Oswald's Tale by Norman Mailer Page A

Oswald at Botkin Hospital.”
    Rosa remembers he was wearing hospital clothes and had a bandage on his arm, but she didn’t think he could have cut his veins very deeply, because he looked well. They joked a little. She didn’t want to touch upon a delicate subject, so they just had a general conversation. Maybe the visit took thirty minutes, and she left with Rimma. The Intourist car was waiting for her.

    Oct. 25.
    Hospital routine. Rimma visits me in afternoon.

    Oct. 26.
    Afternoon. Rimma visits.

    Oct. 27.
    Stitches are taken out by doctor with “dull” scissors.

    Wed. Oct. 28.
    Leave hospital in Intourist car with Rimma for Hotel Berlin. Later, I change hotel to Metropole. Rimma notified me that [the] passport and registration office wishes to see me about my future.
    Later, Rimma and car pick me up and we enter the office to find four officials waiting for me (all unknown to me). They ask how my arm is, I say OK; they ask, Do you want to go to your homeland? I say no, I want Soviet citizenship. They say they will see about that . . . They make notes. “What papers do you have to show who and what you are?” I give them my discharge papers from the Marine Corps. They say, “Wait for our answer.” I ask, “How long?” “Not soon.”
    Later, Rimma comes to check on me. I feel insulted, and insult her.

    October 29
    Hotel room 214, Metropole Hotel.
    I wait. I worry. I eat once, stay next to phone. Worry. I keep fully dressed.

    October 31
    I make my decision. Getting passport at 12 o’clock, I meet and talk with Rimma for a few minutes. She says: “Stay in your room and eat well.” I don’t tell her about what I am about to do since I know she would not approve. After she leaves, I wait a few minutes and then I catch a taxi. “American Embassy,” I say. Twelve-thirty I arrive American Embassy. I walk, say to the receptionist, “I would like to see the Consul.” She points to a large ledger and says, “If you are a tourist, please register.” I take out my American passport and lay it on the desk. “I’ve come to dissolve my American citizenship,” I say matter-of-factly. She rises and enters the office of Richard Snyder, American Head Consul in Moscow at that time. He invites me to sit down. He finishes a letter he is typing and then asks what he can do for me. I tell him I’ve decided to take Soviet citizenship, and would like to legally dissolve my U.S. citizenship. His assistant (now Head Consul) McVickar looks up from his work.
    Snyder takes down personal information, asks questions. Snyder warns me not to take any steps before the Soviets accept me, says I am a fool, and says the dissolution papers will take time in preparing. (In other words, refuses to allow me at that time to dissolve U.S. citizenship.) I state: “My mind is made up. From this date forward, I consider myself no citizen of the USA.” I spend forty minutes at the Embassy before Snyder says, “Now, unless you wish to expound on your Marxist beliefs, you can go.” “I wish to dissolve U.S. citizenship.” “Not today,” he says in effect.
    I leave Embassy, elated at the showdown, return to my Hotel. I feel now my energies are not spent in vain. I am sure Russians will accept me after this sign of my faith in them.

    From testimony before the Warren Commission, June 9, 1964:
    MR. COLEMAN. Why didn’t you provide him with an affidavit at that time?
    MR. SNYDER. . . . it didn’t seem to me the sensible thing to do . . . it is sort of axiomatic, I think, in the consular service that when a man, a citizen, comes in and asks to renounce his citizenship, you don’t whip out a piece of paper and have him sign it. This is a very serious step, of course, an irrevocable step, really, and if nothing else you attempt to . . . make sure that the person knows what he is doing. You explain, for one thing, what the meaning of the act is; and, secondly, again speaking for myself—I cannot speak for the Foreign Service in