Jano Ameeerica
Jana – AMERICA!!!
(Where? Brno. When? 1976.)
A desperate voice cuts through the freezing winter night:
"Jano! AMEEEERICA!!!"
I jump out of bed and run to the window on the second floor. Outside, I see my dad — in slippers, rushing through the snow-covered empty street, a thin coat hastily thrown over his pajamas.
Shouting at the top of his lungs into the darkness:
"JANA, AMERICA!!!"
It felt like something out of a dream. Or a film. Had he gone mad?
But this was real — something was clearly going on.
That night, I was supposed to stay over at my boyfriend's place (later my husband), just two minutes away, right around the corner. But my father's voice had sounded so urgent, so unmistakably serious, that I didn't even stop to think. I threw on my coat, ran out into the night, and chased after him.
He was already walking slowly back toward the house. Quiet now.
His slippers left tracks in the fresh snow. His coat was open. His head bowed.
I knew something important had happened — and it had something to do with America.
But what could it be?
Had war broken out?
Did the supervolcano in Yellowstone finally blow?
Or — god forbid — had they assassinated another president?
Or maybe… someone we knew had tried to emigrate again?
All these wild scenarios flashed through my mind — but one thing was certain:
Short of war, nothing could explain my father running through the snow in slippers in the middle of the night, shouting "AMERICA!" at the top of his lungs across Brno.
I rush home. In the kitchen, the phone receiver hangs off the hook, the cord swinging mid-air.
My mom, still in her nightgown, is waiting.
As soon as she sees me, she says dryly:
"It's that friend of yours from the States. He said he'll stay on the line until your father brings you back."
Ah. Now things are starting to make a little more sense.
But still — why would Pat be calling in the middle of the night? He knew perfectly well it would be night here. He'd visited us countless times, both on business and holidays. He'd spent summers with us. He knew our customs. He knew our winters.
And yet — he was willing to pay international rates, sit on hold, and wait?
This wasn't just some friendly long-distance check-in.
Something was happening.
Something serious?
The Call
Breathless, half-frozen from running through the icy night, I grab the phone. My voice is shaking.
"Hi Pat, are you there? Huff, huff… What's going on? Are you okay?"
On the other end of the line comes his calm, slightly hesitant voice
(Pat was born in Mississippi — and that laid-back Southern drawl was always there, in everything he said):
"Relax, no big deal… just, hm… something I thought you should know. Quite mindblowing."
Quite mindblowing?
My mind starts spinning. A thousand possibilities rush in.
Pat never called for no reason — and certainly not in the middle of the night.
There was something unsettling, yet thrilling, about the way he said "mindblowing."
"You know," Pat continued into the silence,
"that last letter you sent — it arrived today, just after lunch. I read it… the part where you described that vivid dream… about Marian — well, that she was pregnant."
I hold my breath.
Yes. I had written to him about it.
That strange dream that came over me out of nowhere, but left such a strong impression — like it had actually happened.
Marian was his new girlfriend.
We had never met.
I didn't even know what she looked like.
But in the dream I saw her clearly — standing in the light, hands gently resting on her belly, smiling. There was a quiet peace in her eyes.
The dream had felt so intense, so real, I simply had to tell Pat about it.
Not to intrude into his life — but because I couldn't not tell him.
I didn't even know if he wanted more children.
He already had two sons from a previous marriage.
"So picture this," Pat went on, "Marian comes home from work, all flustered. And I go, 'Hey, come here, this is funny — you won't believe what Jana wrote in her letter.'
And she cuts me off: 'I have to tell you something important.'
And I go: 'You're pregnant, right?'
And she just stares at me, mouth open: 'How did you know?! I took a test at noon today… and yeah — it's positive.'"
"Exactly," Pat said quietly. "That's what you wrote me in the letter."
Silence on the line.
Just the faint oceanic hum of distance between us.
I didn't know what to say.
"Anyway… thanks for the letter, Jane. That's all."
All I could manage was:
"You're welcome, Pat… Good night."