Advertisement
Published: September 15th 2008
Edit Blog Post
Vera and Vala
Vera is on the right. Some of these photos came out a little red. I think it's the wall carpet's fault Sveta emailed me yesterday. The subject line was “reborn.” Early Sunday morning, a plane had crashed in Perm while attempting to land. Eighty-eight people, everyone on-board, were killed. I had originally booked a ticket to be one that flight, but the weeklong visa delay forced me to make new reservations on Friday. The news of crash was and remains shocking. I don’t know how to feel. It’s a tragedy. And I’m glad I’m alive and in Helsinki.
I tried not to think about the crash, and so I studied Russian and read. Helsinki is getting cooler and my wanderings shorter. I’ve discovered the Stadion Hostel dining room. It offers a sharp contrast to the laptop-ruled commons room. Eating together leads to talking, which leads to stories. Some of them, like the ones about aliens and gay swimmers told by the crazy Kentuckian, don’t make a lot of sense though they do make people uncomfortable. Others, like those told by the Irish guy, I have trouble understanding. Until the well-traveled Canadian asked “are you Irish?” I thought he was from somewhere in Eastern Europe. The old English woman tells us about her nudist relations. She can’t understand how they can stand
Soviet turntable/radio
I couldn't get it to work. Sveta's grandmother had a good sized record collection. to cook in the nude. Don’t they get burned?
Russians enjoy feasting and storytelling. In August, before school started, before the Day of Knowledge, we had the forty day memorial dinner for Sveta’s grandmother. Aunt Vala returned, accompanied by aunt Vera. The sisters made fish pies with walleye, spicy mushroom soup) borsch, chicken, compote, and potatoe, and that memorial dinner stand-by that no one eats: rice and raisins. Vera poured vodka, and I spoke.
“Speak!” Vala would command. Vala wants me to learn Russian. She taught her first husband, an Azerbaijani, to speak Russian and is an excellent teacher. She’s can explain everything without any recourse to English. I was told in a seminar prior to the Day of Knowledge this technique of explanation is properly called “circumlocution.” So I spoke. And ate. The feasting lasted for nearly 12 hours, the whole of which we were seated, except for a brief trip to the store for ice cream and chocolates.
Vala tells stories. Slowly and with gestures so that I can follow. She’s been gravedigger, worked on a collective farm, kept (and keeps) bees, raised five children, moved to Azerbaijan and then back to the village -
she has lots of stories. I know her daughter Seva, sons Ruslan and Timur less so.
Seva joined us at the table. Seva’s full name is Sevinch. It is not a Russian name. Bank tellers know this and give her trouble about it. It stands out, and in Russia, where people are obsessed with ethnicity and nationality. At 22, she wants to get away from the village in which she grew up. Seva lives in Perm, in Sveta’s grandmother’s apartment. She reads foreign books - I was delighted to find a fellow Hanif Kurieshi fan. Following the memorial dinner Sveta and I visited Vala’s home in the village, where among other things we learned that Seva paints as well. She has her opinions. When all of us were dumping Russian mayonnaise into our soups, she muttered, “soup with mayo is pornographic.” I guess sour cream is more appropriate.
So she’s gotten the paperwork together to change her name. She told her mother this and for the first time I saw Vala upset. She turned redder and spoke faster, but Seva was unmoved.
I don’t know anything else about Seva’s father other than that he is Azerbaijani. About
Remains
The table after a bout of feasting Azerbaijani names, the Polish journalist Kyszard Kapuscinski observed, “Girls’ names always mean something here, and parents attach great importance to the choice of a name. Gulnara means ‘flower’; Nargis is “Narcissus”; Bahar is “Spring”; Aydyn is “Light.” Sevil is a girl with whom someone is in love. After the Revolution, they started giving girls’ names that celebrate the modern inventions now making their way to the countryside. So there are girls with the names tractor, Chauffeur. One father, apparently counting on tax reductions, called his daughter Finotdiel, which is an abbreviation of the name of the Office of Finance (Finansovyj Otdiel).”
So though I understand her reasons for wanting to change it, I think Seva should keep her name.
Sister Vera is well known among the Legotikins for her massages. Vala credits Vera with saving her life through massage following a troublesome birth. Sveta sat down with Vera. I watched, not without some envy. Vala looked at me - “would you like?” I did. Vera takes her time. She does not hurry through anything, slowly working each muscle in the back, chest, and shoulders. Vera is quieter, shyer than her sister. She’s still, whereas Vala is always in
Vera Vala II
This time it's Vala on the left motion. Recently Vera had a stroke. Seva said it has made her slower, though its effects are not too noticeable. And I would have to agree with Vala - Vera does have golden hands.
There was ice cream, chocolates. At one point I held a potato in my hand, eating it like an apple. It was after midnight when Sveta and I went home. We decided to visit Vala the upcoming weekend.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.095s; Tpl: 0.01s; cc: 11; qc: 71; dbt: 0.0622s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.2mb