The Wish

PART I: The City

It was dark. He stepped onto the balcony; the cold, dry air hit him. He’d felt cold before; he’d once played in the snow during an exceptionally cold Ohio winter. But this was unlike any feeling he’d ever felt. The air wrapped him like a sheet of metal, pressed against his skin, dry and freezing.

He could hear the wind howling beyond the double-paned, insulated balcony windows. It was much colder outside.

The sky was a dark blue, full of twinkling stars. The city twinkled as well, with a few lights on in random buildings and the streets lit up with a winter theme – sparkling snowflakes, white fir trees, outlines of a Russian male and female Santa Claus, glowing letters in Cyrillic. He couldn’t read either Russian or Kazakh and didn’t even know what the letters meant, and he wondered how long it would take for these strange characters to become familiar.

Of course it was dark; his plane had landed at 11 pm local time. Amy had greeted him and drove him to his new home, a simple and clean one-bedroom apartment in the building across from hers. It was a bit past midnight now; she was sitting on his couch, browsing her phone, waiting for him.

It was early afternoon in his hometown of Charlotte, North Carolina. His body—aching from the tiny seats of the three flights, tired from the fitful naps he’d taken—was aware of the North Carolina time, and he felt awake, alert, and restless.

He entered the kitchen and closed the balcony door; warmth greeted him like a thick comforter. He looked at the radiator, its simplicity belying its power. The apartment interior was hot.

“How long till morning?” he asked, entering the living room.

Amy laughed. “What does morning mean for you?” she said. “The sun will rise in eight hours.” He had not only traveled six thousand miles; he had traveled incredibly far north.

“I won’t be able to sleep,” he said. “Is it safe to take a walk?”

“I’m always so exhausted after that flight,” she said, surprised. “But, yeah, we can walk. Astana’s very safe.” She looked him up and down. “Your biggest threat is policemen who think you’re a rich foreigner they can bribe. Don’t talk if you see a policeman.” She grinned, stood up, and stretched.

“You don’t have to come with me,” he said.

“It’s my city!” she said. “I’ll show you around.”

He watched as Amy got dressed – layer after thick layer. Black wool tights; cream-colored wool sweater; fur-lined knee-high boots; a thin pair of gloves; a scarf; a thick down coat; a Russian-style fur hat; sheepskin mittens. She looked him up and down. “Put on all the clothes I got you,” she said, and he obeyed.

“What’s the temperature?” he asked.

“You’re lucky,” she said, “it’s a mild February. Just about -20.” She took off a glove to check her phone. “Minus four Fahrenheit.” She grinned. “We have outdoor recess at this temperature, although the sun makes -20 feel a whole lot warmer.”

Dillon knew he had a lot to get used to. He’d left the comfort of his friends and family in the sunny, warm Southeastern United States, for a job as the IT Director at an international school in northern Kazakhstan. It had been an impulsive decision, traveling halfway around the world for a woman he barely knew. But here he was.

He dutifully put on the boots, coat, balaclava, gloves, and hat. “I feel like the marshmallow man," he said, standing awkwardly in the bulky clothes.

“You’ll appreciate them outside,” she said. “You’ll feel the cold on your eyes. It’s not cold enough for goggles, though.”

She led him outside; he had to take off his gloves to lock the door, and then he fumbled to put away his keys and put the gloves back on. She checked that he wasn’t baring any skin around his wrist.

They went down the narrow, concrete stairs, listening to the wind howl, and then outdoors, to the small parking lot. The streetlamp shone bright yellow, casting an eerie glow on the white snow which covered everything, including the parked cars.

“This way,” she said, and he followed her through the parking lot and down a narrow lane. She pointed behind him, at the tall, Gothic-looking building which seemed to belong in a Batman movie rather than real life. “That’s the Triumph,” she said. “Expensive apartments.” He looked up the various towers; most the lights were off, but a few were on; a few people were up late, just like him.

Amy pointed at the row of shorter buildings that lined the road leading out from the Triumph. “These are all new,” she said. “There was just empty lots and a few shacks when I first moved here. Businesses and restaurants. Fancy stuff for fancy people.” She led him down the road behind the buildings and continued to point and explain. The mall, Keruen City, was to their left. It had been built in 2008, before she’d arrived, and was the first Western-style mall. “You’ll do a lot of your grocery shopping there,” she said. They passed a large UFO-shaped building, the circus; in front of it, near a large intersection, was a giant, decorated, fake Christmas tree.

“Do they celebrate Christmas?” he asked.

“New Year’s,” she said. “But it’s celebrated pretty much the same as Western Christmas. That’s Grandfather Frost – Santa Claus – and his granddaughter, the Snow Maiden.” The larger than life figurines stood in front of the tree, decked out in blue and silver robes.

