stocky guy about my height asked.

I shook my head, "My best friend, but not my girlfriend."

"She has that whole 'nerdy chick' thing down pat. She's cute."

"And spoken for," I said.

"Bummer."

"You have a girl for a best friend?" Jorge asked.

I nodded, "Yep. She and I hope to go to medical school together, then work in the same hospital."

"What's the action like in these dorms?" a 6'4" tall, good-looking, 'quarterback' type asked.

"We were told not to answer those questions," I replied. "But let's just say your mom, your dad, and your pastor aren't here. I'm going to be RA for the floor I'm going to show you, and I sure didn't sign up to be your mom, dad, pastor, OR a police officer."

"Got it. Are those curfew rules in the student handbook enforced?"

"If you're caught, yes, though the rules may change for the Fall to relax the curfew rules, at least for students. Outside guests would still have to leave by 11:00pm. The Student Government Committee is voting on potential rule changes on Thursday."

"My curfew at home was later!" the stocky kid who had been interested in Clarissa complained.

"Mine, too," I agreed as we came to the room I shared with Clark. "As you can see, the rooms have a common area which has one or two couches, depending on the building, along with a small table and chairs. Each bedroom has a desk, bed, nightstand, and shelves, plus space for a fridge if you have one. This dorm has air conditioning, but some of the older ones do not. I was in one last year that did not, but there were only a couple of days when it was really bad."

"How do we get into this dorm?"

"As Freshmen, you'll be assigned a dorm. For Sophomore year, you can select a dorm after all the incoming Seniors and Juniors select theirs. You can also select your roommate or take your chances."

"Could you pick a roommate who was going to be in this dorm?" a skinny kid with long blonde hair and wire-rimmed glasses asked.

"Freshmen have to room with Freshmen or Sophomores," I said. "But otherwise, there aren't any restrictions. And it's possible to get into this dorm as a Freshman; some of my friends did."

"Can guys and girls room together?" the 'quarterback' asked.

I shook my head, "Not in the regular dorms; only in the married dorm, and you have to actually be married and be able to prove it."

"Bummer!" he said, causing the other nine guys to laugh.

"Is it quiet enough to study here?" Jorge asked. "Or do you have to go to the library?"

"This floor is very quiet, and there are a couple of very serious study groups. Mostly, that's because about half this floor is my extended group of friends, who are all very serious students. There are party floors and, of course, lots of off-campus parties, too."

"What happens if I get stuck on a party floor?"

"You can ask to move. They're reasonable about move requests based on that. But not so much if you just say you don't like your roommate. My advice is if you don't, just ignore them, which you can mostly do, and find someone to room with the next year. Given that your bedroom is private, you can manage for a year. The other thing some kids do is use headphones and music to block out noise if their floor is a bit rowdier."

"How good are the parties?" the 'quarterback' asked.

I shrugged, "I'm pre-med, so I'm not going to be your best authority on parties. I've heard there are some pretty good ones, and I've been to one or two relatively sedate ones, but mostly, I study and hang out with my friends. Call me boring, but pre-med is like that. Another thing to remember is that drugs or alcohol of any kind, including beer, aren't permitted in the dorms."

"That sucks!" several of the guys exclaimed.

Clarissa and the girls came up just then, and she took them to see her room, then we all met in the common area to answer questions. When we finished, we toured the library, the student union, the gym, and the science building, then returned our charges to the administration building.

"You have an admirer," I said as Clarissa and I walked back to the dorm. "I told him you were spoken for."

"He likes nerdy chicks who dress in baggy clothes?"

"Apparently, he saw through your disguise and noticed you're cute! And you do have your hair brushed and pulled back, and your clothes are stylish. It's not like when we first met!"

"True. Meet anyone interesting?"

"A kid from Puerto Rico named Jorge seems like a nice guy. I also had the proverbial jock who's looking to party and get laid."

Clarissa laughed, "You seem to have managed both and aren't a jock!"

"Three parties, total, in two years? Yep, I'm a regular Bluto Blutarsky!"

"I was thinking more like Pinto!" she smirked.

"The mayor's daughter was THIRTEEN, for Pete's sake!" I protested. "No!"

