MOSCOW, June 16, 2008 -- Part of my grief and sadness about losing Sasha --allegedly in anticipation of Zhorik’s return (Chapt. 284, Apprehensions mount as reunion with Zhorik nears) -- has been assuaged. It turns out Sasha’s a thief and petty criminal, and I wouldn’t have wanted him as a permanent fixture of my life in any case.
It seems he’s been leading a completely double life.
We all closed our eyes to a lot of things because we all loved him so much and because he was so sweet and kind and helpful: We took him at his word that somebody else, not he, had stolen the $ 4,000 from me back in December (Chapt. 273, A happy ending – just in time for Christmas); we took him at his word that 5,000 rubles – about $ 200 – that he used to make a deposit on an apartment for Sergei and Katya a month ago had been pocketed by the agent, who Sasha said had refused to give it back when they changed their mind.
We kept to ourselves the doubts about where he was getting money to buy beer and vodka to almost daily “get drunk” on.
But Sergei discovered last week that at least part of his money – in addition to what he “borrowed” from me and Katya -- has come from fencing shoplifted goodies. I thought it was odd when he announced he could get me a bottle of absinthe for half price. He was evasive when I asked how, but I bought it anyway.
He would disappear for long hours at a time without explanation, would return mysteriously in the middle of the night, and was hanging out with scurvy-looking middle-aged guys that seemed quite out of keeping with his status as a university student and a sweet, wide-eyed, innocent little boy.
The $ 400 camera I bought in Spain also disappeared when he and Igor took it with them to a party (Chapt. 278, New incentive to reach 80!) back in March. Now I think I know where it went.
Sergei has also discovered that Sasha’s not enrolled in a university, as he claimed, and is apparently living on the streets, despite 3,000 rubles ($ 150) that Volodya, for whom he is now working at my recommendation, advanced him to rent a room with a girlfriend.
And for clinchers, yesterday Sergei met a mutual acquaintance on the street who showed him the used mobile phone he’d just bought. Sergei recognized it at once as his own.
“Where did you get it?” he asked in astonishment.
“I bought it from Sasha.”
So once again the most adorable fantasy of my life has pulled the wool over my eyes. The consolation is that it wasn’t just my eyes, and that he didn’t steal more. My new Canon camera, for instance, is still here.
I called Volodya to warn him that his new employee, who he thinks is the most wonderful thing since sliced bread, and whom he’s already promised a raise, is a thief. But Volodya simply refuses to believe it.
I too wish it were not true.
Sasha’s distasteful exit from my life is the bad news. The good news is that it will make my reunion with Zhorik – if it ever comes off -- more joyful and genuine. I won’t be harboring the “what if Sasha…” scenario in the back of my mind.
The “Day of Russia” holiday gave Russians a four-day vacation last week. Yeltsin first inaugurated the celebration as “Independence Day,” but people got tired of asking “Independence from what -- ourselves?” and to resolve the conundrum Putin switched it to Day of Russia.
Igor spent it with his nympho girlfriend at her grandmother’s dacha somewhere in the Moscow exurbs.
So Wednesday night I went to bed about 11 p.m. No Igor, no Sasha, no stress. My blood pressure on Thursday morning was 106/72, with a pulse of 60, the lowest it’s been in months – maybe a year or more. What is my body trying to tell me?
Will my stress return with Igor? Is Zhorik going to exert a magic calming effect, or is he going to add to the stress with worries over financing his return to civilian life, getting him enrolled and paying for a college education, the likely gap between his expectations and mine, etc.?
My decision about moving to Spain will be at least partially determined by how my body, as well as my emotions, react to Zhorik’s return.
Sasha’s shocking exit was the first of the quadruple whammies I’ve been hit with since our last tete-a-tete.
The second, and least traumatic, is that my reunion with Zhorik has still not taken place. He arrived in Stavropol Tuesday evening, leaving him only Wednesday to register with the army induction office and do whatever else he needed to do before the non-working holiday began on Thursday.
Of course he didn’t succeed.
So he had to wait till today before even attempting to finish tying up the red tape, and maybe he’ll get here sometime this week. He insists that he’s incredibly bored there and can’t wait to get here. In any case, I’m still waiting for the big moment.
The third and possibly most serious of the whammies is that the escape route to Spain I’ve been increasingly counting on when I finally OD on my Russian debacle may be cut off at the pass.
