This time the small reception area of the consulate was packed. Only a few people were standing in line to the receptionist’s window where a Russian employee was sorting out applications. Others were simply hanging around and catching on latest rumors about immigration to Australia. A young woman moved away from the window. She looked victorious and held a letter in her hand. Her application was accepted, but she needed to provide an official transcript for her college degree. The crowd looked at her with envy. I checked myself – this document was included into my package. My agitation grew exponentially while I was getting closer to the window. A woman standing in line in front of me turned around and asked ‘Do you know if my daughter has a chance to go to Australia? My sister lives there.’ I had no idea. The woman tried to rearrange the papers in her hands. Instead she dropped everything on the floor.
‘Next!’ yelled the female receptionist. The woman scrambled to pick up her papers. She had no time to tidy them up and dumped the entire pile in front of the receptionist who looked at it with disgust.
‘Does your daughter have a degree and work experience?’ asked the receptionist.
‘Not yet, she is studying.’
‘Then she can’t be considered.’
‘Her aunt lives in Australia. Does this help?’
‘A little. You will be contacted later. Next!’
It was my turn. The receptionist was still fuming when I pushed my package under the glass.
‘Why did your husband not sign the form?’ she asked irritatedly.
‘Erm… I am divorced.’
‘Who is going to Australia with you then?’
‘My son. He is under age and does not need to sign.’
The receptionist leafed through my neat stack of documents. They made a good impression on her. She even smiled.
‘Does everything look all right? May I go now?’
‘No, wait here.’
I stepped away from the window bewildered. To wait for what? I did not know what to think. My mind went blank. Unable to concentrate, I started listening to conversations around me to pass time. A man nearby was telling his story to anyone who was willing to hear him out. He was a skydiving instructor and coached the team of Ukraine that won a number of championships. The Ukrainian’s application was rejected. He came to appeal the decision.
The staff door in the corner of the reception area opened and out came an Australian. I never met Australians before. In fact I hardly knew any foreigners, but something told me that’s how Australians look like. The man had red hair and pale freckled skin. He called out my name. I could not utter a sound and simply waved my hand to attract his attention. The Ukrainian rushed towards the Australian and peppered him with questions in English. The consular official replied politely, but indifferently. I did not understand a word and marveled at how well the Ukrainian spoke English. At last the Ukrainian exhausted his questions and left the consular official alone. The Australian turned to face me.
Immediately we got surrounded by a tight ring of onlookers who did not want to miss a chance to learn something about immigration to Australia. Someone behind me was breathing down my neck. The fact that my interview was going to be so public did not improve my confidence. The Australian gave me a smile and started talking. To these days I have no clue what about. Understanding a native speaker of any language requires practice that I did not get. Whatever the Australian was saying sounded to me more like music rather than speech. It was a fast flowing stream of sounds and none of them were words. I panicked.
One thing that I realized while panicking was that I could not display my panic and absence of understanding. I made an effort to look directly into the Australian’s eyes and smiled as if I was with him all the time. That seemed to work, but not for long. The Australian slowed down and looked expectantly at me. He asked a question. It was my turn to speak. I knew it was coming. Now what to do? A surge of emotions passed through my body. It was the decisive point of my life – now or never. Either I started talking in English and the consular official would go ahead with my application or I blew that chance. That surge cleared up something in my brain. English as a foreign language was taught at school poorly. I knew enough words to read with a dictionary and to put together simple sentences, just never communicated with a native English speaker. I concentrated, the crowd around us ceased to exist, the question went through parsing in my mind and was transformed into meaningful words. The Australian wanted me to say something about myself. I mastered a few short phrases in response. Next he asked if I had children.
‘Yes, a son.’
“How old is he? What can you tell about him?’ the official continued his questioning.
‘Eleven. He likes music and plays the cello.’
The word “cello” astonished me. I did not know that it was in my vocabulary, but it came from the depths of my memory and rolled off the tongue when it was needed.
The official indicated that the interview was over, told me to stay in the reception area and disappeared through the staff door. The onlookers dissipated and I stood alone, again not knowing what to expect.
The same Australian re-emerged some time later. He explained to me – and I understood him well – that everyone who was going to Australia should have a sponsor. It could be a person or an organization from any country with a hard currency who would accept financial responsibility for me and my son during our first 2 years in Australia. My friend never mentioned the sponsorship. Nevertheless, without blinking an eye I blurted out
‘I will have an affidavit of support within two months’.
‘Great’, said the official and gave me a letter with the Australian Coat of Arms. He wished me good luck and was gone. I looked hesitantly at the letter. It was a written statement of what the official just told me. What on earth made me promise an affidavit of support if I did not know how to get one? The Russian ruble was not a hard currency. Therefore the guarantor had to be from another country, but from where? It was way too difficult. My excitement after the successful interview abated and got replaced with weariness. I threw all these questions out of my head and went to the railway station.
‘I can’t think about that right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about that tomorrow.’ I told myself like Scarlett O’Hara.