OKSANA MAKOWIEC
author poet writer
TERRORIST ATTACK ON NEW YORK
Dedicated to the victims of September 11th
Oksana Makowiec English translation by Luda Alexandrova
We arrived to the United States of America together with my sixteen-year-old son Vitaliy after we had received a permit for temporary living in this country in 1996. In spring of that year we received an opportunity to “visit the other side of the world”, when we won the so-called “Green Card” lottery. And then, after long hesitations and a lot of thinking, after collecting enough money, using our Kiev apartment as collateral, we found ourselves in New Jersey that borders with the capital of the world New York. I still get emotional when I remember “the beginning of our new life” overseas, and I am still amazed how brave we were – to take a risk and leave for “unknown”. Maybe it was because of the lack of understanding what the future held or maybe because of the chaotic state of the post-Soviet Ukraine, where already miniscule salaries were not paid for many months, looming threat of hunger, mother’s worry about her only son, all of that played the determinative role in my positive decision to leave, even if only temporarily, Ukraine, which I will never stop missing.
Let me tell you something though, whoever tried to bite off a piece of that hard, bitter and salty immigrant’s bread, wouldn’t envy me. In America, as in all other countries, dollars don’t grow on trees, and nobody will give you a penny for nothing. After all, why should anybody give you money, almost like charity, if you are a healthy capable person? You can earn it, working honestly, even though most of the times doing hard physical labor, and not working as a specialist you’ve received a diploma for in Ukraine, as you need to prove your special training and not just by having a diploma… Not to bore you with details, it took almost a year and a half for me to find a more or less appropriate job with the Ukrainian Credit Union in Clifton, New Jersey. All immigrants go through rough times at the beginning.
Thank God, the neighborhood where we lived at that time in New Jersey, had a rather big Ukrainian community; the immigrants that had come there with the earlier immigration “wave”, built beautiful churches there, cultural and educational centers; and more than one hundred years the Ukrainian newspaper “Freedom” has been printed there as well (Great praise and honor to those who does that); that’s why very often you can meet there somebody like us, new comers. All those circumstances definitely helped us adjust, as you feel safer next to your folks and there is always somebody who you can speak with in your native language in this yet foreign country, as you don’t know that new language that well and everything around you is in English. At that time we lived not that far from New York, in Parsippany, about thirty minutes of fast driving (which also became a life necessity) east, the same direction where I was driving to work to Clifton, Passaic and Elizabeth. As they say a human being gets used to everything. And so did I; in a few years I started paying attention to the beautiful surroundings I found myself in, the surroundings which are unique on each continent of the world. Especially, when driving down the 46th and taking a turn on the 3rd, whenever I had a chance I was enjoying the view of the skyline of the modern city of New York, which looked like an imaginary brigantine in the early morning sunlight, and light silver airplanes were gliding over those two Sails-Cloud catchers, preparing for landing in one of the airports in their usual order, seemed like one every minute. The harmony of nature was working perfectly with the
work of human mind, science and technology; everything was going in its usual and seemingly unchangeable way.
The morning of September 11, 2001 was very nice, sunny and unseasonably warm. Just right warm, not like humid hot weather that one can encounter in that area during summer. After all in New Jersey that time of the year is not even considered being a fall; the only reminder that the fall is near is the unusual for that area transparence in the air and the colorful foliage of the trees. I don’t know why, but that “fatal” morning I was not listening to the morning news, but just had a cup of coffee and allowed myself a few minutes to enjoy my flowerbed right under my window. I planted the flowers in spring as I can’t imagine my life in a foreign country without our marigolds and sunflowers; for me they are the only thing that brings me closer to the Home. When I was already in the car, I was listening to my new Taisia Povaliy’s cassette and wondering why the road was almost empty; there was no so-called “traffic”, when the road is almost blocked with cars. As always, when taking a turn to Highway 3, I looked towards New York and was astonished to see the city covered with black thick smoke. Having turned on the radio, I could barely hear the announcer’s voice behind the background noise. Still not understanding all of it, I guessed more than understood that something absolutely horrible had happened. I got to my office, parked the car and hurried into the building of the credit union. All my colleagues, who were there at that time, gathered around the TV set and responded to my greeting with the question, “Don’t you know anything?” A moment later, I understood everything from what I was able to see on the TV screen - the terrible tragedy happened there in New York. Seeing the destruction of the beautiful buildings and realizing that every minute of that horror was taking the lives of thousands of innocent people made us grow numb with despair. Nobody was holding back tears; there are no words to describe what was shown on TV from New York to the whole world at that time and only those, who didn’t have a heart, could stay calm then. Only non-human antichrists with the treacherous thirst for revenge and animal-like, developed into fanaticism, desire for people’s blood and deaths were able to do something like that.