I had already begun planning to make a jaunt there in the last week of August and first week of September because my “little sister Ivana,” my very close friend Ivan, was begging me to and because I wanted to test the waters of Ourense in the summer time. My friend Slava was going to make it cheap and easy by signing over to me his airline bonus miles which would permit me to make the round trip for about 125 bucksi!
But when I finally reached Ivan last night to share with him my exciting plans, he announced that he may not be there, that he is probably giving up his English teaching and his Russian culture center there to return to Moscow. “Is it a problem with Jorge?” I asked, not knowing that Jorge was standing beside him.
“Well, it’s a lot of things.”
“Then I don’t know if I’ll come,” I replied.
“Oh, I’m sure Jorge’s parents would be glad to see you.”
“I don’t want to saddle them with being responsible for me.”
But when I talked to Jorge, he insisted that they would be delighted.
I’m still not sure. In any case, a visit without Ivan is one thing, but moving there without his help is quite another. Ivan would have helped me find an apartment, arrange teaching and job contacts, and put me in connection with the gay network there, vital connections that I obviously can’t count on Jorge, Rosita, and Diego for.
So my plans for a serene and stress-free future in Ourense are on hold. A real bummer. It makes the relationship with the returning Zhorik even more crucial.
The icing on the whammy cake came last night, after Igor had returned from four days of fucking his nympho. About 11 p.m. she called to announce she’s pregnant.
I am so disgusted and dismayed by Igor’s incredible stupidity I can’t even put it into words. He’s already got one kid in the oven in Moldova, and one would assume that if he needed any lessons, that would have sufficed.
Rather understandably, he sees no alternative but suicide. “One good reason is because I love you,” I told him, as he kissed me long and hard in the mouth. But for a 19-year-old, he’s certainly managed to fuck his life up pretty thoroughly.
Abortion would be the logical solution, but he says she wants to keep the child and marry him instead. Also, he says, she doesn’t have the money for an abortion. But he also says her family is rich and well connected, and he showed me a photo of her father with Putin. Of course that doesn’t mean anything. We all know what photo ops with the tsar are worth.
And she seems to have money. She bought Igor a 20,000 ruble – about $ 800 – mobile phone. So I think if she wanted an abortion she’d find a way.
I told Igor it’s her problem. When she let him fuck her – or if the scenario is like I think it is – persuaded him to fuck her without a rubber, she knew the potential consequences as well as he did. He showed me an SMS form a friend of hers saying she had a reputation as a hooker, so she’s no wide-eyed naif.
In any case, I’m not going to let it become my problem. No money for abortions, no money for anything. They got themselves into it without my help, they can get themselves out of it without my help.
Another dismaying wrinkle that almost qualifies as the fifth whammy is that my Bank America account is blocked again and I can’t get any money out of the ATM here, which has nearly 1000 bucksi in it. Fortunately, I had enough in the Raiffeisen Bank from my Institute of Diplomacy and Potemkin U. salaries that I was able to pay the rent. In the confusion of the renovation, my sheet of paper with all the Bank America numbers on it got lost, so I can’t call the bank to get it straightened out.
I’ve sent an SOS to my power of attorney, David G., in Ashland, OR, asking him to send me the customer service number, but he hasn’t responded yet. What if he’s on extended vacation? What if he has amnesia? What if he’s in a coma? What if he’s dead? What if….?
Fortunately, I think I’ve got enough to last long enough to get the problem straightened out; in the meantime, at least the dollar is strengthening against the euro at the moment, so I won’t lose a lot of money – maybe. But in any case, it’s an incredible pain in the ass.
There is a little good news: Both the Institute of Diplomacy and Potemkin U. have assured they want me back in the fall; and at Potemkin I’ll be teaching English composition for the first time, which should prove an interesting and challenging venture.
I also have three new private students for the summer, so maybe my income won’t dry up for two months as it did last year. On the other hand, Sergei hasn’t forked over the 20,000 rubles he promised to pay for two months’ rent for him and Katya, but he’s still earnestly promising to, and I’m gullible enough to believe him.
See also related pages:
Chapt. #286 - Corruption victims: Keep what we’ve got
Chapt. #284 - Apprehensions mount as reunion with Zhorik nears
Chapt. #278 - New incentive to reach 80!
