When pianist Alexander Toradze defected from the Soviet Union five years ago, he grieved that he would never see his family again.
But a few weeks ago, after ”five of the loneliest years of my life,”
the 36-year-old pianist drove to Kennedy International Airport from his small Manhattan apartment to watch the impossible take place.
His mother-59-year-old actress Liana Asatiani-emerged from a jet, and mother and son locked in an embrace that, in some ways, has not ended to this day.
”It was one of the most emotional, tearful, extraordinary moments I have ever experienced,” says Toradze, who has experienced more than his share of sorrow in the last few years.
For the moment, however, Toradze seems besides himself with happiness as he prepares to visit Chicago for concerto appearances with the Grant Park Symphony on Saturday and Sunday and a recital on the Sarah Zelzer series Sept. 25 in the Auditorium.
Naturally, Toradze`s mother-whose visa allows her to stay in the United States for one year-will join him on these and other travels.
”We are having a grand old time, an absolutely fantastic time together,” says Toradze, who exudes a distinctly Russian generosity in expressing his emotions.
”I am giving her flowers every chance I get, I am taking her with me wherever I go.
”I am trying to make as many happy memories for her, and for myself, as I can, in the time we have.”
Not that any amount of joy can outweigh the ordeal that Toradze and his family have been through.
Unlike other Soviet artists, who have turned well-publicized defections into international fame and fortune, Toradze took a more difficult and painful route: He never went public with his story.
For the last five years, Western journalists have only known him as another Soviet emigre, a fact that Toradze regards as ”tragi-comic.”
”I was trying to protect my family as much as possible,” explains Toradze, who became an international name years before his defection when he took the silver medal at the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition in 1977.
”I didn`t ask the United States for political asylum, I asked only for artistic asylum.
”I would not give any interviews, I would not speak against the Soviet Union, I would not help create a media event.
”Though it was hard to tolerate all that back then, it became one of the biggest personal victories. I am proud that I could make my career on music-on nothing else-and that I was able to help my family in the Soviet Union as much as was humanly possible.”
The tragedy in all this, however, is that Toradze never intended to bring pain to his family or friends in the Soviet Union-for he never intended to defect.
Rather, he was spit out by the Soviet Union.
”I believe they wanted me to defect,” says Toradze, ”because my behavior in the Soviet Union had become dangerously active for them.
”I remember that in 1982, 11 months before I defected, I had a terrible conflict with Soviet authorities. I was to play a very major performance with an orchestra in Leningrad Philharmonic Hall, which is considered one of the most important concert halls in Europe, and two hours before the performance, I was asked to leave my hotel room!
”The reason was that some foreign tourists showed up who didn`t have a room, so I was told to move to another hotel.
”Naturally, that was absolutely impossible, so I called the Philharmonic and said that if this is the case, I certainly will not have the time or even the desire to come and perform, because it is inhuman to subject an artist to this kind of treatment before a performance.
”Of course, the Philharmonic and the local government were furious, saying that I was behaving like a capitalist who needs certain luxuries for performances. Nevertheless, I refused to play.
”Then in December of `82, just half a year before I took off from the Soviet Union for good, I happened to be in Czechoslovakia and was asked to perform in a gala concert that was dedicated to the friendship between Russia and Czechoslovakia.
”But my deep understanding always was, and still is, that there was no such thing as friendship between the Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia. I did not wish to take part in this kind of circus, and I refused.
”So the first secretary of the Soviet Embassy called me and said, `If you won`t perform then you certainly will have problems back in the Soviet Union.`
”Again I said, `No thank you.`
”Then the Czechs came to me and said they will pay me 10 times my original fee for this performance if I will participate. And I said, `I`ll pay you the same amount of money to leave me alone.`
”They took this as an insult and said that they could not believe my Western capitalistic behavior.
”But I did not play-and I survived.”
Until June of 1983, that is, when Toradze arrived in Madrid for a series of orchestral concerts only to discover that his appearances had been canceled because Gosconcert, the Soviet concert agency, had not informed Spanish authorities that the pianist would be arriving.
