The property caretaker reminded me that he'd been interrupted, when I'd begun telling him the story of what happened after I'd been found.
“When we went into his office, he indicated that I sit down in a chair, facing him at his desk. He made a very long telephone call, sitting in profile so I couldn’t ‘read’ what he was saying, idly flipping through my passport.
“What I wasn’t aware of at the time was that my disappearance had caused, uh, problems.
“I arrived on a Friday late afternoon, as scheduled, but it wasn’t until Saturday late afternoon, when the person who was supposed to pick me up at the airport, showed up a day late to get me.
“He immediately contacted the New York office of his organization; it was known that I had in fact arrived and left the airport…..the day before--the day I was supposed to.
“That organization contacted friends back in Nebraska, and it was a good thing they were wearing brown pants when they learned more about me.
“I hadn’t told them I was deaf because they hadn’t asked, and if I’d voluntarily told them, they’d probably tell me ‘no.’â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“Various friends then immediately contacted the offices of then-U.S. senators J. James Exon and J. Robert Kerrey, and congressman Douglas Bereuter, in Washington, who until all this was resolved, tried contacting the embassy in Kiev, with no success.
“And the U.S. Department of State.
“franksolich was missing, and someone had better find him.
“It even made the newspapers back here, NEBRASKAN MISSING IN UKRAINE.
“Although not as front-page news; usually in the back, on the same page where, ominously, the obituaries were printed.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“So when everybody returned to work at the embassy after their taxpayer-paid holidays, apparently there was something that needed explanation, and resolved.
“After the man behind the desk got done with that long telephone call, he turned facing me, his hands flat on his desk, but his arms bent, his elbows raised.
“His face turned violently red, the veins pulsating, and he looked as if he wanted to pounce on me.
“’HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID?†he roared; 'DO YOU KNOW HOW LUCKY YOU ARE?!!!!!!?
“’YOU’RE THE DAMN LUCKIEST SON-OF-A-BITCH I’VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!!!!
“’DO YOU IN THE SLIGHTEST UNDERSTAND HOW LUCKY YOU ARE?!!!!!!!! HOW
COULD YOU BE SO STUPID?’
“I was stunned by the harsh onslaught; I’d thought they’d be happy, that I’d shown up safe and sound.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“Anyway, without know it, he’d knocked a chip off my shoulder.
“It really pisses me off,†I said to the caretaker, “that when something ‘bad’ happens to a hearing person, he’s given the benefit of the doubt; maybe it was just random bad luck, not his fault.
“But when something ‘bad’ happens to a deaf person, it’s
automatically assumed he was just being stupid, or had done something stupid.
“It really pisses me off; simple plain old-fashioned random bad luck
never happens to deaf people, it’s
always because
we’ve been stupid.
“
Every time; it’s never any other way, it‘s our own fault, for having been so stupid.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“I pointed out, testily, that it wasn’t
me, who’d failed to meet me at the airport--and I didn’t know what’d been behind that, at the time.
“It wasn’t
me, who’d failed to have an American employee of the embassy available 24/7/365, after regular hours and on weekends and holidays
especially in ‘disturbed’ areas.
“It wasn’t
me, who’d written down what was apparently a wrong telephone number--and I didn’t know the story behind that at the time, either.
“’In fact,’ I said, in the coldest tone I could muster, ‘instead of being yelled at for being ‘stupid,’ I rather think I should be complimented in something that would panic other people; I had no idea what was going on, but at least I kept my ****ing head.’
“After all, it wasn’t anything
any primitive on Skins’s island could live through,†I reminded the caretaker. “One of them, one of the primitives, would have ten years of shit cascading down their pants.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“After which I described attempts to establish some sort of contact with someone, anyone, who could tell me what was going on, and at least half-assedly assure me that it’d be okay in the end.
“Someone knew someone who knew someone who knew a ‘volunteer’ in the Peace Corps, an American in Kiev.
“He was reached, and after being told the details, said ’it’s not
my problem,’ after which ’click’ the telephone.
“That asshole,†I said to the caretaker; “I still get worked up when thinking of it. I wasn’t asking to stay with him, I wasn’t asking him for money or anything--I just wanted to meet him so he could explain things to me, a fellow American.
“Nowadays, he’s probably a Foreign Service Officer--Peace Corps ‘volunteers’ get ‘bonus points’ in the FSO examination--living the life of Riley on a Skippy-sized salary in some exotic place.
“That asshole,†I repeated.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Then someone knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who was an American with AID, the Agency for International Development, then in Kiev.
“He was reached, and he was very sorry, but it wasn’t his department, his job. Best for me to wait until the American embassy re-opened, and no, he didn’t want to talk with me.
“That bastard,†I said to the caretaker; “
all I wanted was to talk with him, to get his ‘take’ on my situation, and to give me, a fellow American, at least
some assurance that all was going to be okay.
“He’s probably retired now, living high on the hog on his pension on some country acreage-and-mansion in northern Virginia now.
“That bastard,†I repeated.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Finally, near the end of all this, someone knew someone who knew someone who was a low-level employee at the embassy, but a Ukrainian citizen.
“He talked to them, but pointed out that as a non-American citizen employee, and as low-ranking as he was, there was nothing he could do.
“Well, fair enough; he was right, there was nothing
he could do.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“The man on the other side of the desk was taking notes, filling out a report, as I went on.
“I imagine it was something like an ‘incident report’ that a policeman might write; at any rate, two years later, I saw a photocopy of it, when being examined for a higher-than-usual ‘security clearance’ for a job back here.
“I’d been hired by a private contractor to Immigration & Naturalization, as ‘records supervisor,’ and for the job, needed access to, uh, sensitive information.
‘’
What in the world were you doing over there?’ the pitbull of an investigator from OPM, the federal office of personnel management, asked me.
“At any rate, I got my clearance, but never bothered using it.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“After he was done, he made another telephone call, again sitting in profile so I couldn’t ‘read’ what he was saying.
“When he got done, he told me, ‘it’s our suggestion that you leave, as soon as it can be arranged,’ shoving a photocopied list--and a very short one--of airline flights headed to the United States from Kiev; about six of them a week, at the time.
“’You’re never going to be safe here; and your being deaf--besides not knowing the language--makes it even more dangerous for you.
“’It’s our recommendation that you leave, as soon as it can be arranged,’ he repeated; ‘you can’t make it here.’
“I was floored.
“
Surely I’d proven remarkable endurance and resourcefulness my first six days in this wretched place, and it was an insult, to be told I wasn’t smart enough to make it longer than that.
“’No,’ I said, with all the frostiness I could muster. 'I think I’ll stay. Now, tell me, please, where it is, I’m supposed to be, and I’ll go.’
- - - - - - - - - -
“Somewhere in between all of the yelling-and-screaming, the woman who’d initially waited on me behind the plexiglass had come in, with the name, address, and telephone number of the Kiev ‘office’ of the organization that’d set things up for me.
“The man behind the desk made three telephone calls, again in profile so I couldn’t ‘read’ what he was saying.
“After which he returned my passport to me, and told me he’d arranged for a Ukrainian employee of the embassy to drive me to where I was supposed to be, and that the guards at the gate outside had retrieved my luggage from the three people who’d taken me to the embassy, telling them to go away, and not try to contact me.
“’You have no idea who these people are, or were,’ he said, ‘and I suggest you not try to contact them either.’
“After which I was free to go.â€
to be continued