Richard White, the Veteran of Vietnam

Richard White was one of the first clients of ours. After his unlucky trip to Russia for a bride he appealed to us with the request to translate and forward his letter to a woman the correspondence with whom for some reason had been previously interrupted. This woman lived in a town, in the centre of Russia, which has traditionally been considered the city of women because of a weaving factory situated there. The woman's name was Ludmila Moeva.

I have not kept their letters, since then my computer has crashed several times, but maybe it does not matter as the most important is still kept in memory. Richard White was about 50, he lived in a house in a dense forest in the state of North Carolina, he was invalided out on pension as a veteran of the Vietnamese war, he had a small business, restored and sold antique cars, sometimes, as a professional-sapper he was invited to a military camp to train recruits there. Richard White planted vegetables in his kitchen-garden, fed deer, his only guests, coming to him from the forest, he also had a computer switched on to Internet and, consequently, a wide circle of email pen-friends, both Americans and Russians. In his picture Richard White resembled either a famous portrait of Ernest Hemingway, or Cooper's hunter-pathfinder -- he had a beard, wore a heavy amulet on a leather lace on his broad chest, a sporting gun on his shoulder. Richard White's life was rather lonely though activities of different kinds and Internet friends relieved it. Being fifty Richard White decided to marry and as there was no appropriate bride in North Carolina Richard fastened his gaze upon Russia.

I don't know why his first trip to our country had not worked out, I remember only that he shared his impressions of cockroaches in small Moscow apartments. Ludmila Moeva, an attractive brunette with an unfriendly face whom Richard started to write to, was about forty, previously she had worked at a weaving factory, but when the factory closed Ludmila started to sell bread in a kiosk near her home. She had a son at school and she did not speak English at all. Richard White was mostly worried by the latter. He was especially perplexed because the deceased Ludmila's grandmother had taught English in the university. Ludmila's personality was unclear from her letters to me too: very often a person is completely open in their letters and it is easy to imagine their individuality, but sometimes, as in Ludmila's case, everything is hid in a fog of uncertainty. On the one hand Ludmila had intelligent parents, she wrote without mistakes, often made digressions into Russian history and literature, true, that not deepening too much, maybe copying generally known passages about great Russian poets and tsars from her son's school textbooks. On the other hand, she had no education except higher school, in spite of her grandmother who had taught English Ludmila did not know even elementary English Grammar, her opinions were often harsh and categorical as a person with a narrow range of interests might have.

American men like to raise the educational level of their Russian girlfriends by sponsoring their English Language studies: I think many Russian women, even those who have not married Americans, started to speak English thanks to their transoceanic friends. Richard White was not an exception, he also sent money to Ludmila for learning English, I remember there were some complications with its transfer, Ludmila had to go to another city to pick it up as there was no Western Union office in hers.

Richard White's character was neither agreeable nor easy-going. Being fifty, he had passed Vietnam, he had remained alive in combat, but had lost his health because of the agent orange drops sprayed from the planes on the friendly soldiers according to the government instructions. He grew tired of fighting with officials who still did not wish to admit the government's fault for Richard and people like him, for some time he has adopted sarcastic and even cynical opinions, he did not any more see life through rosy glasses, however, he did not give up either his fight with bureaucrats or his desire to create personal happiness. Richard White did not hope to have his own children in a marriage, but he was very much interested in Ludmila Moeva's son's hobbies. Richard was happy with the child's interest in cars, in his letters Richard gave birth to the idea of teaching the boy everything he could do himself and eventually to pass his business to him. Richard was a practical person and in spite of his rather modest budget he built up his house for the future family, he constantly restored either the roof or the plumbing, he made different additions to the house. In their letters Richard White and Ludmila Moeva constantly discussed the prospects of their future family life, the occupation Ludmila could find for herself in America, school where her son would study.

Their first serious conflict happened when Richard suddenly wrote to Ludmila that he could not visit her in summer as he had promised previously because he had spent too much money for a new roof, he said that instead he would come in half a year, in winter. I was uncomfortable to translate Ludmila's response. It reminded me of a scene which I once witnessed on in the embankment in a Southern town I had visited once when a Ukrainian beauty walking along the shore, made up till impropriety, adorned by lots of many-coloured beads and other costume jewellery , having heard an exclamation "Good Heavens!" directed to her, broken from someone, had immediately turned around, placed her hands on her hips and, having unerringly located the woman who had said the incautious words, cried: "What do you mean? Why Good Heavens? Am I really worse than you?" and chasing the victim, shamed her for a considerable time yet for all the beach.

Ludmila Moeva's letter was full of hysterical reproofs like " you promised to marry and let me down", Ludmila accused Richard of lying and hypocrisy and asked him not to bother himself to write her any more.