They crossed the street and continued their walk. To their left, a massive Kazakh flag waved from the top of a manmade hill. Dillon paused to look up at the golden yellow sun and traditional designs on the deep turquoise fabric. It was bright, colorful, unique. It was different.

Amy was probably tired – she wasn’t jetlagged – but she continued talking, explaining his new city, incorporating history and culture into her speech. He knew he wouldn’t remember most of this, but it was exhilarating. He loved watching her talk, waving her hands around, her eyes sparkling either with excitement or from crystalline snowflakes. Her voice rose and fell; she loved this city.

The frozen air hit the exposed flesh on his face, stinging and nearly burning. But it felt fresh and exciting – something new, with a promise of hope. He blinked often, keeping his eyes moist and warm. He noticed white frost on his eyelashes.

The ground beneath him was mostly firm, alternating between bits of mush and bits of slick ice. The nearly solid snow crunched underneath his feet. He felt steady on his feet, slipping very rarely. The road seemed to be clear, and the few cars which were out were driving effortlessly. Mounds of white snow piled in small clearings here and there. The city was efficient in managing its winter.

Up ahead, the street rose as if it were a hill in this city in the center of the flat steppe. Colorful lights sparkled along both sides of the street. “That’s called the Rainbow Bridge,” Amy said. “We’re going to cross the Esil River to the old downtown.”

Dillon followed her across the wide, long bridge, sparkling colorfully in the night. They stopped in the middle and he looked down and across – the broad, still, frozen river, with nonetheless a few dark-coated figures walking across it. To the left were snow-covered trees and a few dark buildings. To the right was a promenade and buildings with some lights in the windows. The stars twinkled in the sky; the snow flashed the colors of the lights – yellow mostly, but also pink, green, blue from the bridge.

“I don’t feel like I’m on Earth,” he said.

Amy laughed lightly. “Sometimes I feel that I’m on Mars,” she said. “Especially when we walk to school in the winter mornings! It’s so dark and desolate.” Her voice sounded happy, almost wistful, the opposite of desolate. She pointed in the other direction. “The new downtown is there – Beiterek Tower, the White House. I hope you get tired before we make it that far!” She walked briskly ahead and pointed. “That’s the Guns ‘N’ Roses pub.”

PART II: The Bar

Dillon and Amy sat on stools at the bar in a spacious, traditional-style pub – a long wooden room, with a long bar; high tables and stools; a few tables for dining, and an open area with a billiards table and darts. It was warm in here, and even though Dillon had left his outdoor gear at the coat check, he was starting to sweat.

“How do they keep it so warm inside?” he asked.

“Insulation and city heat,” Amy said. “The city is heated through hot water running through radiators, subsidized by the government so everyone can afford it.”

He was drinking a Baltika draft, a pale beer not too unsimilar from Bud Lite. Amy was drinking a Guiness. The bartender had handed them salted dried minnows and dried string cheese—beer food, as Amy told him.

Next to him was a talkative elderly man, a Brit working for an oil company. After quick greetings, the man, Simon, talked about his experiences here in Kazakhstan, comparing them to his previous postings in Nigeria and the Middle East.

Listening only halfway, Dillon reached his hand inside his pocket – it was still there. The small, velvet box. The diamond ring inside. His sister had helped him pick it out. “Amy isn’t extravagant,” he’d told her, “but she’s different – she’s elegant.” The ring had a dozen tiny diamonds instead of one big one. Unique, simple, elegant.

His mother had told him he should propose right away – at the airport even. She’d made up an entire story about his proposal, on one knee in a crowded airport, surrounded by Kazakhs and Russians who miraculously understood English and grew teary eyed at his emotional speech. Amy would cry and say yes, and everyone would cheer, and the airport staff would even pop open some champagne.

His sister had said he should wait. “You’ll frighten her if you propose too soon,” she said.

His fingers ran up and down the velvet box, and he looked into Amy’s hazel eyes – brown with hints of green, the green flecks always glimmering as if she were laughing. Her dark auburn hair was matted around her face, having spent the past hour frozen and underneath a fur hat. Her face glistened with melted drops of ice and snow. He knew he’d made the right choice.

“So what brings you to this part of the world?” the Brit asked.

“Middle school teacher,” Amy said, smiling. “I taught for four years in the United States before realizing it’d be better overseas… My daughter grew up here, getting a quality, private education for free.”

“How long you’ve been here?”

“This is my tenth year,” she said. “Charlotte is fluent in Russian, sounds like a local!” She beamed with pride.

“Same for you?” Simon asked Dillon.

“Not at all,” he said. “I landed a few hours ago… Still on North Carolina time, can’t sleep, so we went for a walk.”

“It’s a cold night for a walk!”

“Not too cold,” Amy said, “and he might as well experience Astana for what it is—the good, the bad, the cold.”

“You’re in for something,” Simon said. “I’ve been here nearly a year now, and I’m still confused most days. Where else have you lived?”

