Yuri

Let me tell ya about the cabbie I had on the way to the airport in San Francisco this afternoon. I was pretty stressed. The limo I'd called was ten minutes late and I had already cut it very close for my 1:30 flight out of Oakland. Every time I called the limo driver, he'd babble away in an unintelligible Indian accent about being 'only 1 minute away.' After three such calls I hefted my luggage down to the curb on Powell Street and grabbed the first cab I saw.

As I shared my panic and what I perceived to be the desperation of my situation -- mine was the only flight with seats available headed to St. Louis today and I have appointments there tomorrow -- he looked at me in his mirror. I saw a smile raise the sunglasses on his nose slightly and he said, 'Sit back, relax, don't worry. I'll get you there in time.'

'You have a very interesting accent,' I said. 'Where did you come from?'

'Russia; Moscow.'

'I thought I recognized a little Eastern European throat in there. . . . how long have you been here?'

'Fourteen years.'

'Well you picked a very interesting city to call home.'

'I love San Francisco,' he cooed. 'I feel about it as if I were born here.'

'It's a really busy place . . . .reminds me of New York.'

'Where do you live?' he asked.

'San Diego . . . we're a lot . . . slower.'

'Oh, yes, but you have that perfect weather.'

'True,' I mused. 'But I do need a little big city bustle from time to time.'

'Hey,' he offered, 'The reason we look so busy is that the city is only 47 square miles. Everything is very close and there are a lot of people and business in a small area.'

'What brought you here?' I asked.

I had family here . . . '

'Yes, but why did you leave Russia?'

'Ever since I was a small boy I wanted to leave Russia.'

'Yes?' He seemed to be sizing me up, wondering if he should tell his story to me. Did I really want to know? Or was I just making conversation? He paused for a minute and then began.

'It started with my Grandfather. They killed him. Those fucking communists. Early in the last century many members of my family emigrated to the Bay Area. In 1914, he returned to Russia to bring his wife, and their son, my father, back with him. Travel was a very slow thing back then . . . It took time . . . and he had some other business to attend to. And they were caught there when the Revolution occurred in 1917. He was a very successful engineer and had a very nice apartment in Moscow and one of his neighbors turned him in. That was very common back then. It was like . . . a prize. If you turned your neighbor in you might be able to get his apartment. '

I pictured Dr. Zhivago huddled with so many others in a cramped apartment in Moscow. Somehow that story was becoming real for me.

'They took him to a Labor Camp, but he never got there. They said he got sick and died on the way, but I know they killed him. They killed most people they took to the Labor Camps. Years later, in the 50's they found many graves and many bodies, most with a single bullet hole in the back of the skull.'

'They executed your Grandfather?'

'Yes, that's the word: Executed him.' The emotion was building in his voice. It was hatred and pain pulling at his throat. By now he was spending as much time looking at me through the mirror as he was watching the road. He was telling his heart and needed to make connection with his listener.

'My Grandmother raised my father on her own. Most of the rest of the family was in America. Then came World War Two and my father, who was studying to be a doctor, went into the air force. He shot down 22 German Planes. He was a war hero. He was shot down himself twice and wounded four times. He was a war hero. And when the war was over and he came home, they arrested him and took him to a Labor Camp for eight years.'

'What for?' I barked, 'He was a War Hero!'

'He had relative living in the United States and they thought he might be a spy. Many men who came home from the war were sent to the camps. If you had family in the US it was assumed you were a spy. The KGB went after everyone.'

'Did your dad make it out alive?'

'Oh, yes. Eight years later. He had to get out so I could be born. I was born in 1955.'

'So you grew up over there.'

'Yes . . . but my family's reputation made things difficult. I couldn't get into University even though my grades were good because my father had been in a Labor Camp.'

'What? Your father was a war hero.'

'Yes, but everyone assumed my whole family were spies. We had relatives in the United States.'

'Didn't things get better in the nineties?'

'For a few years, yes. Gorbie came in and we had Freedom, we could move around. And I took the first chance I saw to move myself and my wife and parents out of there and over here to San Francisco.'

'You completed the dream of your grandfather?'

'Yes . . . exactly. It's the best thing I ever did in my life. We gave up a lot . . . we had a little money . . . and now I drive a cab, but we are free. My son was born here.'

'Oh; How old is he?'

'Eleven.'

'That's nice.'

'Yes . . .he's an all-American boy.' I could hear the pride in his voice. 'Sometimes, when I am not working I just drive them around the city. My wife, she likes that very much.'

'You know, I've read stories like yours and seen them in the movies, but I think I always expected they were unusual or exaggerations . . . that the average Russian probably had a fairly similar life to the one I was living.'

'Not at all . . .'

'Yes; hearing your story tells me the movies weren't that far off from truth.' We were coming off the Bay Bridge by now into Oakland. My mind roamed back to the headline I saw in USA Today this morning: '85% of Iraqis say they are optimistic about the future' or something like that.

'You know, I am aware of the way the news media teaches us what to think and believe,' I said. 'I guess I don't trust them and didn't believe that Russia was the evil empire we always said it was. It's like Iraq. We don't hear anything except how bad and how impossible it is, but then there's this headline about optimism.'

'I learned that everything they say is probably a lie. Bu that was easy. In Russia, the news was controlled by the government . . . we knew it was all lies. Here, people believe what they hear on the news. The truth is that Iraq has 20 provinces and 18 of them are peaceful and moving ahead. The violence is all occurring in two provinces.'

'Really?' I asked. 'I didn't know that . . . and from the reports on American television, I don't guess I ever would had it not been for you telling me.'

'The news groups all want to show Bush as a bad man. I voted for him. I'm not a Republican . . . or a Democrat. I am an independent man and I make up my mind about each candidate. But I voted for bush because I believe in what he's doing.'

'That's true about the news media,' I offered.' They don't really lie to us, but their bias usually makes it into each story.' I thought for a moment. 'So are things still getting better in Russia?'

'No; after Gorbachev we had Yeltsin and he gave us free press and free speech but he set up an Oligarchy. Now we are right back where a few people have all the power and resources and most people are powerless.'

'And I expect Chechnya will pull and drag on those resources, too?'

'Oh, yes; But Chechnya has been a problem for 300 years. It is a Moslem area, they have little in common with the rest of Russia. They ought to just let them go.'

'Do they have natural resources that Russia needs? Like oil?'

'They have oil, but only as much as other parts of Russia.'

By now we were pulling into the airport. I began to fish in my wallet for the $60 fare and tip. He'd gotten me there in 40 minutes, 40 minutes before my flight time. I got out of the cab and met him by the open trunk where he pulled my luggage to the curb.

'What's your name?' I asked.

'Yuri,' he replied. '

I'm James,' I returned, 'And it has been an honor to ride in your cab.' I reached out to shake his hand and he took it and pulled me to him in a warm embrace.

'No, James. Thank you.' And he was gone.