I live very well, have fire escapes and a well
functioning heating system. On the bookshelves, on the stools and
under the benches, the catalogues and art books have priority over
the novels. Around the corner I can see the posh and elegant entrance
areas and libraries of New York University.
On Easter Monday Dieta and I have a meeting with
Walter and Justyn from the Ukrainian Institute in the very large
castle of the institute on Fifth Avenue. Walter and Justyn explain
that there are fourth generation Ukrainian New Yorkers. Dieta nods
her head knowingly. From this I conclude that it is an accomplishment
and an honor to be able to look back four generations in a county.
According to them, the Ukrainians who came to New York during the
1920s lived on the Lower East Side.
The more mobile Ukrainians moved on, the less mobile ones stayed.
Since the borough became popular and hip, they sell their worthless
houses for a fortune. Ergo: mobility is overrated.
We are sitting across from each other at a dark table. A presentation
and reception is being planned and we try to make an estimate of
the attendance. “We’re bringing 70,” they say
and fix their eyes on Dieta. “How many can you coerce into
coming?”
After the reception good wine is served. I have asked
the guests, how they want me to present the Ukraine and the US in
Germany.
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