Have fun reading my story, based on the Moscow Music Peace Festival in 1989. Many thanks to my Editing Cousin, your input means the world to me.
MY RUSSIAN ADVENTURE - part 1
Summer of 1989
The Turnover Cafe was our fraternity's hangout. Diederick, Arend and I dragged chairs out of the cafe, and took a table as well. It was a nice summer day with the kind of clouds Dutch skies can make so well.
Our university was the only one in The Netherlands where we still had a fraternity, and a sorority as well. The Turnover Cafe was also the home base of the sisters, and normally this place was crowded, but the holidays had begun.
I had put off drinking my coffee, I couldn't buy another after this one.
"You still have coffee I see, Bareld." Didi looked at Arend. "You fancy another?" Teasing me about my perpetual money shortage was a running gag, but Diederick was a generous person. He'd buy me a coffee and he didn't need anything in return.
Diederick and I had been friends since I joined the fraternity four years ago. As a freshman I studied French, well, hardly, so after a year I switched to anthropology. It suited me much better, no more pounding words. My name is Bareld de Jong.
"Why didn't you back me on my motion to merge with the sorority? I said, "do you want us to end up in the old boys club?"
Diederick was our chairman, his voice carried weight. He could have changed the outcome.
"I met with the sisters. They didn't want it. They said, we're the only uni where we're still separated, it's mainstream! We are unique, and it's fun, we don't want to spoil that just because of common opinions."
"Hm, that sounds like them. Fighting male supremacy on their own terms," I said, "and anytime they want a merged activity, they get it. Why didn't I ask myself?"
"You're just too fond of girls," Arend said, "and they--"
"Are fond of me, I heard that one before Arend." I shook my head. "I should have asked them before I proposed the motion."
"It was a fun meeting," Arend said, "A heated discussion, strong emotions, loved it."
* * *
Diederick introduced Arend to me at the New Year celebration of our fraternity. He was someone you'd easily overlook, medium build, sandy hair and no distinguished clothing style. He seemed shy but he wasn't really, he just needed time to open up to you. And once he did his eyes started to sparkle and funny little remarks poured out of him. He had some ideas for sketches.
"I know at least two girls who'd want a cabaret group," I said, "or do you want it to be strictly male? British army style?"
"No, no, contemporary for sure, look at scene one..." and he reached for his bag.
Didi said, "you got this, don't you Bareld? You can use the backroom of the Turnover Cafe on frat nights, you know that." He winked at me and left us.
I recruited three girls and a boy, I joined myself and we started rehearsing. Arend directed, and I took care of the practical stuff. We became a close knit group. One of the girls was Petra. She and I had previously had a fling, but now we got steady. She had a great voice and if I may reveal an intimate detail, she employed it fully during climaxes.
The day we performed we got a full house, and the show was a blast. The atmosphere was exuberant in the foyer, and Theater Guy had to call, "Last round!" twice before people were starting to leave. My father stayed, and followed us backstage.
My father was someone who took care of himself. A slight belly showed his love for food and a good wine, and his tan screamed he loved the sun. He liked the attention of others, and as a master conversationalist he held it easily. A master manipulator in my eyes.
Backstage we crammed into one of the dressing rooms to mark the end of a great project with a toast. I'd gotten us a bottle of bubbles and a bunch of glasses. This was a private moment, I didn't want my father present, but somebody had passed on a glass to him. I could hardly take it from him and say, "get lost," so I filled it, and said instead, "anything you want to say dad?" so he could give his compliment or whatever and leave us.
Stupid me, I could have known he had no intention to leave. Dad said, "people, people." The room was quiet instantly. "It was a privilege to be here tonight. Your combined enthusiasm caught me right from the beginning. Petra." Meaningful silence. "You have a voice that's so wonderful it affects everyone as soon as you open your mouth. Have you ever wondered why everybody starts to smile when you're around? There you have your answer." Snickering around him. "And you, what's your name?"
"Cecile."
"Cecile, your timing can make a common remark funny. That's a talent you have, and I know it's a talent that's not just useful on stage, it's useful in a boardroom too!" That got him a laugh.
