Gera Kremov and Matilda

I have a little explaining to do. I know I haven't updated in a while, I left some stories dangling, and I may still be in Russia for all the blogging world knows. Let's clear up that last one right now: I arrived at JFK last Saturday, spent three days in New York with a dear, graduated friend from Lawrence, and stumbled into my own bed Tuesday night. Reverse culture shock has been understated, the weather has been so much colder, and I'm leading my brother by one in the how-many-countries-have-you-visited game.

As for the dangling stories, I count at least three:

1. Drinking Tea with a Corporate Party Planner and Co.
2. A Business Meeting
3. The Russian New Year's
   

That last one is to oblige my cousin who lives on an island, who was curious about the whole thing. P.S. If you are curious about anything in particular, let me know and I will try to wax eloquent about the topic of your choice.

OK, tea time!

One evening near the end of the semester during Stalinism class, I got a call from an unknown number. Like a good student, I ignored it and turned my phone to silent. Then I got another. Like a bad student, I sent an SMS asking who it was. One text lead to another, and I realized that Bryan, our program director was trying to get a hold of me.

I called him after class and he told me about how he had been talking to a professor at Smolny about an opportunity to record some dubbing for a movie, with the payoff of a hundred dollars. So (naturally) he thought of me. Was I interested? Of course! I called the number he gave me -- no answer.

Ana and I headed home on foot, as was our Friday night tradition. She had Arabic Saturday mornings, and it's best to approach these learning-a-foreign-language-IN-a-foreign-language situations with a good night of sleep and a clear head. A third of the way home, the professor called, spoke in clear Russian which I would have understood 100% if only I could have rewound it and listened a few more times, and asked to pass on my number to Kyrill, the man with the plan. Go ahead!

Approximately fourth-fifths of the way home, Kyrill called. "Is this a convenient time to talk?" he asked right away.

"Um, no," I replied, standing on a busy street and looking at my hand, bloody from a recently-discovered cut on my thumb. "How about in twenty minutes?"

Twenty minutes later, Ana and I had parted ways, I had a band-aid on my thumb, and was ready for a more convenient call. Kirill explained that that he lived on ulitsa Korablestroitely, just as I did; the text was not translated into English, contrary to what Bryan had told me; and when was I free to record? A bit to handle, but I did my best.

At a later date, he called to say that he we going to drop off the text. I was curious and trepidatious. What was this movie about? Was I allowed to have strange men over to the apartment, albeit only to drop something off? I gave Andrei a heads-up, and went back to my room to do work. Then I heard Tat'iana Ivanovna come home and go to her room. Andrei knocked on her door and quietly delivered the same heads-up to her. Great, I thought, this isn't awkward at all.

And surprisingly enough, it turned out to be not that awkward at all. Kirill was businesslike, yet amiable, stayed in the entrance, gave me both a paper copy of the text and an electronic copy on a flash drive, and left quickly. No problems there.

The next part of this story -- How the American Corner was a Blessing in Disguise -- is complicated and mostly boring, so suffice it to say that fellow volunteer Elena who speaks great English was a big help in translating sentences with buried subjects and elusive adjectives, and it all turned out. The text, by the way, was a voice-over for a short film about the new residences being built in Karlovy Vary. That is to say, an ad.

Later that Tuesday night, Kyrill called to make sure I was ready to record. "Я к вам зайду через 20 минут,*" he said. Huh? He repeated himself, slowly and patiently. (What a great guy!) And then I finally understood: I was expecting to just walk over to his place, when he meant to pick up me in his car in 20 minutes. My expectations completely plugged my ears to what he was saying. Noooo, thanks, I'll walk.

In the end, we compromised and met at Патерсон (Paterson - grocery store chain down the street) before continuing to his apartment. I was interested in seeing his apartment because I never knew what to expect when a door opened to a Russian abode. I caught a glimpse of a bedroom and his wife as I was putting on the house slippers Kyrill offered to me. He lead me into his studio and I looked around as much as I politely could. One long wall was completely covered with books and half of another wall was hung with guitars and balalaikas. Computer and sound equipment occupied the middle of the room. Kyrill sat me down in front of a microphone, listened patiently to my translation issues, and got down to work.

After the recording session, he handed me 2500 rubles, a copy of his most recent album, and asked if I'd like a cup of tea. I hesitated slightly before accepting. On the one hand, I felt like maybe he didn't expect me say yes, but on the other hand, when else would I have the opportunity to hang out with a 30-something couple in Russia?

I stepped into his kitchen as his wife rushed out to attend to her thumb, which she had just cut on a falling knife (Russians let their dishes dry in a cupboard above the sink). I had a sneaking suspicion that they had recently made a trip to a certain Swedish megamarket, a suspicion that was quickly confirmed by Kyrill. "We renovated our kitchen last winter, got all this stuff from IKEA..." Very nice, very modern.

I sat at the tiny square table as Kyrill and his bandaged wife loaded it with tea things. Kyrill gave me a copy of his new book about psychobilly to look at, we chatted about the weather and how I wanted to be a dietitian, and watched their two parrots whose names title this entry fly around the apartment. The whole time, I thought to myself, "This is so sweet! I am having a legitimate conversation with Russians that are not teachers or Smolny students or my host family. My Russian skills do work in the real world!" Kirill's wife even complimented me -- Ты так прекрасно говоришь по-русски** -- and I fairly glowed.

Kyrill drove me home, an arrangement I was comfortable with now, having realized what a great guy he was. On the circuitous way home, we talked more about his job as a corporate party planner and his hopes for getting into film. We arrived at my dom and parted ways and I felt so happy about the experience I'd just had and so sad that I was leaving in three weeks. Just when I was meeting all these great people, I was going to up and leave. But that's life. At least I have his CD.

* Ya k vam zaedu cherez 20 minut. I'll pick you up in 20 minutes.
** Ty tak prekrasno govorish' po-russki. You speak Russian so well!