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Russia, because we are different countries now. So we stay in touch. And exchange letters.
But we women, we had to do everything by ourselves. I was working on my porch. I could
have waited. My son was at school. I could have waited for him to come home. But those
boards, they were just standing there—standing there. So I decided I would try to work on
the porch while he was gone. I forgot to take my sweater off. I didn't even notice when
it happened. The circular saw just caught it together, the sweater and my arm. I guess we
women deal with a lot.”
Galina has an approving smile. “She was panicked, I remember. She said, 'How will I
live without my arm?' I told her, 'You are not the first, and you won't be the last. People
do everything without their hands. They embroider, they do everything. And
you
will learn
to do everything.' Those words bucked her up. I gave her a scolding. I think it helped.”
Valentina is nodding that it sure did.
“I can do everything. I dig with a shovel in the vegetable garden. I mow. I dig for pota-
toes. I plant vegetables. And you know, without the prosthetic, it's better. That thing dis-
turbs me. It's rather long, not very good. If I could get rubber, maybe it would be better.
But I do everything. I was sixty when I lost my arm. Now I'm seventy-five. These wo-
men—they don't leave me alone. Without their help I would have been weaker because of
this. It's friendship, support, mutual help. We all live near one another.”
The room is quiet again.
Sergei and I have always had an arrangement. If we are in an interview and things get
uncomfortable, I have told him to dive in on his own, leaving me behind. Forget taking the
time to translate if it makes things go more smoothly to speak in Russian. Sergei gives me
a look, and I know what he is asking. I nod back. Sergei, who so often looks to me to take
charge as the “boss,” takes the reins impressively, pulls his chair a little closer to Galina,
looks around at the other women, and begins a long, emotional conversation.
I am left in the dark, unable to focus on what these women are saying, but able to focus
on how Sergei is growing as a journalist before my eyes. The Soviet legacy in work envir-
onments here is for everyone to accept his or her lot, do a day's work, look for cues from
the “boss,” never take charge, and never, ever make waves. I always encouraged Sergei to
take charge whenever he felt the urge. And here, in this conference room in a health com-
plex in rural Russia, I am watching Sergei leap the barriers put in front of him and other
people in this country. I see a determined confidence I haven't seen before.
Sergei talks to each and every babushka about everything—including their husbands,
based on the little Russian I can understand. He and Galina talk for maybe a half hour.
Sergei is respectful and compassionate, as Galina—this strong woman with an atti-
tude—descends into tears. I run to find a Kleenex and some water.
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