Of all the strange experiences in Russia, my absolute favorite is not one of my own but that of Maureen, my close friend and fellow Dickinson student in Moscow. She told me this story in late October, and it still reigns as one of the best, creepiest, oddest stories I have ever heard. She wrote about it in a short essay titled, "Meet the Neighbors", and I asked for permission to share an excerpt on my blog.
For some context: Maureen was attempting to open her apartment door after class one day, while her adjacent neighbor's mother and another neighbor, Natasha, were chatting outside the apartment right next to hers. Once they saw her trying to unlock the door, they asked Maureen who she was. Satisfied with Maureen's explanation, Natasha left, after pointing to the older woman and twirling her finger by her head in the universal "crazy" signal. The older woman, who had mantained a tight grip on Maureen's arm throughout the conversation, then steered Maureen into her daughter's empty apartment.
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"In the kitchen she pulled out a chair and told me to sit down. Over the next 40 minutes I had the strangest conversation of my life with this sweet, confused old woman. With tears in her clouded eyes, she told me that she was scared of the cat on top of the refrigerator. I knew my neighbors had a cat, but it wasn’t on the fridge at the moment, so I assumed she had mixed up the time. A few minutes into the conversation, she asked me when her daughter or my host mom, Irina, would be home, but stopped mid sentence to point to the refrigerator and say, 'Look! There the cat is again!' She proceeded to follow the cat’s motions with her finger, down from the fridge and through the hallway…but there was no cat at all. When she asked if I saw it, I gave a noncommittal head motion, not wanting to upset her. I became even more concerned when she thought something was descending from the ceiling and, again, asked me if I saw it too. Some things got lost in translation, but the sincerity in her voice and the fact that she told me she was 90 years old (I think? Numbers can be hard to distinguish.) led me to believe she was completely serious in her imaginings.
I sat and listened to her talk, occasionally nodding so she knew I was listening, even if I had no idea what she was saying. Finally she asked me a yes or no question that I couldn’t understand, and not wanting to accidentally agree to something, I attempted to tell her again that I was a student and only knew some Russian. She never seemed to understand and instead kept talking to me, alternately whispering in my ear, calling me diminutives like Мариша (Little Marina), and gripping my arm so I was forced to sit close to her the whole time. Suddenly, she pointed towards the hallway and exclaimed, “There he is again!”, this time referring to a person and not a cat. I didn’t like the idea of a ghost man walking around and tried to think of an escape plan, but I still couldn’t come up with a polite way to leave.
Was I going to spend all afternoon in the neighbor’s kitchen, looking out for imaginary cats, strange men in the hallway and, what I imagined to be, goo seeping from the ceiling?
Thankfully, after 40 minutes, Olga simply let go of my arm and said, 'You can go now.' The sudden change in her demeanor was confusing, but I took the opportunity and began to gather my things quickly. As I picked up my bag she said, 'Why are you going? Sit down.' I tried to tell her that I needed to go study but, at that moment, I heard the doorbell ring and Natasha came to my rescue, allowing me to quickly retreat to my apartment.
..None of my Russian grammar or practical speech classes taught me how to calm a confused Russian babushka. I think that should be added to the course curriculum here; You never know when it will come in handy."
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