Part 32

Quinn and Zander met Zander's teacher, Arkady Petrovich Nikiforov for lunch. He spoke a little English, and Quinn tried a little Russian. Zander liked translating for them. Quinn could see he really liked that she and Arkady met and talked.

Quinn told Arkady Petrovich that her mother was a teacher, and that they thought Zander would make a good teacher, too.

Arkady Petrovich agreed enthusiastically and talked about how he remembered Zander being such a good student and teacher.

They showed Quinn through the school. There weren't many people there, because of summer vacation.

"This is the school you went to, and did well at," Quinn said. "Like you'll do at PCU."

"It was a great school to go to. No Junk 101. No constant distraction. You just learned the stuff without any BS."

"You sound like you think there's a lot of BS in American school."

"It seemed like there was to me, anyway. Here, you didn't have to figure out what to take and you didn't have to figure out how to study."

"It's a long way from here to PCU."

"It sure is!"

"That room has little desks," Quinn said, as she looked into a room from the hallway.

"Sure, for the little kids."

"Little kids? It's a high school."

"There's no such thing here. There's just school."

"Really? You'd go from first grade to graduation in this building?"

"If you lived in this neighborhood, yes. And people don't move around as much."

"That's nice."

"Yes. The class went to school together the whole time. So you know everybody in your class really well."

"You share the whole school experience with them."

"I guess you did too, though. You just all moved together from St. Michael's to Mercy High."

"Yes, though there were people who went somewhere else, rather than Mercy High, and people in Mercy High who had not been to St. Michael's. And, as you said, people move. Even if they don't move that far they can end up in another diocese, and so another school. Or they move to private school or public school. But anyway, you didn't have it either way. You went from one private school to another to this one and then back."

"Yeah, thanks to all the fun Sergei and Oksana got us into."

"You must remember some of the other students in your class, though."

"I remember them pretty well."

"You could find some of them, maybe."

"It wouldn't be that hard, here, probably. As long as I can remember their name and patronymic."

"You ought to look up somebody."

"What would you do? That could bore you."

"No it wouldn't. I'd try to make out as much of the language as I can – I wouldn't be any more lost!"

"Doesn't sound fun."

"I'd like it if you were enjoying it."

He thought for a little while. He hugged her, and said something to Arkady in Russian. Arkady smiled.

"There are your grandparents, too," Quinn said.

"We can see them another time. That city's so far away."

"OK," she said.

"In the winter. When it's really cold. Even colder there. It's on the edge of Siberia."

"You're making me cold thinking about it."

He put his arms around her tighter. "That's to get the chance to warm you up."

"That'll work," she said, with a big smile.

"It cracks me up, the way the stores are just called what they sell," Quinn said to Zander, in the apartment. "Instead of Kelly's Coffee Shop, it's just Coffee."

"Another communist hangover."

"It's good though. Russians in the US would be confused. The place is called "Kelly's" but you have to go in to see what they sell there."

"Yeah, it wouldn't be a bad idea to have the sign say what's there, too. I wonder if it ever said Kelly's Diner. Then the town is small so everybody just knows."

"And there's a separate store for everything. No supermarkets."

"It works out OK, though, because you just walk to them. Dad sent us out all the time. You get to know the people who work there, and it's no big deal."

"Sounds nice, in its way. And in a big city, to be that way, it's different. I'll go out and get some more coffee, anyway."

"I'll go with you."

"No, relax. It's a challenge for me."

"You won't get lost?"

"If I do, I'll ask somebody."

"You know the name of the nearest metro station?"

She spelled it out for him.

"And what's our address, here?"

She said the name of the street, and gave him the building number, block number and apartment number. He seemed satisfied. Still, he wrote it on a slip of paper and gave it to her to show somebody who could help her if she got lost.

"Be very careful. Look both ways before you cross the street, carefully and deliberately. They are terrible drivers."

"You sure are hard on your countrymen!"

"Well, that doesn't mean they aren't the worst drivers in the world."

"OK," she laughed. "I'll watch out."

"If you get lost, just ask anybody on the street to help you find that address," he said. "I'll go easy on them there. They won't mug, rape or murder you, they'll just help you find your way back. But don't trust such of them as are behind the wheel of any motor vehicle to stop at a red light or any crossing."

"OK," she laughed, going out.