Part One – Here
(Western Hemisphere)
CHAPTER SIX – MY ENTIRE FAMILY GATHERS HERE
How did the immigration mechanism usually work? People applied for entry and had interview at US embassies in various countries. Naturally, we went through it at the US Embassy in the USSR, during the years of perestroika, when citizens began to be allowed to come close to the embassy.
If the applicant received permission to enter at the interview, then upon arriving in the United States, as a rule, he filled out a form for his relatives. Then after some time (sometimes a year or two, sometimes longer, depending on the flow of people during a given period), these relatives had the opportunity to undergo an interview and come to the United States. We are only talking about the right of entry, and not about social assistance. Some received it, others did not, depending on who said what and how it was confirmed by the situation in their region, etc.
Once upon a time, dad filed documents for his son, that is, me and his brother. Uncle Abel and I were interviewed at the Moscow US Embassy on the same day. Both received refugee status, that is, the right to enter the country with the financial assistance. My wife, daughter and I soon emigrated. My uncle and his wife followed us in two to four months.
All of us – my wife, me and my uncle applied for an interview for our loved ones. My wife and I did it for our parents and siblings, and Uncle Abel did for his two daughters and their families.
How did events develop for our loved ones?
One early morning in early January 1991, when we were getting ready for work and classes, I as usual turned on the small TV in the kitchen to find out the latest news. Imagine my surprise when I saw on the screen Tbilisi, the city center – Rustaveli Avenue and a tank that was slightly turning its tower left and right.
“Now it will shoot!” – a thought flashed through me, from which I came into indescribable excitement, and acting as if on a whim, I took the telephone book and opened the page with a list of telephone numbers of the authorities. “Senator D’Amato” I saw the inscription and phone number. Without hesitation, I dialed it and heard a dry but friendly voice on the phone,
“Senator D’Amato is listening. Identify yourself.”
“Hello! My name is Nikolay Neiman,” I introduced myself.
“Just a minute… the name is Nikolay, right? Last name is Neiman?”
The caller was clearly recording. I heard the rustle of a pen on paper. I was familiar with this type of communication between a high-ranking official with a visitor, for example the secretary of a district party committee, or the chairman of a city executive committee, or Gorbachov’s assistant, recorded you initial data.
I myself once “intimidated” a member of the admissions committee at the Polytechnic Institute, demanding the same passport data from him.
“Your address? Telephone?”
I gave my home address and phone number.
“The reason for your call?”
“Excuse me sir, is your TV on?” I asked, “Channel One, news.”
“No, what’s the matter?”
“It’s about the tank,” I said, “Do you see it? This is the city from where I immigrated to the USA. And right there is my mother’s house. If the tank fires, she will die. Her documents are on the US computer. I ask for the help to speed up her departure.”
Breathing could be heard in the tube. Then the man said,
“I understood you. You have stated everything clearly. I think that in an hour or two they will call you back from Washington. If any problem has arisen, call me.”
Short beeps were heard on the phone.
I didn’t go to classes, but stayed to wait for a call from Washington. Ana had already been sent to school, Lilya had already gone to work in the office, and the phone was still silent. Finally, at half past nine I jumped up from an unexpected and sharp telephone ring.
“Yes?”
A thin female voice said,
“This is the Immigration and Naturalization Service of the Department of Justice speaking to you. Is this Nikolay Neiman?”
“Yes, it’s him,” I confirmed, pleased that everything was developing according to the senator’s plan.
“Who are you,” the voice suddenly turned into a piercing screech, “to call the senator’s home at seven in the morning?!”
“I’m his voter,” I said, “Now you say your first and last name, last name first.”
The squeal instantly dropped to a calm contralto,
The squeal instantly dropped to a calm contralto,
“Why do you need this?”
“That’s what the senator ordered.”
“Jones, Sylvia. Senator’s request has been received. We act in the most optimal way according to the current situation. Thank you.”
I was a little shaken, but I decided to thank the senator and dialed his number again. A male voice answered, but not the same one, but a stern and young one,
“Senator D’Amato’s office…”
“I spoke to the senator this morning. My name is Nikolay Neiman.”
“Your address? Telephone?”
I said it.
“Yes, yes, I see the recording. That’s right. How may we be of help?”
“I just want to convey my gratitude to the senator. I got a call back from Washington, as he promised. Thank him very much.”
“We glad to be of service. Goodbye.”
A few days later, my mother called with the news: due to the situation in the city, she, my sister’s family, as well as some familiar city residents who had already been interviewed at the US Embassy, received permission to enter. Others were called in for interviews…
That’s how it worked thirty-five years ago.
We began to prepare for the arrival of our loved ones – that is, to look for an apartment in the complex of our houses. They needed a two-bedroom (three-room) apartment, and we managed to find a suitable one. We were already familiar with the method of obtaining an apartment. The office manager found a cheap apartment for the usual price of an apartment agent, that is, for a month’s rent, which went into his pocket. But for the contract it was necessary to have an amount three times larger – in advance, for the first month of residence, an insurance premium for the last month and… gratitude. For many emigrants, this amount was significant and difficult to find. Fortunately, perestroika went far, housing was privatized, sold, prices soared, and ours were able to liquidate the apartment for six thousand dollars, which at that rate was equal to a suitcase of Soviet money. Still, it was not in vain that I expanded, built, insulated, in a word, invested income in real estate, which I called sweet home.
My share, three thousand dollars, melted away in one moment. Firstly, I immediately paid off my debts – I paid a three-month payment for my apartment and for the Kaplan courses. And, secondly, we showed off – we bought a wide orthopedic mattress and celebrated it in a good restaurant. After which all the money ran out, and my sweet home shrank to the size of a mattress, on which I still see beautiful dreams about the past and the future.
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