her,” confirms Olga. “She was terrified,” concurs Lana. “She wouldn’t get in the water.” In her dramatic whisper and heavy Russian accent, Maria would hypnotize little Natasha, conjuring up visions of stardom and magic in one ear; warning, “Beware of dark water,” in the other. “She really created an impression in her mind,” relates Olga. Natasha was afraid to learn to swim; frightened even to have her hair washed, because her head would be submerged in the bath water. “She was always afraid of water, like I am, especially if it’s dark waters,” Maria said later. “My
mother
contributed to her fear of the water, because my
mother
was afraid of the water,” corrects Olga. “My mother was afraid of swimming, and she was told that she’d drown. So this communicated itself to Natalie.”
Natasha grew up in a house of paranoia—fear of Communists, gypsy curses, hysterical convulsions, drunken demons. Her mother was like a fictional character written in magic realism, with her accounts of mystical reincarnation and resurrection, guiding her life by superstitions and instilling them in her daughters. “Peacock feathers or pictures of peacocks are bad luck,” recounts Olga. “You don’t
pass
the salt, you put it down, otherwise you’ll get into an argument. If you give somebody tablecloths or sheets, you’re wishing for them to go away.” As an adult, Natalie would remark that she “didn’t like mystery” as a child, how Russian superstitions had created paranoia in her she did not want her children to have. Her mother trusted only Natasha’s father and Olga to babysit her; Fahd refused to allow her in crowds because she was so tiny.
Fear was in the air Natasha breathed.
WHEN THE JAPANESE ATTACKED PEARL HARBOR in December 1941, the paranoid Nick believed they would bomb San Francisco, so he moved the family to the outskirts of the city, in Sunnyvale. The Gurdins lived in the low-income projects, Natasha’s fifth apartment by the age of three. Nick found work at the naval yard as a draftsman and Maria took a part-time job babysitting, entrusting Natasha to Olga.
Maria and her daughters’ diversion from this charmless existence, apart from movies, were holidays near the Russian River in the picturesque wine country, a two-hour drive north. Families, most of them Russian, shared rental cottages the immigrants referred to nostalgically as “dachas.” One such holiday, in September of 1942, Maria, Olga and Natasha took a scenic drive with a Russian friend through the nearby town of Santa Rosa. As the friend turned down a country road at the edge of town, Maria’s eye seized on a new bungalow. She asked her friend to stop the car. “I want that house,” Maria announced. She found a carpenter inside and engaged him in conversation, learning that the owner was in despair because his wife had run off with the contractor. Maria entreated the carpenter to phone the owner, who struck a deal with her that afternoon, selling his heartbreak house to Maria for a down payment of $100, all the money the Gurdins had. “She
conned
him into it,” marvels Olga. “I think he even gave her money to buy furniture.” Maria, who didn’t drive, forged her absent husband’s signature. “How she managed to get a loan, I don’t know,” said Olga. When Nick arrived to take Musia and the girls back to Sunnyvale, “I said, ‘Nick, we’re not gonna go back home. We have a home here,’ ” she recalled. Flummoxed by his wife’s machinations, concerned about the long drive to the shipyard, Nick was no match for the formidable Maria. The Gurdins’ deed to the property at 2160 Humboldt was recorded on September 28, 1942, at a purchase price of $5400, making the immigrants homeowners and establishing Maria as the business head of the family.
Maria’s almost mystic acquisition of the bungalow in bucolic Santa Rosa proved, ironically, to be a determining factor in Natalie’s Hollywood career. Director Alfred
mother
contributed to her fear of the water, because my
mother
was afraid of the water,” corrects Olga. “My mother was afraid of swimming, and she was told that she’d drown. So this communicated itself to Natalie.”
Natasha grew up in a house of paranoia—fear of Communists, gypsy curses, hysterical convulsions, drunken demons. Her mother was like a fictional character written in magic realism, with her accounts of mystical reincarnation and resurrection, guiding her life by superstitions and instilling them in her daughters. “Peacock feathers or pictures of peacocks are bad luck,” recounts Olga. “You don’t
pass
the salt, you put it down, otherwise you’ll get into an argument. If you give somebody tablecloths or sheets, you’re wishing for them to go away.” As an adult, Natalie would remark that she “didn’t like mystery” as a child, how Russian superstitions had created paranoia in her she did not want her children to have. Her mother trusted only Natasha’s father and Olga to babysit her; Fahd refused to allow her in crowds because she was so tiny.
Fear was in the air Natasha breathed.
WHEN THE JAPANESE ATTACKED PEARL HARBOR in December 1941, the paranoid Nick believed they would bomb San Francisco, so he moved the family to the outskirts of the city, in Sunnyvale. The Gurdins lived in the low-income projects, Natasha’s fifth apartment by the age of three. Nick found work at the naval yard as a draftsman and Maria took a part-time job babysitting, entrusting Natasha to Olga.
Maria and her daughters’ diversion from this charmless existence, apart from movies, were holidays near the Russian River in the picturesque wine country, a two-hour drive north. Families, most of them Russian, shared rental cottages the immigrants referred to nostalgically as “dachas.” One such holiday, in September of 1942, Maria, Olga and Natasha took a scenic drive with a Russian friend through the nearby town of Santa Rosa. As the friend turned down a country road at the edge of town, Maria’s eye seized on a new bungalow. She asked her friend to stop the car. “I want that house,” Maria announced. She found a carpenter inside and engaged him in conversation, learning that the owner was in despair because his wife had run off with the contractor. Maria entreated the carpenter to phone the owner, who struck a deal with her that afternoon, selling his heartbreak house to Maria for a down payment of $100, all the money the Gurdins had. “She
conned
him into it,” marvels Olga. “I think he even gave her money to buy furniture.” Maria, who didn’t drive, forged her absent husband’s signature. “How she managed to get a loan, I don’t know,” said Olga. When Nick arrived to take Musia and the girls back to Sunnyvale, “I said, ‘Nick, we’re not gonna go back home. We have a home here,’ ” she recalled. Flummoxed by his wife’s machinations, concerned about the long drive to the shipyard, Nick was no match for the formidable Maria. The Gurdins’ deed to the property at 2160 Humboldt was recorded on September 28, 1942, at a purchase price of $5400, making the immigrants homeowners and establishing Maria as the business head of the family.
Maria’s almost mystic acquisition of the bungalow in bucolic Santa Rosa proved, ironically, to be a determining factor in Natalie’s Hollywood career. Director Alfred
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