Chapter 31: Letter to Galich
Rudy’s new job—ha! “Job” was not the word. Foreman of the Ring—this was work, great work, literally monumental. Rudy was directing construction of the biggest particle collider ever, one of the biggest machines on the planet, 157 kilometers around, 50 kilometers across, bigger than ships and skyscrapers and entire cities. Galina Filipovna had dreamed of this machine since before he came to Russia, and now Rudy would make it real, make it work.
Rudy’s sense of the magnitude, the grandeur, the extraordinarity of the project did not fade with routine. That sense, that awe, returned every day when he entered the gate. It electrified him every time he entered the tunnel, the arms of the Ring reaching unseen under the earth toward Lake Baikal to connect and embrace full circle.
This greatest work grounded him enough to push back the doubt and blame that could have pulled him away from this opportunity and tolerate what happened in Astrakhan, the… setback, the disappointment, the… loss—Rudy resisted using any stronger word, though a stronger word might have fit.
Tolerance of that loss did not mean acceptance. It did not take Ksenia off his mind and off his heart. Even this greatest work did not take Ksenia off his mind and off his heart. She remained—the ache of her disappearance, of losing her, remained, with an extraordinary magnitude of its own that even the Ring could not overwhelm. But building the Ring demanded his time and energy and concentration and creativity in a way that precluded his mind and heart from expending energy on problems that he could not resolve.
Rudy could not bring Ksenia back. He couldn’t even find her: searching again from the Institute, using Vitaly’s best online tools, Rudy found no trace of Ksenia online, no number or address or employer where he might reach her.
But in Ken’s journal, in the fifth notebook, the second little brown booklet where Ken wrote about seeing Rudy and Ksenia head north on the motorcycle, Rudy still had Ksenia’s Galich address. She had tucked that little scrap of paper in his jacket pocket before he rode back to Suzdal. Her scarf hadn’t faded, but the blue ink of the address had. Rudy had traced over Ksenia’s quick handwriting with his black pen by camp lantern his first night out from Kyzyl, the first night after Saran’s wild suggestion that he write to Ksenia.
Rudy would not write to Ksenia. He would not append a postscript—Astrakhan… what was that about?—to either of the letters hidden on his bookshelf to stamp and send. But he settled on the notion that he could write to Galich and ask one question, just one question that, if answered, would, well, not make the ache in his heart go away, but make it easier to tolerate as he went on with his work.
So one rainy Saturday, when clouds all day hid the longest solstice sun, after rehearsing lines in his head for a week on his morning rides out to Goryachi Klyuch and evening rides back to the city, after paring down his planned letter to the bare necessary minimum, he sat down at his kitchen table with his notepad and wrote, to Ksenia’s parents:
Respected Anna Nikolayevna and Pavel Pavlovich, greetings!
I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits.
Perhaps you remember me. I am Rudy, the young guy (well, young then) on the motorcycle who brought your daughter home from Suzdal in August, before she started university. I still remember your warm hospitality, with deep gratitude. After two weeks of meals with my raucous American companions, it meant a lot to me to share a quiet family meal with you.
I work in Irkutsk, for the Scientific and Technological Institute. I now direct construction of a particle collider, the largest in the world. It is good work, challenging, satisfying.
I saw Ksenia this spring. We met by total chance; she had no idea I was here, in Russia (and that is my fault, for not writing, and I am sorry). Our meeting was brief, but I was terribly happy to see her, and Ksenia seemed happy to see me. But then Ksenia walked away, and I have not heard from her.
Please understand, I respect your daughter immensely. I would never insult her, or you. I will always respect her wishes, even if she wishes to have nothing to do with me.
I do not ask you to help me find her. I leave that in her hands.
But if you will forgive this much intrusion, can you tell me: is Ksenia all right?
I wish you both the best. I wish the same for Ksenia and send to her, through you, my apology for my long silence.
Sincerely, respectfully,
Rudy
p.s.: Pavel Pavlovich, I hope your Ural continues to run well.