Free Boy on the Bridge by Natalie Standiford Page A

in a minute,” Roma said. “Did you girls know that the Beatles played a secret concert here in 1970?”
    “It was 1969,” Alyosha said.
    “I heard ’68,” Vova said.
    “What happened?” Laura had never heard this story.
    “Their plane landed at Pulkovo” — the Leningrad airport — “very briefly,” Roma explained. “And the Beatles climbed out onto the wing and played three songs.”
    “With acoustic guitars,” Alyosha added.
    “Very fast, before the guards snapped out of their stupors and stopped them,” Vova finished.
    “Wow,” Karen said.
    “It isn’t true,” Olga said.
    “It is,” Vova insisted. “My friend Kolya saw the concert himself.”
    “The Beatles were very taboo back then,” Grisha said. “My uncle was kicked out of the university just for having a Beatles tape in his room.”
    “They’re more tolerated now,” Vova said. “A little bit.”
    “The police used to arrest guys for having long hair,” Roma said. “They’d arrest you and cut your hair, then let you go. After giving you a scare.”
    “They still do that sometimes,” Alyosha said.
    “Not as much,” Vova said. “But sometimes.”
    Olga feigned a yawn. “Let’s talk about something else.”Her eyes took in Laura’s corduroys and Karen’s jeans, their bulky sweaters. “What are they wearing in America these days, girls?”
    Karen shrugged. “This, I guess.”
    Olga scowled, not believing her.
    “Have you heard this one, girls?” Grisha asked. “A man walks into a butcher shop and asks, ‘Do you have any fish?’ ” The Russians laughed in anticipation of a punch line they already knew. “So the butcher says, ‘Here we don’t have any meat. Fish they don’t have across the street!’ ”
    Everyone laughed and toasted Grisha. Laura started gulping mineral water; the toasts were catching up to her.
    “Now tell us an American joke,” Vova said.
    Laura tried to think of a joke that would work in Russian, but all the ones she thought of depended on plays on English words, like “Because Seven ate Nine” or “I left my harp in Sam Clam’s disco.”
    “Here’s one,” Karen said. “But I think it will only work in English.”
    “Go ahead,” Alyosha said. “I’ll translate.”
    “Okay.” Karen cleared her throat and said in English: “A nose walks into a bar and asks for a drink. The bartender says, ‘Sorry, I can’t serve you. You’re already off your face.’ ”
    Laura laughed. The Russians gave her blank stares.
    Karen tried to explain in Russian. “See, in English off your face is slang for drunk …. I thought you might understandbecause of the Gogol story, you know, ‘The Nose’? Where a man’s nose detaches from his face and walks around town …?” Karen trailed off.
    The Russians nodded. “Oh yes! Gogol. Great story.”
    Karen sighed. “Jokes never work if you have to explain them.”
    Alyosha got up and slapped Karen on the back. “No, no! It was funny! Very, very funny.”
    He went into the kitchen to get more food. When he came back, he squeezed next to Laura on the bed. Their arms touched, elbow to shoulder. Karen sat on her left side and their arms were touching, too, but somehow it didn’t have the same electric feeling. Vova was on Karen’s left, but their arms weren’t touching … yet.
    Olga grabbed Alyosha’s guitar and put it in his hands. “Sing us a song, Lyosha.” Now she squeezed onto the bed, close to Alyosha. The bed was crowded. There were two empty chairs across the table. Roma and Grisha looked lonely.
    “Olga, come back and sit in your chair,” Roma said.
    “You’re not my boss,” Olga snapped.
    “I’m your husband,” Roma shot back. “That means I am your boss.”
    “Okay, then, prove it. Make me move.”
    The Neil Young record chose that moment to cut off. In the tense silence that followed Olga’s challenge, Laura heard the click of the needle arm settling into its saddle. To cut the tension, Alyosha strummed the guitar.
    “Move