The terrorist act, the coordinated suicide attack (similar to kamikaze) on the World Trade Center that had happened in front of the eyes of the whole world, made our whole Galaxy shudder, not just the Earth. It seemed like the air that day was full not with smoke and ashes, but with the body cells of those people who were incinerated during the attack, and the frightful monstrous face of death, like black fabric, with terror, pain, and moans, was prostrating itself trying to bring down with it the blackened, made of granite and stone, proud New York. The first hours after the attack only one question was on everybody’s minds, reflected in their eyes “Why?...” People were watching closely what was happening in America. And when everybody realized that it was not the Apocalypse, but the outrageous terrorist act, they were able to get organized, and fast too. Every American, from a young child to a respectable gray-haired senior citizen, took the American Flag in their hands, singing “God Bless America!” There were memorial services and joint prayers in churches of all denominations. From all corners of the world President of the United States was receiving condolences, but also assurance to support the country in the joint fight against terrorism. Several days later the official Day of Mourning was declared in the United States. It ended with the commemorative service, when a candle was lit in every window of every house. That day helped everybody
survive with dignity the criminal terrorist attempt, which was not just an attempt on New York, but on the whole world, the world that changed after September 11, 2001.
Gradually people can rebuild and restore anything. Time eases the pain, but it cannot heal the wounds, especially if the wounds are on mothers’ hearts.
One day, at the beginning of October 2001, the Clifton Credit Union was busy with a lot of customers; there were more customers than usually at that time of the year. There was nothing surprising in that, as everybody was concerned about his hard-earned money. After the attack on the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center and also on Washington, there were a lot of various forecasts and suggestions. Some people were in a hurry to book a plane ticket to go back home as soon as possible. Others wanted to have cash available, just in case. Some people came in just to check on their accounts. They were leaving, sighing with relief – their money was where it was supposed to be. At some point a thin middle-aged woman came to the counter. Her gray hair, beautifully styled, was covered by a black shawl; she was also wearing black that meant, according to the Ukrainian tradition, she was in mourning. She was holding several checkbooks in her hands and, after putting them on the counter, she swiftly removed the hand, as if afraid of being bitten. Her gentle eyes looked up, and at that moment our eyes met. Maybe she didn’t want to hear any comments; maybe she was afraid of the prying questions. For a minute we were looking at each other and rivulets of tears were silently rolling down our cheeks. From the first moment I recognized who that woman was, as our whole community had learned about her tragedy. I didn’t just want to cry, I wanted to scream as if from the intolerable pain because the suffering of that Ukrainian woman, mother was almost palpable in the air. We all felt her pain, as Ukrainians in immigration are always like one big family. She was the mother of Ivan Scaly, who had perished, while rescuing other people. He was a paramedic and one of the first among those who rushed into the flames of the skyscraper. Several times the brave young man brought the wounded from the fire to safety; the last time Ivan went back into the crypt of the tower, he told the other rescuers, “Hopefully I will see you again.” Those were the last words his friends that survived that fire, heard from him. Nobody ever saw Ivan alive; the remnants of Ivan’s broken, crushed by concrete blocks, body were never recovered. His mother, whose hair was gray now, brought her son’s checkbook so that, as she had done it before, to balance it at the beginning of the month. Ivan had been a student and he had worked a lot, so he had never had time to do it himself. The clock of the young Ukrainian Ivan Scaly’s life stopped, as it did for thousands of other people of different nationalities; they stopped that brutal, mournful morning of September 11, 2001.
How, what words can you use, to heal the wounds of mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, wives, husbands, children, relatives, friends, and strangers? There are no words for that…
Time just eases the pain, but it doesn’t heal the wounds.
Seaford, Virginia. August 2004