The Faces Of Strangers - Pia Padukone

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the apartment. Nicholas always steeled himself when friends visited his home for the first time. He knew that the apartment that his parents had purchased many years ago, when New York City was considered a den of iniquity, had been a wise decision. The soaring ceilings took breaths away, the cavernous foyer was the size of most people’s entire apartments, and the fact that his home had three living rooms awed most visitors to the Grand home into silence. When the elevator door opened to deliverymen, Nicholas watched them peer past him into the living room as though they were taking in a Victorian room replication in a museum. Nicholas watched Barbara’s eyes travel the length of the molding along the edges of the ceiling and into the center, where they stood.

      “This is lovely,” Barbara said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

      “Thank you,” Stella said. Nicholas could anticipate exactly what his mother would say next and nearly mouthed the words along with her. “We bought it a long time ago and we got lucky. Who knew Flatiron would blow up like it did? You should have seen this neighborhood when we first moved in. We were scared to walk down the street.”

      “Indeed. Our fair city has come a long way.” Barbara stared, quite unselfconsciously, even though this was against one of the tenets of the program. We’re all different, Nicholas had heard Barbara chant on more than one occasion, and there’s no reason to stare or to wonder. So ask the question rather than keeping it in. It’s why we’re all here—to learn about one another, about the differences in our cultures, and why we eat and wear what we do and why we prefer and believe in certain things.

      “Please, come in. I’m Stella. And of course, you know Nicholas.” The three settled on the pair of couches in the formal living room, a plate of water crackers, a crumbling wedge of Parmesan and a perspiring pitcher of iced tea between them.

      “I have to tell you, Stella. We love Nicholas at Hallström. He’s the perfect candidate. He has an impeccable school record, and he’s a varsity athlete, well-spoken, conscientious. I’ve conducted countless interviews for these coveted spots, and there aren’t many youngsters that tick off so many of the traits we like to see in our exchange students. You’ve got a bright one on your hands.” Barbara pressed her hands into her lap and forged onward before Stella had a chance to acknowledge the compliment. “We make these home visits to ensure that your family has the capacity, ability and desire to host a student from another country. Other than the permission slip, we have no idea whether candidates’ families even want to be a part of this program. Why—” and here she tittered “—a few years ago, before we implemented home visits as protocol, a young woman arrived from Warsaw without anyone to pick her up. When I drove her back to the program’s office—poor dear felt so abandoned—to call her host family, the candidate’s mother hadn’t even known her daughter had applied and gotten into the program. What a mess that was.”

      “Can I choose where I get to go?” Nicholas asked.

      “Unfortunately not,” Barbara said. “We match candidates up with who we think they are best suited, personality-wise. It’s not really a question of where you’re going, because you’ll have a chance to travel in Europe on sponsored trips to visit Prague, Budapest, St. Petersburg, Tallinn or Warsaw. The focus is on getting to know people from another culture. It’s about letting someone in. These are things that you can’t pick up in books or movies. They are life experiences, nothing you can study or learn. Regardless of where you go, Nicholas, you will learn invaluable lessons about your exchange partner, his culture and about yourself during your time in the program. Herman Hallström, our founder and benefactor began the program in the post–Cold War era, to attempt to create an understanding between the United States and the countries of the Soviet regime, forging connections and creating ties between countries that had previously been enemies. Mr. Hallström wants to recognize the students, the children of the next generation who will become the politicians, the teachers, the lawyers and the champions of the future to take charge of this change. It’s no longer the Cold War era, thank goodness, but it is about making the world smaller. It’s about bridging the gaps between us in this great wide world in which we live.” Everything Barbara said sounded like a rehearsed speech or as though it was being dictated from the FAQ section of a brochure for the program.

      “Well, we’re delighted to host a student, wherever he’s from,” Stella said. “Let us show you the rest of the house.” They took Barbara through the other two living rooms that extended from the first: a casual television den and then an office/library, with a computer and shelves of tightly packed books. In this room, Barbara stared extra hard at the framed Saul Steinberg New Yorker poster with its view from Manhattan as the center of the world.

      “You might consider taking that down,” she said, strolling past Stella. Sometime during the tour, Barbara had begun leading the way, and Nicholas and Stella had been relegated to following meekly behind her, feeling guests in their own home. She stopped in front of the foyer and thanked them each formally before pressing the button for the elevator.

      A few weeks later, she’d called the house and Nicholas picked up the phone. Barbara had been simultaneously bubbly and composed on the other end, a cheerleader on Park Avenue. “I have some exciting news for you, Nicholas,” she’d said. He could hear the clacks from her strings of pearls as she fussed with them against her neck. “First of all, you’re in. We have officially accepted you to the program. And second, I have your assignment for next year. You’re going to Tallinn!” All he could think about was the fact that he didn’t want to be kicked out of the program for his ignorance; where the heck was Tallinn?

      “Oh,” he’d responded. “That’s cool. Tallinn...”

      “Estonia,” she finished for him. “Can you imagine?” Nicholas had already started imagining the whimsical steeples of Prague or the onion domes of St. Petersburg. Tallinn had been the furthest option from his mind.

      “Why, uh, why Estonia?”

      “Remember, I make my matches based on people, not on places. This partnership is one of my favorites. You’re going to love him.”

      “What’s his name? The guy, my partner?”

      “Paavo. Paavo Sokolov, and I think you’re going to get along really well. You remind me a lot of one another. I think there’s going to be some common ground. I can’t wait for you two to meet.”

      Nicholas pictured the Estonian as the Beast from the Disney movie, hulking and wrapped in furs, brooding in a corner. STD, Nicholas thought, mentally rapping himself on the knuckles.

      “Same,” he responded. “I’ve never been to Estonia. It should be a good experience.” That was the key to handling Barbara; approaching everything as an experience and welcoming everything that life handed to you, including hours of studying, constipation, a strange assignation in an exchange program. As soon as he’d hung up, he’d dashed off for the World Atlas and located Estonia, a tiny nostril of a country overlooking the Baltic Sea. It felt as remote and punitive as if he were being sent to Siberia, another fictional-sounding place that Nicholas couldn’t locate easily on a map. But backing out at that point would have appeared shortsighted, against everything the program stood for. The explicit agreement Nicholas had made when he handed in his application to Hallström had included accepting any assignment he would be granted.

      So he was stuck with Estonia and he was stuck with Barbara spouting her enthusiastic rhetoric on the ride to the airport. It felt as if this trip was already off to a bad start.

      Tallinn

      September 2002

      As far as Paavo was concerned, the Hallström program was off to a terrible start. He’d been paired with a wrestler, someone with whom he couldn’t imagine having the slightest bit in common. His parents—particularly his father—didn’t seem to have any interest in hosting a boy from New York in the least. All Leo seemed interested in lately was spouting anger toward the Estonian immigration authorities. He seemed to be getting sourer by the day. And it seemed as if he was drinking more, too. Most importantly,

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