How I Stayed in America (Part 11)

After we moved to our townhouse and arranged everything there, the long Utah winter began. It didn’t seem cold, but snow could pile up to two meters per night. As I already mentioned, we lived at the foot of the mountains, and various animals occasionally came to visit me. The

master bedroom had huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Once, I woke up in the morning, and while lazily basking in my “California King”, I felt that someone was looking at me. You know this feeling when you can sense someone’s gaze on you. I turned my head in the direction of the panoramic windows and was stunned — the ELK was looking at me. A huge elk with huge horns. He had a very kind look though. It was  obvious that he had come down from the mountains to  eat something.   I ran to get some salt. That’s how I got my first friend in Salt Lake City.

He came for salt every day. The entire winter. When I went to the store for groceries, I used to buy packs of salt. Nobody was surprised though, apparently many were feeding the moose during winter.

My husband used to  leave  at about 7:30 in the morning. As a beginner,    he had to come to  training  an  hour  earlier  than  others.  By approximately 12, he was already back  home.  I  was  always  expecting him for lunch around this time. My husband was very thin, and he was constantly hungry. He required not large yet frequent meals. Moreover, Andrei didn’t like to  eat in a cafe, so I cooked almost 24/7.  Let me tell    you about our life schedule then. We woke up at 7:30. Breakfast.

Training. My husband trained tirelessly. He would then crawl home and lay down on the bed like a “rag”. I would then bring him food in bed on a tray. By the way, the tray has become one of our most valuable household items. Even nowadays I’d bring him something on a tray, for the sake of old memories.

The training in Utah Jazz will be remembered for a lifetime by every individual who played there. Jerry Sloan did not spare. The only exceptions were Karl and John (Malone and Stockton) — veterans could sit on the bench at any time. The “young” ones worked up to vomiting spasms. Usually, my husband used to come home with a pale face and red eyes. At times, it seemed to me like he was secretly crying. It was hard for him. I also believe that he could not permit the idea of failure.

He couldn’t let his family down. This sense of responsibility towards other people has been cemented in him since childhood. I think the

domineering father was the one to trigger this sensation. Therefore, Andrei crawled from training.

Donell Marshall’s injury helped Andrei break into the team’s main line-up. My husband worthily replaced him, and by the end of the season he was replaced by Donell, whenever it was necessary. Thus,

Andrei got to the all star as a rookie. During his first year there. It was a success!

Today, I recall all our years spent there as a movie. Andrei certainly does not know what I am writing about though. Even if he did, he would never read it. We went on a date today, and I told Andrei that I was writing about him. He does not even realize that everything that happened to us has been so unique that it needs to be written about.

The incomprehensible work of my husband, dedication, and even some treachery (a typical Russian example) in combination with a good upbringing and a strong mindset played its role. Andrei succeeded in what the Russian basketball circle feared so much. He became a star in the NBA. One of the terrible primordial Russian weaknesses is the inability to come to terms with the fact that someone prospered in something you did not. A Russian person would never be sincerely happy for the success of another Russian; it is not in our blood. After all, they sent Andrei to America, thinking: “Let’s let him go, fuck up…”

Nonetheless, here I can give credit to myself — more than anything in the world I believed in Andrei. I knew that he was doomed (in a good way) to success. My task was simple: I needed to constantly inspire him. And you know what? I did. I know where to find them, those wings, where they are stored. I know how to attach and straighten them. And then — fly. During our seventeen-year life together, there was not a single day when I could say “I don’t love him.” I could be upset, distressed, exhausted, he could sometimes be the most difficult passenger, and many times I wanted to let him go, but I always stayed. Nobody predicted success for our union. Many believed that we were

absolutely not suitable for each other. The age difference, my  “secularity” — for some reason the fixed image of a “party girl” in public circles — defined me as an unworthy partner. I was pretty and he   wasn’t. Despite this though, some of my friends claimed: “You can correct the breed.” If we consider our union from the point of view of dog breeding, then everything wasn’t so bad. Few people know that my not handsome, angular, yet very successful husband, in addition to everything else, possesses an extraordinary mind. Thus, answering the unasked question, “how are we together for so long and still manage to be so close?”, I will simply say —

I love his soul.