Val Karren - The Deceit of Riches

“What happened to baba’s fiancée? Did they marry? They didn’t, did they. She doesn’t have children,” I concluded.

“He died in Smolensk and is buried there,” was the sad news from the front.

“Natasha will be getting another medal next week in the anniversary celebrations of fifty years of victory. She is also one of the last survivors of the ladies that worked in the factory with her, so she and another friend will be recognized by the mayor in a ceremony.”

I sat and pondered on this for a few moments, thinking about babushka trying to push the police out of the apartment thinking she was protecting me from hooligans.

“I would like to be there for that. Do you think anybody would mind if I attended?” I asked.

“Of course you will be there. It’s a big public ceremony on Minin Square on May the ninth,” the pride in her voice was audible.

“I won’t miss it,” I confirmed.

With that, I bid Raiya good night and she went back to her shared bedroom and locked the door behind her. I didn’t sleep well that night. Every shadow passing by my veiled window was an assailant and every noise in the stairwell a break-in.

I dragged myself out of bed at nine o’clock knowing immediately that I had missed my morning lectures. The sunshine was trying desperately to get through my curtains and my eyelids which were all still closed up tight due to the weekend excitement. I shuffled down the hall towards the bath with the hope that some cold water over my head would help me to wake up enough to be able to make something of the day after not having slept much. As I was moving down the hallway, Raiya bid me good morning as she was heading for the open market up the street for groceries.

Being alone in the apartment that morning, after bathing, I decided to forego dressing in the bathroom, wrapped a towel around myself and headed down to my room to get dressed. On entering my own room, which was closest to the outside door, I noticed that Raiya had left behind her rolling shopping cart in the apartment, with her keys in the bottom of it. I decided that I would get dressed quickly and see if I could catch her at the market and do some shopping for supplies myself. As I entered my room I could see the shadow of a woman standing in front of my window as if waiting for me to come to the window—perhaps trying to get my attention. As the curtains were still closed I could see a shadow where a torso of a woman blocked the sun’s morning rays. Thinking it was Raiya trying to get my attention to open the door so she could get her keys and bag, I stepped quickly to the window and opened the curtains to let her know that I would open the door for her.

I was shocked to find that the woman standing outside my window was not Raiya. There I stood, with only a pane of glass and a towel between my naked self and a woman who I did not at first recognize, who was standing squarely in front of my window, staring straight in. After I got over the moment of shock that it was not my house mate standing so obtrusively close to my window and unabashedly peering at me just out of the bath, I realized it was the obtuse lady with the dog who I usually saw at seven o’clock outside my window every morning, when I was eating breakfast, before leaving for lectures. The first thought that went through my head was… how funny that she is walking her dog again at nine-thirty, just as I am getting ready to leave… what are the chances?

No sooner had I asked myself the question, alarms went off in my head. Every morning and evening as long as I could remember since living in that apartment I saw this woman and her dog outside of my room enjoying the grass, trees and the easy view into my room. She wasn’t walking her dog, even though she had a dog with her. She was watching me!

I never once suspected or even noticed the woman watching me because she had been there since the first day I had been there. I figured simply that, with me as the new comer, I was observing her routine that she undoubtedly kept for months, if not years before I arrived. But this morning she was not on schedule, but was doing the same thing at the same time that I was doing my same thing—just two hours later. It was brilliant of the authorities to assign such a person to monitor me. I had never suspected the ugly woman with the stupid expression on her face until I caught her in the act of spying on me. It had only taken a few seconds for my brain to connect all the dots and put the entire story together. I wanted to let her know that I now knew what she was and what she was she doing. I looked her square in the face, standing there in just my towel and opened the first pane of the double paned windows and shouted as loud as I could.

“Come on in? Should I heat up some tea for us? I can tell you what I told your bosses last night.”

She disappeared quickly from in front of my window without calling her dog this time, leaving him to roam between the trees. I got myself quickly dressed and headed up to the market.

It was no great surprise to me when I stepped off the bus on Gorkiy Square on Tuesday morning to see who now I referred to as my ‘British Knight’ in spanking white trainers, smoking on the street corner, pretending he was waiting for a mini-bus. As I was on my way to classes I didn’t pay him any attention and continued up towards the Gagarin Street campus. Perhaps he will join us for a lecture on Dostoyevsky? It would probably do him some good. He did not enter the building but I saw him duck into a student cafe across the street from the main building. He could spend his whole day smoking and waiting for all I cared.

Before the class was to begin Valentina Petrovna stepped out of her office and asked me to step in for a few minutes.

“It will be fine to be a few minutes late for the lecture, Mr. Turner. It’s rather urgent,” she was speaking English, so I knew it wasn’t a social visit. “How are your studies progressing, Peter? You had some very encouraging mid-term evaluations from your professors, but as we go into the May holidays we need to make sure you are on course to finish at the end of June at the right level. Do you feel that you are still moving forward?”

“Yes ma’am” I replied politely not wanting to shove a stick in the hornets’ nest that was buzzing all around me the last few days. “I feel I am progressing with my translation courses both written and verbally, but I still feel weak in Russian composition. Reading is going very well and I believe my conversational skills, both comprehension and speaking, have improved greatly these four months and my vocabulary and use of idioms and expressions I believe are much improved.”

“Very good. I am pleased to hear this. You do seem very comfortable and sharp when I speak Russian with you. The university is pleased to see your progress,” she said with no sincerity.

“Thank you, ma’am.” I sat still looking straight ahead adding nothing more.

“Professor Dashvokva also feels that you are making great progress in all areas but is concerned that you are picking up too much street language, perhaps from your housemates. I understood that they are Tatars?” her question perked my ears. I had never told anybody about my housemates.

“Ma’am I believe the street language has been picked up from socializing with other students on Friday afternoons. They have taught me to curse quite well. This is all they do when they hang about smoking and drinking on the weekends,” I parried her implications.

“Yes, that is very true. I sometimes too get red in the face when I hear their conversations,” Valentina admitted.

“I believe I learn more civilized and proper language from my housemates than I would in the dormitories and I believe my conversations are more widely varied speaking and listening to people of different ages and taking care of my own household needs. You know I even have to pay the gas and water bill myself at the district offices. It’s quite the experience looking at it as a whole.” I had gone on the offensive in the conversation.