Toradze asked for a ticket back home to the Soviet Republic of Georgia-and was denied.
After two more attempts to get back home, he realized he was no longer wanted there and contacted the American Embassy.
And after two months of negotiations with U.S. authorities, Toradze arrived in New York, fittingly, on Columbus Day, 1983.
”When I arrived in the United States, I didn`t even try to phone my parents, because I didn`t know what would happen. Would they be immediately taken away by the KGB?
”But, fortunately, I got a signal from my mother through a manager who had met one of my relatives, and I was told it was OK to call.
”Our first conversation was not even a conversation-it was an emotional outburst, an explosion. It was impossible to talk during the whole hour, we just cried.
”And it was my first and last conversation with my father since I defected, because he died of a heart attack a week later.
”I have the first five or six telephone conversations with my family on tape, but I cannot bear to listen to it. Only once did I play the tape to hear my father`s voice, and I couldn`t stand it-in one minute I shut it off, because it`s really a burst of pain and tears.”
Toradze and his family carried on, presuming that phone conversations would be their closest contact.
But a year ago, two of Toradze`s influential friends-American diplomant Michael Armacost and his wife, Bonnie-began working to secure the release of Toradze`s mother.
Eventually, they found a sympathetic ear in U.S. Secretary of State George Schultz, who, in these times of glasnost, was able to accomplish the impossible.
”To tell you the truth, I didn`t truly believe it until my mother got off the plane in New York,” says Toradze. ”She is the first mother of any defector to be let out, even if it is temporarily.
”We recently met Natalia Makarova (the brilliant dancer who defected in 1970), and she said, `I`ve been trying to get my mother out for 18 years, and I couldn`t do it.`
”The mother of my friend Youri Egorov (the Soviet pianist who defected in 1976), who recently died of AIDS, was not permitted to come see her son until he was dead.”
For Toradze`s mother, the reunion has been like a dream.
”I didn`t think I would ever see Lexo again,” she says in Russian, with Toradze translating, ”but I was not pitying myself because of that. I was not sorry, because I knew he had to be where he had to be, and I was happy because of it.
”When we first heard his voice after he defected in 1983, it was a shock. I was not able to talk-I only screamed, `Lexo, Lexo, Lexo.`
”This reunion has meant everything to me,” she continues in a quavering voice that transcends the barriers of language. ”He has changed since I last saw him-he has grown up as a person and as a musician. I think his life here in the United States has been extremely positive for him, and I think that it will continue to be very positive for him in the future.
”As a mother, I am consoled that he is not alone here, that he has many friends and that he is loved and appreciated by them.
”Now my dream is that he will perform again in the Soviet Union, which I think will definitely happen someday. Everything is changing so rapidly, everybody is waiting for him.
”When I was leaving our country, the party secretary said to me, `Please tell Lexo that we love him very much, and that if he comes back we will be very happy, and we will nurture him.` ”
Whether the Soviet Union will open its arms to a defector is something that Toradze feels he will have to see to believe. And though he is not nearly as impressed with the tidings of glasnost as is his mother, there is no doubt that he has benefitted from it.
”Frankly, I think Westerners are naive to believe that one person
(Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev) or changes in one area can provide any fundamental changes in Soviet society. I think it would take another revolution to bring that about.
”But, admittedly, the only reason I now speak so critically of the Soviet Union, which I have rarely done before this interview, is because the Soviets are now criticizing themselves, which is a good sign.
”Still, I don`t even know if I will ever see my mother again, after this visit. But at least we have each other now.
”You know, ever since I defected, I have had a seat saved at each concert I played, which was symbolically her place in the auditorium. And that little trick helped me to imagine her in the audience, as a representative of the many people I love and from whom I would imagine some kind of support and inspiration.
”But now that she is here, I haven`t been saving the extra seat anymore. Now I can communicate with her directly, whenever I want.”
