I patted Sloan’s shoulder sympathetically. If I recall, 1933 wasn’t exactly a banner year for Russia or the US. You gained your freedom and escaped the Soviet famine, but how depressing to get caught in the Depression.
Sloan laughed at my irony. “Ha, the joke was on my Comrades as we weren’t thrown to the wolves like they’d hoped. My mother’s brother, Uncle George, lived in San Francisco and he’d made arrangements for us to live with him. My uncle was a very generous man and financially stable compared to most. He owned a three story building on Ashbury Street across from All Saint’s Episcopal Church. He ran a bakery on the first floor, and it fared quite well, bread lines and all. The three of us made a home on the third floor and life was very comfortable and safe. I worked in his shop when I wasn’t in school and it was the warmest place in town. I can assure you it was a far cry from those frosty Mother Russia mornings.” Sloan put her hand to one ear, and said, “I’ll tell you what’s funny, to this day every time I hear the sound of church bells ringing the smell of fresh baked bread wafts through my head. How Pavlovian is that?” Before I could respond, she had cleared her throat, “Of course, I found out later that my Uncle George had other sources of income, but his private business on the second floor wasn’t my concern.”
Sloan laughed at my irony. “Ha, the joke was on my Comrades as we weren’t thrown to the wolves like they’d hoped. My mother’s brother, Uncle George, lived in San Francisco and he’d made arrangements for us to live with him. My uncle was a very generous man and financially stable compared to most. He owned a three story building on Ashbury Street across from All Saint’s Episcopal Church. He ran a bakery on the first floor, and it fared quite well, bread lines and all. The three of us made a home on the third floor and life was very comfortable and safe. I worked in his shop when I wasn’t in school and it was the warmest place in town. I can assure you it was a far cry from those frosty Mother Russia mornings.” Sloan put her hand to one ear, and said, “I’ll tell you what’s funny, to this day every time I hear the sound of church bells ringing the smell of fresh baked bread wafts through my head. How Pavlovian is that?” Before I could respond, she had cleared her throat, “Of course, I found out later that my Uncle George had other sources of income, but his private business on the second floor wasn’t my concern.”
I moved the barstool and casually stretched my legs. Sloan stifled a yawn and was fading fast, vodka and spicy memories make a wicked cocktail. Claudette had turned her face slightly and was looking out the window, lost at sea. She caught my glance, and gave her phantom braids a quick tug. I knew instantly that my sister and I had an identical image in mind. As children the gesture had been our secret code for “retreat troops,” our father’s favorite command in Swedish. He’d grab us by our long braids and order “reträtt trupper, move along my blond little reindeer.” The memory flashed past and in the next second the three of us stood up all at once. We both hugged Sloan, exchanged numerous numbers, and promised to meet again.
Once outside Claudette and I walked down the sidewalk towards my car. She jumped into the passenger’s seat and I slid in behind the wheel. I looked over at her and tapped her hand. You disappeared back there. Where did you go?
Claudette's expression turned contemplative. “I keep thinking about the recent dream I had about Minnesota. I dreamed we were chasing fireflies in the dark and following dad around an icy lake. Maybe it was all that talk about Kremlin graves and frozen tundras. Strangely enough, it made me think of the snow globe he brought back for us from Stockholm. Weird, huh?” I nodded my head in agreement. “I shook the thing over and over again so I could watch the snowflakes bury the little village.”
I started the car and turned towards her before backing out. "Claudette, do you remember the story I made up about the snow globe? I told you the snowflakes had suddenly turned into fireflies, and if you squinted your eyes you could see the tiny villagers gathering in the twilight to celebrate their first summer. Winter was over for good. I looked at my twin’s face and saw myself slowly smile.
Claudette's expression turned contemplative. “I keep thinking about the recent dream I had about Minnesota. I dreamed we were chasing fireflies in the dark and following dad around an icy lake. Maybe it was all that talk about Kremlin graves and frozen tundras. Strangely enough, it made me think of the snow globe he brought back for us from Stockholm. Weird, huh?” I nodded my head in agreement. “I shook the thing over and over again so I could watch the snowflakes bury the little village.”
I started the car and turned towards her before backing out. "Claudette, do you remember the story I made up about the snow globe? I told you the snowflakes had suddenly turned into fireflies, and if you squinted your eyes you could see the tiny villagers gathering in the twilight to celebrate their first summer. Winter was over for good. I looked at my twin’s face and saw myself slowly smile.
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