Blow
by Williams Aarnes

Istanbul in Winter
by Richard Tillinghast

Buying Lenin
by Miroslav Penkov

Buying Lenin
    Miroslav Penkov

          for my grandfathers

When Grandpa learned I was leaving for America to study, he wrote
me a good-bye note. “You rotten capitalist pig,” the note read, “have a safe
flight. Love, Grandpa.” It was written on a creased red ballot from the 1991 elections, which was a cornerstone in Grandpa’s communist ballot collection, and it bore the signatures of everybody in the village of Leningrad.
     I was touched to receive such an honor, so I sat down, took out a one dollar bill, and wrote Grandpa the following reply: “You communist dupe, thanks for the letter. I’m leaving tomorrow, and when I get there I’ll try to marry an American woman ASAP. I’ll also try to have American children. Love, your grandson.”

My senior year in high school, while most of my peers were busy drinking, smoking, having sex, playing dice, lying to their parents, hitchhiking to the sea, counterfeiting money, or making bombs for soccer games, I studied. English. I memorized words and grammar rules and practiced tongue twisters specifically designed for Eastern Europeans. Remember the money, I repeated over and over again—in the street, under the shower, even in my sleep. Remember the money, remember the money, remember the money. Phrases like this help you break your tongue. Develop an ear.
      I lived alone in the apartment because by that time almost everybody I’d loved had died. First Grandma. Then my parents. Grandpa had moved to the village renamed Leningrad and stubbornly refused to come back and visit. I must have said some pretty bad things on a few occasions, especially when we had that big fight, and he was acting offended.
     So I decided to seek my fortune elsewhere.
     Early in the spring of 1999 I got admitted to the University of Arkansas and received a free ride—full scholarship, room and board, even a plane ticket. I called Grandpa.
     “My grandson, a capitalist!” he said. “I can’t believe you’ll do this to me. Not when you know what I’ve been through.”

Continued in volume 43, issue 4, autumn 2007