“Just the US,” Dillon said. “I was born in Ohio but moved to North Carolina when I was eight.”

“You picked a crazy first foreign experience,” Simon said.

Dillon grinned foolishly, looking sideways at Amy. She was so beautiful.

Simon waved some money at the bartender. “It’s late,” he said. “I’m heading home. I live down Respublika Street. Would you like to share a taxi?”

“We live the other way,” Amy said.

“See you around,” he said as he paid the bartender, “we expats tend to run into each other! It’s a small city, you’ll see.” He left, the bartender looking confusedly at the extra cash he’d left behind.

“What now?” Amy asked.

“I’m still not tired,” Dillon admitted sheepishly. Amy grinned and stood up.

“You know what?” she said. “Neither am I.”

PART III: Beiterek

             They walked the entire way from Guns ‘N’ Roses Pub to the new downtown, to the shiny Beiterek Tower, 97 meters tall with a giant gold sphere at the top. When they arrived, it was still dark, but more windows were bright from inside lights, more cars were on the road.

             They’d walked on the frozen river – several feet of crunchy, sparkling snow on top of several feet (or more?) of frozen ice. Every now and then they came to a spot that had been cleared off, the snow piled to the side, the ice chipped away, and deep down, the cold black water.

             “Ice fishing,” Amy had said.

             Now they were at the center of the new downtown, in a large square with Beiterek in the center, reaching tall and gaudily into the sky, a symbol of the new Kazakhstan – free and independent and oil-rich – and the new Astana – a capital city since ’97 and under construction ever since.

             They were surrounded by elongated, elegant government buildings on three sides. Stretching westwards was a boulevard with shopping on both sides. The boulevard extended all the way to a curved, arched building, and through the arch, Dillon could see a massive tent-like structure.

             “Khan Shatyr,” Amy said, “the palace of the king. It’s a glorified shopping mall. We live near there, I’ll take you there one day. There’s a beach inside so you can go swimming at the beach in the middle of winter.”

             Dillon’s mind raced as he thought about the past six hours, everything Amy had told him, everything he had seen and felt since he’d landed in this strange land. This was his new home.

             “How long does culture shock last?” he asked.

             Amy laughed. “This is just the beginning,” she said. “It’ll be a roller coaster for the first year or so – every time you think you’re getting used to it, you’ll suddenly dip low and be surprised, sad, homesick. But then….” She paused, biting her lip and closing her eyes. “And then it’ll become your home. And every time you return to the US, you’ll be surprised and homesick.”

             “Do you think you’ll ever move back to the US?” he asked. It was his mother’s question, but it was haunting him too. If they got married – what was their future? Would he spend the rest of his life overseas? Would he adapt to this life, just as Amy had?

             “Of course,” she said. “I’m an American citizen, I can’t retire here.” She looked around, turning slowly in a circle, and he followed her gaze, across the strange buildings, the frozen landscape, and then up to the golden dome of Beiterek. “I’m staying here till Charlotte graduates, for certain. I can’t rip her away from her home. But then… who knows? I’ll probably miss her so much I’ll want to move back. I’m open to change in the future.”

             “Can we go up there?” he said, pointing at the tower.

             “Yes,” she said, “but Kazakhs are not early birds. It’ll probably open around eleven.”

             “That’s midnight my time,” he said.

             “We can go another day,” she said. “There are two levels up there, with observation decks all around, so you can see the city. The buildings spread out in every direction and stop abruptly at the steppe. I’ll take you to the steppe at one point too.”

             He stared at the bright gold. “What does it represent?”

             “An old legend about a bird and a golden egg,” she said. “Kazakhstan is all about hope and optimism for the future. There’s a map of the plan for the city, the goals for 2025, 2050. And there’s a giant imprint of the first president’s hand. You’re supposed to put your hand in his and make a wish.”

             “I know what I’ll wish for,” he said.

             “What?” she said. “To return home? Get away from this crazy place?”

             “No,” he said. “I think I can manage.”

             “You just survived your first night in a Siberian winter,” she said. “That’s pretty impressive.”

             He looked to the horizon, beyond the buildings. It was still dark. “Night’s not over,” he said.

             She laughed. “You’re right!” she said. “We still have several hours… But summer is amazing. Light till midnight, and then dawn at four.”

             “I can’t wait,” he said. His fingers, inside his thick glove, felt in his pocket. He couldn’t feel the delicate texture of the box, but he could feel it. “It’s magical,” he said.

             “I agree,” she said.

             Then he went against his sister’s advice. He bit into his glove and tore it off. He reached into his pocket and grasped firmly the velvet box.

Dillon knelt on one knee in the golden snow – turned gold by the reflection of the Beiterek sphere. “I want to make my wish now,” he said. He took out the box and opened it, holding it up for Amy to see. The dozen tiny diamonds sparkled like miniscule stars.

He said his wish out loud.