Masha Gessen - Gay Propaganda

A version of this interview was originally published in Afisha magazine Issue 339 (February 25, 2013). It was updated by the author and reproduced here by permission of Afisha

The fact that Nastya and Lena, 24 and 22 respectively, are accomplished corporate lawyers is perhaps the least surprising part of their story. They met eight years ago in Kirov, a city an overnight train ride from Moscow, and since that night they’ve gone through every sort of hell to stay together .

LENA

It’s all rather prosaic: we met on the Internet. My best friend had transferred to the school where Nastya went, and I started hanging out on their online forum.

NASTYA

You wrote that you needed some songs by Psichea.

LENA

You’re embarrassing me.

NASTYA

It’s this awful band, you know, “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah-boom-boom-boom-boom,” but I just happened to have an entire disk of theirs that a classmate had given me. I wrote: “Come to our school and I’ll give it you.” That’s how we met. Lena was 14 and I was 16. I was in eleventh grade and she was in the ninth.

I realized I was gay when I was about 13. It was an uneventful discovery. I said, “Well, all right,” and proceeded to live with this knowledge. I didn’t tell anyone, of course. Lena was the first person I told. But at first, we just hung out and talked on the phone a lot.

LENA

And then Nastya hinted that she had another girlfriend.

NASTYA

It was just this girl I was also hanging out with. It’s not like we had a relationship. But I found out she was in love with me back then. But Lena was intrigued and we started talking even more. It was tricky: I had my own phone line that my parents had put in for me, so I was free to spend as much time on the phone as I wanted, but Lena’s father didn’t allow her to talk for hours. So we had to correspond. But her father kept deleting ICQ [an instant messenger program] as well, so we would meet up in these awful online chat rooms to talk, even though we lived in the same city. So we were on one of those chats when I asked Lena if she thought she might be able to have a relationship with me. It took me a long time to get an answer out of her, but when I finally got to “yes,” I was terrified. I’d never had a relationship with a girl before, even though I knew that was what I wanted. Plus, I worried that I was older and may have pressured her. So I retreated. But we kept talking.

In May, about five months after we first met, we went for a walk in the botanical gardens. There’s this little river there with a bridge over it. And there we are standing on this little bridge and Lena says, “Kiss me.” I said, “I can’t, you have to understand blah blah blah.” And she’s like: “That’s it. In that case, I’m leaving and not coming back.”

LENA

I just said “That’s it” and walked away. I was walking and thinking: this is it. If she doesn’t come after me now, I’m not even going to talk to her.

NASTYA

I was terrified, both of having to kiss her and of the possibility that she’d walk away and never come back. So I ran after her and we went back to the bridge, which was sort of secluded, and I kissed her.

LENA

And then these two women sitting on the hill above us—

NASTYA

They start hollering: “What’s going on, would you look at that!” So we had to beat a retreat. And that’s how our relationship started.

LENA

Then Nastya went to university in Moscow and I stayed back to finish high school. Nastya had this five-term system at university with a week in between terms, so she would come home. And I kept going to preparatory courses and such in Moscow, so we saw each other about once a month. Two years later I got into the same university, also in the legal department.

NASTYA

I was living in an apartment my parents had bought for me in Moscow, though it wasn’t legally in my name, and when Lena came, we started living there together.

LENA

I started out living in the dorms but kept shuttling back and forth between the dorm and the apartment, and this was hard, especially because the dorm was in a suburb. So I told my father I didn’t want to live in the dorm anymore and rented a room and moved most of my things there: at least it was in the city. But in the end, I still lived at Nastya’s. And when her parents visited, I went to my rented room. That was really nerve-wracking.

NASTYA

Toward the end of our first year living like that—Lena was finishing her first year and I my third year at the university—I went home to Kirov. And I forgot my cell phone at my parents’ house and took the train back to Moscow.

LENA

I kept calling and texting her. The thing is, we had had a fight-nothing serious, not a big deal, but at first I thought Nastya wasn’t answering because she was upset with me. So I kept texting, angrily at first—“Fine, go ahead and pout”—and then conciliatory: “I’m sorry. Let’s make up already.” Then I started panicking: “Where are you?”

NASTYA

At this point my parents were busy exploring the contents of my phone.

LENA

Three years’ worth of text messages and photos.

NASTYA

So I got to Moscow and at the end of the day got on the train back to Kirov: my parents had summoned me back for a talk. Our friends came over to see me off. We had these two friends who brought vodka and drank it, I think, for the first time in their lives that day, because everyone was so upset.

My parents told me to end it. I said, I can’t, I don’t want to, I love her, we’ve been together for a long time. They said, in that case we’re going to have to do something about her. My parents are very wealthy people. And they said, “We’re just going to make her disappear.” I got really scared. I texted Lena, “Let’s break up.” Instead of responding by saying “OK,” Lena got on a train and came to Kirov.

LENA

I stood under her windows until she came out and we talked. I was in tears, slobbering.

NASTYA

I promised Lena we wouldn’t break up, and I promised my parents we’d break up and everyone was happy and I was miserable.

LENA

When we got back to Moscow, we tried living separately because we were afraid Nastya’s parents might surprise us with an inspection. But soon we were living together again. That was really the most difficult time. Because, say, Nastya would have an earlier class than I and she would leave the house and then I’d go to the window and see a black SUV outside—I think all large cars look like Nastya’s father’s car—and I’d see it parking and then I’d quickly grab my things and go up a floor and change out of my pajamas and into my school clothes standing up on the landing. And then I’d call Nastya in hysterics and she’d say, “It’s probably not my father” and I’d say, “But I hear someone coming up the stairs.” And then I’d be too scared to go back into the apartment.

NASTYA

In the summer, my best friend was getting married. I went to Kirov for the wedding. Lena was in Abkhazia on vacation with her mother. And I forgot to log out of Vk.com [a Russian social network] on the computer. That’s when my parents cornered me again. I admitted that Lena and I were still in touch. For some reason my parents decided I should have labor therapy and sent me to work in my father’s factory. I guess they thought if I spent two weeks wearing coveralls and sorting timber, I’d become less dykey and more feminine and start liking men. They also took my phone away.