But as we arrived in Anchorage, everything for me became easy. For Andrei, it was the reverse a world where customs agents want to seize your candy and the man behind the counter can t explain in Russian how to find your bags when you missed your connecting flight. I window-shopped at a supermarket studying the fresh pasta and kumquats and wedges of parmesan cheese. I stared at the mowed lawns and at multistorey buildings whose facades were not made of prefab concrete. But easiness is a matter of perspective.
Human interaction begins with the ability to communicate by speech.
It is no wonder the Soviet Union took such satisfaction in separating authors like Solzhenitsyn from their native tongue by means of exile. As a writer of a somewhat lesser stature, I nevertheless was overwhelmed to enter the University of Washington bookstore and see thousands of volumes written in the language I first heard whispered to me in my crib. I hope Andrei is having a great time in Oakland. But however comfortable I may find things here, I suspect he will be sighing with relief as he heads the other direction across the Pacific. The Last Sacrifice .