Be Careful What You Wish For

I couldn't get over her. Her smell, her form, the feel of her hair...it was all so arresting.

It was her smile that first got me. Beaming, open, warm and yet... beguiling. As if she had a secret. And yet, it was a secret she was willing to share. With someone special. With me, maybe.

We sat in the plane for 12 hours and chatted about everything. Her plans for the future, my career dreams, our family history and what it was like, living in the Soviet Union. 

"You can never imagine it," she said. 

"Well, I'll have to go and have a look for myself," I replied. 

"You can never go there," she responded solemnly, softly, sadly. 

From that moment, as I was hers, I knew she had to be mine.

6 months later, and I was travelling towards the Soviet Union from Czechoslovakia. The 21-carriage-long train was empty, sans dining car. Just long sleeping carriages without mattresses, sheets or pillows. A two-day joyless journey. Or so I thought. 

"Anyone else in here? Or is it only you?" 

He was a giant of a man, over 6 feet tall, with a fearsome beard and a maniacal glow in his eyes. 

"Alexander. Call me Sasha." He lumbered into my sleeping cabin, clutching a bottle in one hand, a boxed orchid in the other. 

"Drink." From his tone, I realised he wasn't asking. 

We spent the journey eating Czech sausage and dark rye bread I'd bought in Prague and drinking neat vodka. I'd explained my naive pursuit, which Sasha had judged wise.

"So what did you want from this girl? What do you expect?"

I reminisced about the night we'd spent together. How her smile entranced me and the spell she had cast over my soul. 

"I just want her."

"Be careful what you wish for," he said, smiling at my youthful desires. 

Morning came, and a stop. "Where are we?" I asked. 

"Border control," said Sasha. "Don't say anything, just hand over your passport."

I hardly dared look at the customs officer as he ransacked my bag. Satisfied with my explanations, he handed over my document, barely giving Sasha a glance.

"How come he didn't talk to you?" I asked. 

"Privileges," he replied.

Puzzled, I kept my thoughts to myself. But Sasha told me anyway. 

"I am an MP for the Belarusian parliament," he explained. "It offers certain perks." He grinned wryly. 

I was bathed in paranoia. Was I being observed? Was I being subtly questioned? How could a 22-year-old interest anyone anyway, let alone a government? 

The journey to Minsk was travelled in silence, Sasha morosely gazing out the window while I napped fitfully, wracked with worry. Was I to be interrogated on arrival? Or had I passed his tests? 

We parted company at our final destination. Sasha handed me a 20 ruble note and careful explanations as to how to get to Nadia's address. 

When I arrived at her door, and saw that hidden smile again I was enraptured. “Be careful what you wish for.” But I didn't have a care in the world. Only her.

Nadia and I spent our days looking at everything Minsk had to offer. The Botanical Gardens, The Opera House, the parks and galleries, walks along the river, long walks with her clutching my arm. And me, wondering whether I could be happier. And was she happy to be with me?

She introduced me to everything that was precious to her: The Minsk Bolshoi Theatre, where I was introduced to the stories of Giselle and Figaro, her music teachers where she developed her perfect pitch and ear for music. Her dearest friends with their open hearts and inquiring minds. And yet, I couldn't discern her deepest secret.

On my last night, I called Sasha. “I'll come get you,” he said, “I've got something special to show you.”

We travelled through the night, the streets dark and lonely, until we came to a forbidding building. I looked around in bemusement. Was this it then? Was this where I was to be interred?

“Come in,” said Sasha. “I've got something special for you.” 

We walked into the silent building. And then, into a room with benches and lockers. 

“Come on,” he said. “Take off your clothes.” 

Unhesitatingly, I did as he said. Meanwhile, Sasha opened a locker and brought out some towels and a bottle. He grinned at me, “Careful with this, it's for medical use only.” He chuckled, and carefully poured out two shot glasses full. 

Relieved, I drank my shot and wrapped the towel around my waist. Sasha then proudly exclaimed, “Welcome to the State Sauna!” 

Reserved solely for Politburo members, Sasha had organised an evening for us to experience the best the State had to offer. A private dry sauna room, with a smiling attendant to offer us canapes and unlimited spirit. Then an outdoor pool under the street star-lit sky, ending with spa treatments. A slightly different experience to what I had imagined.

“You belong to us now,” slurred Sasha “To me! Now that you've seen our lives and how we live and love, I can never let you go.”

The next morning, I told Nadia about my adventures the night before. “You won't believe it, the food was great and the pool! Heated, under the night sky.”

Nadia thought I was pulling her leg. And why shouldn't she, when something like this was unavailable to the hoi polloi?

That afternoon was my last moment in Minsk. Nadia took me to the station and I boarded the train with a heavy heart. Were we to meet again? She looked at me solemnly, her eyes already signalling a finale. I wept all the way to Warsaw, before a flight back to London. 

That was 30 years ago. To this day, she still has my heart. She still beguiles me with her wit. Her smile brightens the room. And I still can't discern her deepest secrets.

I still can't get over her.