I answered Ruchard's puzzled questions that maybe Ludmila's life had been very hard, maybe she looked forward to his visit so impatiently that broke out. I answered Richard's question about Ludmila's character saying that in my opinion, Russian women like Ludmila are capable of both very good and very bad actions.

Then the crisis of 1998 broke out, and soon another letter from Ludmila Moeva to Richard White arrived, the letter with the request of help. There was neither reproaches nor digressions into Russian history and literature in that letter -- Ludmila wrote that that her kiosk was closed, that she was off work, that her city was dead, life in it stopped, that the winter was ahead, but her son had neither boots nor warm coat. A sheet of paper with the boys' outlined footprint was enclosed in the letter which I scanned and sent to Richard.

Richard White was not an angel. When I charged him for my translation of Ludmila's letter, he sarcastically noticed that he understood all the necessity of charity, but he did not understand why he had also to pay for the letter with the request of it. Being confused, I cancelled my bill, having said that let my translation be my input on the cause of Ludmila's relief.

Very soon the two parcels with the things enthusiastically chosen by Richard already flew to Russia. Richard sent Luidmila's letter with the description of horrors of post-crisis Russian provincial life to his American friends, they posted it to several electronic lists, a charity organisation "Help Russia!" was founded on its basis, tens of addresses of people in need were collected, parcels with warm things, soap, matches and salt started to leave for Russia.

It seemed to me that soap, matches and salt were rather touching than actual gifts: times of Civil war in Russia had passed long ago. However, thoughts of Americans collecting the parcels warmed my heart. I imagined that, having torn themselves from their personal and business affairs, they drove around their shopping malls, bought things and thought of Russia. As for Richard and Ludmila, they continued to write, but the romantic side of their correspondence stepped to the background. That time they rather discussed things sent by Richard or "Help Russia!" society's business. Though Richard was still going to come and still asked Ludmila questions how she saw herself in America, something imperceptibly changed in Ludmila's letters after her strange and hysterical message. As if she swept aside any possibility of future happiness, as if she relished in each letter the descriptions of poverty and misery of the life in her city she evasively answered Richard's questions, she hardly even thanked, but rather reproached him for the parcels because the post office charged her additionally to get them as Richard made a mistake estimating them. There was a strange indifference in the air of her letters, the origin of which neither Richard nor I could understand.

But very soon everything became clear. "Help Russia!" society members, having established contacts with a Russian charitable organisation, visited several addresses to which parcels had been sent. In Ludmila Moeva's apartment the visitors discovered dirt and neglect, a drunk company of shady characters and prostitutes famous in the city, they found also drunk Ludmila there who was immediately recognised by the locals as one of the latter, they found her dirty, wild and ragged child, and absolute absence of the things sent by Richard.

Richard White was too hardened by Vietnam to exclaim and to be horrified. He was rather sad and sympathetic in his comment. Needless to say that he stopped writing to Ludmila. Soon the news came that Ludmila's son was taken to an orphanage from her. Later other political events surged, the activity of "Help Russia!" society retarded and then stopped at all. Richard White tried to correspond with several ladies from our agency yet, one of them later left for England after she had replied to him, another also stopped writing for some reason, then Richard was invited to a military camp to train an American contingent sent to Kosovo.

Leaving for the camp he wrote his last letter to me in which he energetically expressed his opinion of a military adventure arranged by the American government. He wrote that he still hoped to come to the city of St.Petersburg sometime, and maybe to meet someone in it.

Here is the end of the story of Richard and Ludmila. Thinking of Ludmila Moeva's life which was once broken and rolled down till, it seems, the last possible level of degradation when a mother forgets her child, guessing at on the reasons which brought her to this degradation I do not think that hard Russian life could be an excuse for her. Thinking of Richard White who had been twice deceived: first, by the American government which sent him to Vietnam, the second time, by a Russian woman he wished to marry, who was deeply disappointed, but did not give up, did not lose faith in himself and sympathy for people, I wonder why the higher justice in which we all somehow or other believe gave him in his life only what was given to few and did him out of what almost everyone had. As none other Richard White deserved happiness and he really managed to experience happiness of the highest standard - happiness to overcome himself, happiness of the victory in the fight with life, happiness of doing good deeds. His empty house was full with his pen-friends voices, and they were also a source of disinterested joy for him. And though Richard White's life was a success in its major I would still ask the destiny to allow him to recover, to come to St.Petersburg and to meet someone here yet because even the best weapon of war AK-47 cannot be constantly in the combat -- it needs someone's kind hands to clean and to oil it and to prepare it with love for new battles.