The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2003

’m not quite sure how I came to be here, in a crowded, dingy room in the U.S. embassy, staring through a thick sheet of glass at an American girl, not much older than me. She shouts through the glass, introducing herself in accented Russian. She is the vice consul, she says, and she has some ques- tions for me. Questions for me? What can she possibly ask that I’m not already asking myself? My palms are sweating, and I see my reflection in the glass, dis- torted. I see myself clutching a thick envelope of papers. I see my coat with the fur collar — normally I think it flatters my fig- ure, the shape of my face, but somehow, reflected in the glass, it looks dirty, a bit disheveled. I see my makeup, so carefully applied just a few hours ago, but already looking mask-like. I’m sure this vice consul can see my lips shaking as I fix my face into a smile. And I wonder again, how did I get here? Why am I here, staring past my reflection at some American girl in a crisp business outfit? Is she staring back at me? Or is she simply admiring her own reflection on the other side of the glass? I t was seven months ago today when I celebrated my 20th birthday with a group of universi- ty friends. We went downtown, bought some drinks from a street vendor, and wandered through Red Square, laughing loudly and enjoying the warm evening air. The poplars were just beginning to bloom, and the parks were full of young people like us, out enjoying the night. We happened past a shop with a sign in the window: “Internet Café.” It was Olga’s idea to go in, just for a laugh, she said. She’s studying computers at MGU, just like me, so it was easy enough for us to find the Internet bride sites. We laughed as we read the entries — so brash, so pathetic, so obvi- ously untrue! Did anyone truly fall for this stuff? So she entered her own application into the registry. Of course, none of it was true, but she made us all laugh. Next it was Nina’s turn. “Laugh if you want,” she said, “but I don’t think it’s a joke. Who wouldn’t want to marry an American?” Next was Lena’s turn, and the mood had turned serious. We all helped her think of the right phrases, anything that could help catch an American’s eye. Then my turn came. Name: Ivanova, Valentina Alexandrovna. Age: 20. Brown hair. Green eyes. Computer science major. Never been married. Down the list I went, trying to explain to this com- puter exactly who I was. When we were done, we went back out into the city. The air had turned cold while we’d sat inside, and we shivered in our miniskirts. Olga raised her can of beer in a mock toast and said, “May we all celebrate Valentina’s next birthday in America.” 36 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 0 3 I A R USSIAN GIRL CONTEMPLATES MORE THAN JUST MARRIAGE AS SHE APPLIES FOR A VISA . B Y D ONNA G ORMAN F O C U S T HROUGH THE G LASS Janet Cleland