Lyida Prepares Breakfast Lyida prepares an unlikely breakfast: Russian salmon caviar, locally baked bread, and imported California wine, all topped off with an orange. Food was cheap, lunch averaging $2 and dinner in Odessa's best restaurants about $20. (Photo A.J. Campbell)

March 29: We strolled to ``our place,'' the Theatrical Cafe, having another incredibly low-priced lunch, feeding the cat, staring at each other when the other wasn't looking. Lyida exuded a fragrance not perfumic but heady.

In the afternoon, we stopped and listened to various street musicians and toured the Museum of Archaeology. (In her article Robin Beck mentioned that I wanted to visit the land of my ancestors. A better term is our ancestors: hunter-gatherers who took up farming, spoke the same language. Key words are ``mother,'' ``father,'' and especially ``sea'' -- mar in Italic, mor in Slavic, mari in Celtic -- still with us in maritime and marine. We sail the same sea, coming from a singular European Adam and Eve.)

I had no wish to attend another EC reception; and skipping it, Lyida and I spent the entire day together. I was a slow mover, out of practice, not having wooed a woman in 15 years, and certainly not wanting to move too fast and frighten her off. That evening we again kissed upon departing.

March 30: I arrived at Lyida's claustrophobic hotel room to discover she was exhausted from speaking English. Furthermore, she had serious issues she could not verbalize. I suggested we attend the final EC reception and find a new interpreter. Luckily, we drew Tatyana, an English teacher. She was a great help in answering Lyida's astonishing forthright questions, not exactly the kind of queries dates asked back in Boothbay.

Through Tatyana, I wanted to make something very clear. ``I'm poor by American standards,'' I said. ``I don't require very much,'' came Lyida's reply.

After that candid conversation through Tatyana, I arranged to hire her as interpreter for our evening out.

In the evening Tatyana guided us to a good local cafe, where we sat behind a beaded curtain in the back room. The dinner was pilmeni, the great national dish of Ukraine, a lot like chicken-filled ravioli smothered in sour cream dill sauce.

March 31: The lady who ran the Theatrical Cafe had gotten wise. So it wouldn't beg food from customers, the cat was locked in the kitchen -- happily surrounded by eats! In the States the cat would be out on the street, while in China it would be dinner. I think that says something for Ukraine.

Another plus was their hospitality. Despite the daily bombing of Yugoslavia, I was still treated with cordiality by a Slavic people. They were acrimonious toward Bill Clinton, yet considered the ordinary American a friend.

That night, Lyida told me the tale of her father, Nurulla Valiyev.

Valiyev was a Tartar, a lawyer who mixed with the wrong crowd. He and his associates were rounded up by the KGB and imprisoned. All except Valiyev signed statements of guilt, did ``short time'' and were released. Lyida's father went to a concentration camp. After eight months, he took a razor blade and slashed his wrists. With his blood, Valiyev wrote I AM INNOCENT on the cell wall. Amazingly, he lived but his health deteriorated and he died when Lyida was seven.

April 1: In the morning, 20 of the EC group traveled north to more receptions in Kiev. One half of them were bumped from the plane due to overbooking. Ah hah, April Fools!

In town, we were trampled by two million more April Fools coming from all over Ukraine to celebrate Odessa's big holiday -- Humor Day -- with people from 9 to 90 sporting funny noses and big floppy ears. Cool!

The mayor, Ruslan Bodelan, gave everyone a handsome parade, replete with half-naked girls freezing to death, people in animal costumes, frantic native folk dancers, mounted Cossacks with huge feet, and wonderful military trucks decorated with sticks and other natural materials. In its grand scope, it was much like the Windjammer Parade -- only Soviet style.

Lyida and I had thought ahead, sequestering ourselves on the second floor of the McDonald's eatery. Sitting in front of a large picture window, we had a grand view. I my notebook, I jotted, ``McDonald's fare in Odessa is exactly like that in the States. Good quality control of bad food.''

From a street vendor, I bought two Red Army medals, both of 1945 vintage. (As it turned out, I was the only member of the tour who made it through customs with these items. The others had their military souvenirs confiscated.)

After dark, trees were aglow with colored lights, people were staggering down Potemkin Stairway, and even the statue of Puskin was slurring one of his poems. At 10 p.m. there were fireworks in Gorsad Park.

April 2: Our last full day in Odessa. We enjoyed a breakfast of fruit, Russian caviar and wine. Humble but tasty. Then we went to the Kiev Restaurant on the 03 Level to join others in the group for tea and coffee. Here I received my daily Men-Scoring report. Things were going well for Kenny. He hooked up with ``Dr. Olga,'' who had ``legs up to here.'' Like me, Kenny was hopelessly in love.

After tea, I escorted Lyida up the Potemkin Stairway for our daily exercise. At Puskinskaya Street, we stopped and listened to a folk group from the Andes. Not bad. Hey, if you like the Pan flute, guitar and mandolin (and who doesn't?), then run out to your nearest Ecuadorian music dealer and ask for Pachakuti. Tell 'em, A.J. sent ya.

For dinner we had fine fare at the China Dragon. It was something hot with peanuts. Pretty good, too, if it wasn't our cat.

April 3: Not a good day because it would end in farewell. In the morning, we took Lyida's bag to the train station and checked it in. I purchased her return ticket to Feodosia, the last one as it turned out.

That afternoon in the old limestone city, we strolled to our final lunch at the Theatrical Cafe. Arm holding turned to hand clutching. For a remembrance, we had the cafe lady take our photo. Then we walked through Odessa for the last time, much slower than ever before. At 3 p.m., we checked out of the Shevchenko and waited for the airport bus.

On the way to the airport, Lyida caressed my hand. I smelled her hair. This Littlest Russian meant the world to me. She whispered, ``If you could put me in your pocket, you would.'' Extraordi-narily intuitive and correct.

In my carry-on case, I had her papers -- the birth certificate, the two decrees of divorce. I carried undeveloped photos of us together, proving I met her in Odessa. The papers and film were needed to begin my application for a Fianc<33>Ç Visa.

She stayed with me to the end. As I reached the customs window, our hands drifted apart. The touch was gone. My glance went to the customs official, and I can't recall if that person was a man or woman. All I saw was Lyida and her little sad smile.

April 7: Back in Maine, I e-mailed a quick note to her and got this reply, ``I forgot to thank you for three days of the princess life. Now I am Cinderella as formerly. I miss you. With love, Lyida.''

I'm far down the ladder from being the prince, but I want to get her out of Ukraine as soon as possible. I'd like Lyida to see Maine before leaves fall and our long winter begins.

I found a wonderful woman through European Connections. They claim, ``50 percent of the participants eventually marry ladies met on our tours.'' Maybe it's a true statement. It will be for me...if a senseless war doesn't prevent it.

In the meantime, Lyida waits and lives without.