THE EYES AS WINDOWS ...
Aleksandr's eyes had a certain vacancy about them; nevertheless, they locked firmly into my own unremitting, wondering gaze. Behind his melancholic stare I sensed a yearning for that faraway land glimpsed and, perhaps, inhabited fleetingly by a fortunate few during the reverie of slumber.
Nostalgic for land and family across the Atlantic, I should think, this newcomer to a nation as alien to him as though he had disembarked from board ship and landed mistakenly on the moon through some wrong turn, appeared to be elsewhere mentally and emotionally.
Certainly I had no way of knowing what was going on in that head capped by a mop of ragged black curls, adorning a face at once both femininely delicate and porcelain and, yet, one absolutely masculine.