ride he could get on the road to... what village? He had no idea how to tell a driver his destination. He didn't even know Cousin Marek's last name.
Oh well. It was just a whim.
But it was a whim that wouldn't go away. After months of barely writing to them, it was absurd to call his parents over this unscheduled side trip. But he picked up the phone and talked and waited his way through the half hour it took to make the connection.
"You want to go back there?" asked Father. "What for?"
"To see the place again," said Ivan. "I have fond memories."
"This must be a new meaning of the word fond. I still have backaches from that place. The calluses haven't healed yet."
"Mine have," said Ivan. "I wish they hadn't. Sometimes I think I was freer on that farm than... well, no, I guess not. Anyway, I haven't spent that much on food or whatever, so I've got plenty of money left for a trip. Does Marek have a phone?"
"Not that I know the number anymore," said Father.
"Then ask Mother, you know she'll have it squirreled away somewhere."
"Oh, yes, I'll love that conversation. 'So, Vanya is all done with his research but he's not coming home, he's going to visit his cousin while his mother languishes. What should I expect from a son who doesn't write to his parents? We can't force him to love us - ' "
Ivan laughed. "Mother's not a whiner, Dad."
"Not to you," said Father. "I get a solo performance. And Ruth, she'll be glad to hear that you can wait to see her - because you have to say hello to some cows."
Ivan laughed again.
"You seem to think I'm joking."
"No, Father, I just think you and Mother are funny." Wrong thing to say. Father didn't like to think he was amusing. "Sometimes," Ivan added.
Unmollified, Father replied, "I'm glad to provide you with entertainment. Our ratings are low - one viewer - but the reviews of our performance are good enough maybe we'll be renewed for another season..."
"Come on, Father, I want to pay a call on Cousin Marek. He took us in when we needed help, should I be this close and not make the effort?"
"Close?" said Father. "As close as New York is to Miami."
"You've got the scale wrong," said Ivan. "More like from Buffalo to Syracuse."
"Tell me that again after four hours on the bus."
"Call me back when you have the information?"
"No, Mother has it right here in the book." Father gave him all the information and they said good-bye.
They refused to sell him a ticket at the train station until right before departure - inflation was too high to be able to lock in the price even the day before. Nor could they guarantee him that the bus would even be running. "Capitalism now," said the ticket agent. "They only run the bus if there are enough passengers to pay for the fuel."
That night, after half an hour of trying, he got through by telephone to Cousin Marek.
"Little Itzak?" Marek said.
"I use Ivan, mostly." Ivan was a little surprised. Cousin Marek had always called him Vanya. Ivan didn't remember that Marek had even known his Jewish name. But that was a long time ago, and perhaps the old farmer had been amused at this family of Russian intellectuals who suddenly decided to be Jews and then took up residence on a farm.
"You eating kosher?" asked Marek.
"No, not really," said Ivan. "I mean, I avoid pork, lard, things like that."
"No lard!" cried Marek. "What do you put on your bread?"
"Cheese, I hope," laughed Ivan.
"All right, we'll go out and pluck a few from the cheese tree." Marek laughed at his own joke. "Come ahead, we're glad to have you. I'll find out when the bus is coming in and I'll be there to meet you. I'm afraid all the cows you knew are long since knackered."
"They didn't like me anyway."
"You weren't much of a milker."
"I'll be no better now, I'm afraid, but I'll do whatever you need. I... pole vault rather well." It took him a moment to think of the Ukrainian word. Marek laughed.
That night, when Ivan was through packing, he was still too full of springtime to sleep. He went outside for a walk, but even that wasn't enough. He began to jog, to run, dodging through the streets as he used to do as a child. When he was a child he had never been allowed outside to run