Lake Harmony

Lake Harmony

September of the last year I spent in Lake Harmony, the quiet resort area located in Pocono Mountains. It was the end of the summer season and hotel was mostly empty. Most vacationers with kids returned home because of the beginning of school year, and those who stayed were retired and didn’t need to rush anywhere. The only exception was a middle-aged man who spent most of the time on the beach reading a book and impatiently looking around as if he was waiting for somebody. After a few lunches with him I found out that his name was Boris Kolibas, he was from Boston, worked at a pharmaceutical company as a manager and that he planned to stay here for a week.
One evening we were sitting in a restaurant in the lobby of the hotel, drinking coffee when I asked Boris where he was originally from.
“Your name sounds Russian,” I told him.
Boris smiled and said that he was born in Ukraine, in a small town.
“When I was twenty years old, my parents and I decided to immigrate to America because of the bad economic situation in our town. We wrote a letter to our friends in New York, asking them whether they could help us immigrate. They responded that, unfortunately, they couldn’t; however we decided to go anyway, and after receiving guest visas from the American embassy, we arrived to New York City. In a few days, I found a job as a limo driver while my parents started working in local stores. I had been driving for a few months when one day I picked up a young woman from her apartment in the city and drove her to Kennedy airport. We started talking and I noticed that she liked me, so I offered to pick her up when she returns from her trip. She agreed and I gave her my phone number. In a few days she called me when she came back, I picked her up at the airport and brought her home. After that we started dating,” Boris said. He took out a cigar and a lighter from his pocket and started smoking.
“Did you like her?” I asked him filling in the silence.
Boris didn’t answer at once. He thought a little and said:
“I didn’t like her, she was not my type, not very tall, a little overweight, shy, with asymmetrical face. Honestly speaking, I had an ulterior motive. I wanted to get married to an American girl to get a green card.”
“Didn’t you feel any guilt for using the poor girl like that?” I asked him involuntarily.
“No, I didn’t. I needed to get the papers, otherwise I would always be an illegal immigrant and work at low paying jobs,” Boris dryly said, shrugged his shoulders. “We dated for a few months and I did everything I could to get her love. I called her every day and talked to her affectionately and softly. Every week I brought her flowers and gifts, and we went to expensive restaurants. Finally, after a few months she offered me to move in with her. This success was above all my expectations, surprised and even scared me. I wanted to stop toying with her and to admit that I was using her and didn’t deserve her love, however the temptation was too high. So I moved into her apartment and soon we got married. It all happened so fast that I could not believe it.
I got a green card pretty fast, approximately in one year, and two months later I found my first ‘real’ job in the laboratory of a major hospital. It was like a dream come true. Just a few months ago I came to America, having no money and a permission to stay for a long time, and now I had a job and an American wife. I realized that I could now divorce her if I wanted to, however, ironically I started to like her, her look, her eyes, her smile, although she was not very pretty. Why are you smiling?”
I explained Boris that I thought that his story had a happy ending like in most American movies. He shook his head and said that unfortunately it did not.
“After we had a child, son, she suddenly changed. She became nervous and despotic. She didn’t even allow me to touch my son. She didn’t like anything I did. We fought every day because of small staff like I didn’t put a scissors in the usual place or I bought diapers of wrong size. Finally, I’ve had enough and divorced her, although I continued to love her and the baby. My heart was broken. I cried all the time. I lost my job because I couldn’t bring myself to leave the apartment and go to work. Life seemed empty and pointless, and I even had suicidal thoughts for a while. This continued a few years until I was able to overcome depression. Soon I found a job in Boston and moved to live there.”
I kept silence for a few minutes, shocked of sad ending and then I said:
“At least, you got a green card.”
“Honestly, I wish I didn’t. It brought me nothing but emptiness and pain. I thought if I had a green card, all my problems would be solved and I would be happy forever. Unfortunately, it was an illusion. I was more miserable than I was when I came to America.” He finished his cigar. “I want another cup of coffee, what about you?” After I politely declined, Boris called the waiter to fill his cup.
“Have you been able to see your son?” I asked him when the waiter left.
“I spent a lot of time fighting in court trying to get visitation rights and finally was able to get them. Tomorrow my ex-wife will come here and bring my son. I am excited and nervous at the same time because I have not seen my son for many years. I am not even sure that he will recognize me.”
He looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock. “It is late, however. I want to go to bed earlier and get enough sleep to prepare for tomorrow.” He finished his coffee, got up, took out a wallet from his pocket, put a few dollars on the table despite my objections, and left. I continued sitting for a while, then paid the bill and went to my room.
In the morning I got up earlier, ate quickly and went to the lobby, curious to see Boris’ wife and his son; however, nobody was there. I went out on the terrace and noticed Boris standing near the road leading to the hotel, checking each passing car. His face was swollen, his eyes were red and he looked tired. From time to time his face became distorted as if by the torture of some inner secret pain. A few hours had passed and Boris’s ex-wife and his son didn’t come. Suddenly I realized that they weren’t going to come. I felt sorry for Boris and was wondering what he was going to do. He waited a little longer, and then slowly walked towards the hotel entrance staring gloomily into the space in front of him. When he passed me I wanted to call him; however I decided that it would better to do this next time.
I have not seen him again. In the evening I knocked on a door of his room, but nobody answered. I went downstairs to the lobby, hoping to meet him there, but the lobby was empty. I asked a clerk at the front desk whether he had seen Boris and was told that Boris checked out that afternoon unexpectedly.
Stunned, I decided to take a walk before going to my room, wondering where Boris went. Back home, giving up hope to see his son, or to New York City, where his ex-wife leaves? Probably, I would never know the answer. I was nervous and besieged by some fuzzy gloom. I had mixed feelings for Boris. I felt sorry that he was forced to divorce his wife and was not able to see his son. At the same time, I blamed him for what happened. He used his wife for his own goals, unsuspecting that it would backfire one day. He reminded me of a spider, who spread a net to catch his prey; however underestimated its strength and was caught by himself.
I walked alone along the narrow path overgrown by grass along the quiet lake. The sun had already set and it was the Night’s turn to rule. The light bugs were singing their song. The light breeze was blowing on my hair. The shining stars were spread out on the sky, and from time to time one of them disappeared from their dance circle like people disappear from this world.