"Sorry, I was thinking more of the angel and devil arguing on your shoulder!"

"OK, THAT image I can go for."

"And you felt guilty when Belushi looked back at the screen when he was spying on the sorority girls, didn't you?"

"That was the entire point of him 'breaking the fourth wall'! We're all staring at her breasts, and he looks back as if to say 'gotcha!' which he, of course, did."

"I wonder if we'll see any of those students in the Fall," Clarissa said.

"I can do without the jock, but I think the guy from Puerto Rico, Jorge, is a good guy. That said, he probably belongs at a dedicated engineering school, not here at Taft."

March 17, 1983, McKinley, Ohio

"So, how did it go?" I asked.

Janey laughed, "Mom handled it. I'll finish my detention tomorrow, and I'm not in any real trouble. Neither is Tasha, at least with the school. All the swearing she did was in Russian, and nobody who speaks Russian heard what happened."

"Sasha didn't?"

"No. I think she went to her locker when Tasha came to confront me."

"You haven't said anything about the hardware store to your dad yet, right?"

"I told you I'd wait until Saturday. Have you heard anything?"

"No. But today was probably the first day I would. The bishop was in Dayton last night and was supposed to be back at the Cathedral in Columbus this morning. I'm guessing he'll call Father Nicholas with his decision."

"Not you directly?"

"It would depend. If nothing is changing, then he'll just tell Father Nicholas everything is set. If he wants Father Nicholas to do something different, he'll ask him. I won't ever find out if Mr. Orlov called or what they discussed or what the bishop told him because that isn't my business."

"How can you just accept that?"

"It's called submission to my bishop. I trust him to look out for my spiritual health and that of the church. I don't NEED to be a subdeacon, or even a reader, to serve in church. I serve, like any appointed minister, government or otherwise, at the pleasure of whoever is in charge. In this case, it's the bishop. And I don't feel a need to know what he says to Mr. Orlov. What I DO care about is my friends. Fundamentally, unless the bishop elects not to ordain me or bars my friends from coming to church, I won't hear from him. And I honestly don't expect either of those things to happen."

"You think it's going to go ahead?"

"I think if Mr. Orlov had made a public stink about it, I'd have heard, and all heck would have broken loose."

"So maybe I'll still have my job?"

"If you want it."

"Wait! You don't want to work for him?"

"He called you a 'harlot', Janey! That's a blood insult when used the way he used it. You used the word 'whore', and that's close, but think of something worse. Not even 'slut' quite gets that point across."

"And there's the Russian Mike I know and love," Janey laughed. "A blood insult? What are you? Sicilians?"

"The word he used for Clarissa, Robby, and Lee was worse. It's a word that can get you killed when said to a stranger and meant seriously. It's not like in English, where we say 'F-you', even to strangers, and mostly it's about the same as saying 'Go to Hell'. Not so in Russian."

"I'm curious, how do you say, 'fuck you' in Russian?"

"You don't. The Russian version is one of the earthier personal insults you can say to someone. Depending on how you translate it, it means either you're telling the person to have sex with his mother, claiming he IS having sex with his mother, or that you are, or will, have sex with his mother. It's WAY beyond 'mother-f-er' in English."

"Will you say it in Russian?"

"I did that once and had the misfortune of my mom hearing me say it. I got my mouth washed out with Ivory soap at age twelve."

"She's not listening!"

"You don't know my mom!" I laughed. "The walls have ears!"

"Oh, come on!"

"«Ёб твою мать» (yob tvoyu maht) is the most common form, but you can just say «твою мать» (tvoyu maht). And, oh look, here's my mom with a bar of soap!"

"Suuuuureeee!" Janey laughed. "I don't think Tasha said that."

"There is nothing on this planet that would make Tasha say that. Heck, she may not even know it because even the old men like my grandfather don't say that one out loud except in the rarest of situations and then with a very specific audience."

"How did you learn it, then?"

"How do you think? I asked!"

Janey laughed, "I wish I could have seen the twelve-year-old Mike asking, 'How do I call someone a motherfucker?'!"

"That's not QUITE how it went, but they did laugh. I learned quite a few words that day, which my mom does NOT appreciate!"

