Quickly looking around to make sure he was alone, Gleb eased himself down onto the first step of the stairs. Trying to be quiet, he shifted both crutches under his left arm. Then, with one more glance around, he slid forward, using his free arm as a guide and keeping his injured foot raised. Bump, bump, bump, clatter-crash (as the crutches banged on the stairs, the walls, or each other), various colorful Russian curses, crash-clatter, bump, bang, thump!
Elena looked up from the dough that she was kneading and laughed as Gleb made his uncomfortable and odd-looking entrance into the kitchen.
"I see that you took me at my word," she said. It's seven-twenty on the nose."
Brushing her hands off on her apron, she hastened over to help him stand. It took a few moments to accomplish, involving a brief panic when Gleb lost his balance and almost toppled them both over. When at last he stood more or less erect, he heaved a long sigh.
"Well here I am," he said with a crooked grin. "Thanks for clearing the kitchen and so preventing my complete mortification in front of everyone."
"It's fortunate you're both punctual and lucky, "she replied, "Mama is currently out serving (that's the lucky part because for the life of me I couldn't think of any way to get her out of the kitchen). I sent the boys out to cut wood, Marianne is picking vegetables, Vera and Vincent are with Mama, and Papa is talking to some customers. If you didn't come down on time you'd be in trouble because like as not, they'll all be back within a few minutes. Your breakfast is at that table over there. That's a good place to start. When you're done, I'll take you out to the bar and get you settled."
A week had gone by since Doctor Dubois had reluctantly consented to providing Gleb with crutches. He could now use them reasonably well and the previous evening, Elena had proposed that he should learn to help Henri at the bar. That way, he would have something constructive to do and Henri wouldn't have to tend the bar on his own. As it was, the arrangement was near perfect.
Unbeknownst Elena or most other people for that matter, Gleb had a rare talent for mixing drinks. It was a skill that he had learned and practiced during his years in the military. His unit commander always liked his drinks just so, and had taught Gleb the secrets of making various concoctions with a great degree of skill. His stint as on-call bartender had ended after being posted to the Leningrad division, but he still would make something fancy for himself once in a while just to keep up his proficiency. Of course most of the mixes Gleb knew would knock a normal person flat after two sips, but it did give him something of a head start when it came to learning to mix the gentler cocktails that were served at L'Auberge du Miroir.
The first real obstacle that they encountered was Gleb's lack of fluency when he spoke French. He knew enough to say hello, ask directions, and perhaps carry on a simple conversation, but when it came to dealing with native speakers he was at something of a loss.
Why does everyone in France speaksoquicklyandslurtheirwords? he wondered, baffled by the string of sounds that was erupting from the man across from him with the speed of an onrushing train. His eyes searched the room and lighted on Elena, who was serving a table. As she turned around, he caught her eye and mouthed Help me! in Russian. Elena made her way through the maze of tables and chairs to the bar.
"Excusez-moi pour un moment, monsieur," Gleb said and then hobbled over to where Elena was leaning on the bar top.
"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.
Gleb gestured as discreetly as possible to the annoyed-looking customer.
"I cannot understand a… blessed word he says," he muttered.
Elena cocked an eyebrow, "Blessed?"
Gleb flushed a little, "Well you get the idea, but what do I do? I can understand about one in twenty words he says and he's not too pleased with me as I'm sure you can see for yourself."
Elena nodded.
"One moment, let me come around back."
She hurried off and Gleb tried to look as if he was doing something. When she reappeared a few moments, behind the bar this time, he shuffled back so he was next to her.
Elena apologized profusely to the man in French, making some kind of excuse about Gleb being new and then asking for his order. When he grumbled his reply she walked back towards the kitchen and beckoned for Gleb to follow. He caught up with her near the doorway.
"So what does he want?" he asked.
Elena gave a slightly wry grin.
"Hot tea with a shot in it," she replied. "Most people in this village don't count adding alcohol to tea or coffee to be 'drinking' but they come to the bar to get it all the same. Sorry, I should have told you."
"Not at all," Gleb's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Should I add an extra shot? He could use a little slowing down."
Elena tried to smother a laugh with her hand and only succeeded in reducing it to a rather undignified snort.
"I'm sure he could, but don't you dare," she whispered furiously, whacking his arm with her dish towel and grinning when he laughed. She disappeared into the kitchen, returning with the steaming cup of tea a few minutes later. Elena put it down on the bar top and turned to Gleb
"Add one shot of bourbon and then mix it well" she told him, handing him a bottle.
Gleb nodded, struggling to keep a straight face.
He fixed the man's spiked tea and set the cup down in front of him, then turned around to where Elena had paused in the doorway of the kitchen to watch him.
"Oh, did you mean that be a French shot or a Russian shot?" he asked innocently and she rolled her eyes and made a face at him.
"You bad boy, intoxicating my customers!"
Gleb laughed and made a "well you should have told me" gesture with his hands. Elena shook her head once more and then disappeared into the kitchen again.
-xxxx-
Apart from the problem with the man and his tea, Gleb found tending the bar to be fairly simple. It felt good to be doing something constructive again and people seemed to like his drinks. He had made one of his old Russian favorites (slightly weaker of course) for a man who didn't know what to order and the man in question had raved about it so loudly that Gleb had been called on to make several more which were met with a similarly enthusiastic response. That evening, when he had bumped and scraped his way up to his room, he fell into bed with a sigh.
For the first time in weeks he had eaten dinner at a table with other people and been able to talk to someone other than Elena. He had had to be on his guard, of course, but it was nice all the same. When he finally dropped off to sleep, he was both peaceful and content. For the first time in months, he felt safe.
French Translation:
Excusez-moi pour un moment, monsieur - Excuse me for a moment, sir