The concept was simple. He took a detail one did right on stage, blew it up to a precious treat, and looked that person deep in the eye. It left them in awe, as if they were blessed by the messiah.
I knew these people, and I knew what they had to overcome to be on that stage. I wanted to celebrate those wins. I wanted to be with them, after tonight we'd return to diverging lives. But daddy had taken the stage, and I knew he was going to wrap it up and send us home with a silver bow.
He continued, "Barrio,"
"When you reported my birth you named me Bareld, remember? That made Petra's name the only one you knew of us," I said.
"Barrio, I know you're modest about your ability to bring people together. But I assure you, it's really special. I'm proud of you." The troupe nodded.
So he was proud of me because I called a few people whom I already knew would say yes. He saw nothing noteworthy of me on stage. I told him a thousand times not to call me Barrio. I gritted my teeth.
Arend said, "mr de Jong--"
"Gerard, call me Gerard."
"I find that hard, mr de Jong, but I'll try. We're proud of Barrio too." He winked at me, I smiled sourly, I couldn't be mad at Arend. "Folks, good work. You did well." We've heard this phrase a thousand times in the past months, it made him such a joy to work with, he never talked anyone down. He looked at me questioningly, did I want to say something? I'd forgotten what I wanted to say, I didn't feel it anymore. I said no with the smallest of shakes.
Theater Guy stuck his head around the corner: "Can I lock up? Or do you need more time?"
"No no," said Arend, "We're done, aren't we?" People were already grabbing their stuff.
My dad nodded, gave me two taps on my shoulder and left.
Outside the theater Arend and I saw everybody leave. It was a bright night, with a sliver of the moon. I felt empty.
"You know how I always say, be truthful on stage, right?" Arend said, " I know your father meant it. He really is proud of you, Bareld."
"He doesn't know me!" I spat, "he doesn't know any of us. He comes barging in, butters everyone up and leaves them drooling, you included, and our moment is gone!"
"Was it meant to be your moment?"
"No. No! It's not about me, it's about us! And now it's about him. Gerard de Jong performed well in the dressing room, so the show must have been okay I guess. Why can't you see that?"
Arend knew to pick his battles. "I'm dying for a beer, join me?" He gave me a firm slap on my back. "I'm buying."
* * *
That was a month ago. Now, on the terrace, Arend said, "I still don't get why you're so mad at your father. He liked our show and came backstage to tell us, that's nice, isn't it?"
"By default he assumes he's in charge. He steps into CEO mode. The smug old boys club rules the world. He acts as if he's at the plant on the workpplace where he doesn't know any of the employees! All bullshit! And what makes it worse, everyone is drooling over him like he's swami salami himself!"
I hadn't noticed my chair fell backward when I stood up during my rant. "It seems the only one who knows how to handle him is my mother. She reminds him with a single remark he's no CEO in our house. How come she's the only one who doesn't take his bullshit?"
"Wow," Arend said, "when you had to do anger in the cabaret you struggled so much." He snickered a bit. "But what he said in our dressing room--"
"Bareld knows his father has a silver tongue, Arend, let's leave it at that," Didi said, and audible to me he whispered to Arend, "believe me, I tried to tell him he has a great father." At this point I was ready to storm away, Didi sensed it.
"How come you and Petra split up?" he asked. I sighed and picked up my chair.
"Better subject. Worse subject. She said I was craving a steady relationship more than I was craving her."
"And? Were you?"
"Of course not. Well, maybe a little. Okay, she was right."
"She didn't seem traumatized when I saw her after," Arend said.
"Our break up sex was amazing. She sang my name as a nightingale on steroids," and I added bitterly, "she said, 'we'll have to do this again,' before she kicked me out." One more sigh. "And what about you guys?"
Diederick was still going strong with Anneloes, they were together for quite a while now. Where Arend had a lot going on, and he told us in a tasty way.
Diederick had a thought. "You must have gotten the result of your retake exam?" He grinned, "let me guess, you scraped by? Bachelor now?"