"I bet! I've heard you use a few. I wish I knew what Tasha had said. I might actually have laughed! Can you guess what she might have said?"

"I'm sure she would have said «Ты корова!» (ty korova), which is pretty mild and means 'You cow!'. Did she interrupt you while you were talking?"

"A couple of times."

I chuckled, "Then I suspect at least once she said something like «Закрой свой рот, сука!» (zakroy svoy rot, suka)"

"Which means?"

"Shut your mouth, bitch!"

Janey laughed hard, "I'd have doubled over laughing if I heard 'prim and proper' Tasha Antonova say THAT!"

"You know the saying 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'?"

"Sure."

"The Devil is afraid of Russian women."

"I'm beginning to get that picture! Can I ask you something about that?"

"Sure."

"What does a mostly Irish chick do when she gets to be that age? Do they let her into the club? Or is she an outcast?"

"By the time you're old enough, all those Russian speakers will be long gone. Even my mom's generation is only about 50/50. Tasha is an outlier. If you look around the church, most of the girls in your age group, and in your sister's, don't speak a word of Russian. The real fear is they marry outside the church and never come back. So I think things will change such that when the time comes for you to be a grandmother, you can join the guild of «бабушки» (babushki)!"

"Is there a training class I have to take?" Janey asked mirthfully.

"You're getting it right now! But in the end, someone like my mom will take you under her wing and show you the ropes and teach you to be a proper «бабушка» (babushka)!"

"So, what should I do on Saturday?"

"I think at this point, just speak directly to my mom. She can use her backchannel through my grandfather to find out what's going on with your job. Then you can decide if you need to tell your dad or not. One piece of advice — have your dad go to Father Herman and work through Father Herman. That SHOULD keep things from spiraling out of control."

"If you see a mushroom cloud over West Monroe, you'll know that didn't work. See you in about a week?"

"See you!"

After saying 'goodbye', we hung up, and I went to join the study group.

March 19, 1983, McKinley, Ohio

"Did you speak to Vladyka?" I asked after receiving Father Nicholas' blessing on Saturday evening.

He nodded, "Status quo ante. I don't know any details, but he called me this morning to say that you should continue to prepare for ordination."

"And my friends?"

"As I'd set the guidelines for them attending services here and conveyed them to you, he deferred to my pastoral decision. He's a very good man, Mike, but he has the weight of the world on his shoulders."

"I have no doubt about that. Is there anything I need to do? Anyone I need to apologize to?"

"Only if your conscience tells you it's necessary. You might consider apologizing to Natalya Vasilyevna, but I'm not sure her father will allow you to speak to her, and even if he does, you would survive your encounter with her!"

"That was the feeling I had as well," I said with a knowing smile and nod.

"May I give you some relationship advice? It's only advice, mind you, not instruction."

"Sure."

"A girl like Natalya Vasilyevna, who also has a father like Deacon Vasily, does not 'date'; she courts. Or rather, a young man courts her. Which means that simply by asking her out, you are expressing your intent to marry her, if she is willing. We don't usually do that here in America, and honestly, there isn't much of that in Soviet Russia, either, though in small towns and villages, it probably does still happen."

"I sort of drew that conclusion in the course of the past week. I didn't make a promise, per se, but merely asking to see her expressed intent, which she and her father took as you just said."

"Yes. So, before you see her again, you need to decide one way or the other. And even telling her that it's just 'dating' isn't going to work. She won't see it that way no matter what you say."

"That has also become obvious. I have a question for you if you have time."

"A few minutes, if that will suffice. Otherwise, it would have to be after Vespers."

"Maybe after is better. I suspect the answer to my question might not be short."

He nodded in agreement, and I went to the reader's stand to lay out the books while he said his entrance prayers. Just before the service started, I received a blessing to put on my vestments and went to my position at the reader's stand next to the chanter and waited for the Vespers of Cheesefare Sunday to begin.

Just under an hour later, with the service completed, Father Nicholas invited me into his office to chat.

"Is having friends who are homosexuals going to be a long-term problem?" I asked.

Father Nicholas took a deep breath and let it out, "That's a complicated question for which I don't have a simple answer. There are scenarios where there would be no problems, but others where there would be. Let's take your current situation as a lesson, OK?"