the escape from russia

Hastily packed bags balanced precariously between my legs in rush hour as the train races across town...

One hour and fifty-two minutes have passed since I told the director of the school that I would not be accepting the position. She responded with, "Of course, I respect your decision. Now you must go to the school and pay for the flat."

silence

"I was never told anything about paying for the flat, not one word."
"Irina didn't say?"
"No, never one single word."
"Well then, that's her fault and she will have to pay if you don't. Goodbye."
The phone clicked.

My eyes wide with fury, Lera took my hand, still hanging with the phone in the air, "You're trembling." It was true, I looked at my violently trembling hand as if it belonged to someone else. I quickly updated her on the situation. "Call Irina!" she demanded.

I dialed.

"Irina, Antonina says that I have to pay for the flat. No word has ever been mentioned about this." A very small and flat-voiced Irina responded, "That is between you and her."
"Irina, did she or did she not tell you that I would have to pay if I didn't stay?" My voice was calm yet strong and did not betray the true pity I felt for this poor woman.
"Please, this is between you and her. I have nothing to do with these things, but if you mention my name I will be blamed."
"Irina, she's blaming you now. She just blamed you on the phone to me, that's why I'm calling. Did she or did she not tell you that I would have to pay if I didn't stay?"
"No, she..." her voice trailed off into silence. I waited.
"Remember a couple of weeks ago, I said in an email, 'this apartment will be yours for free if you accept..."
"Yes, I do, you however mentioned nothing about me paying if I didn't. It's unethical to demand AFTER the fact that I pay, and further, there has still been no mention of how much."
"That is between you and her, only she can say how much. I know nothing of these things."
"Ok, thank you, Irina."
-click-

Lera was waiting quietly through this interview, sipping tea. "I've got to go, now." We grabbed the bill and said our goodbyes- she had a date and I had other things on my mind.

Think...think...think...

I pulled out my emergency contact list. All of my friends had been concerned about my going to Russia and had supplied me with lists of people they knew in Moscow just in case. Three calls later, a Spanish student of Russian, Sebastian, agreed to help.

With urgency in my voice, I rapidly explained the situation and the whereabouts of all of the players involved. "I've got to get to my place to get my stuff before they do. They're outside of Moscow right now, but it will be close."
"I'm not far. I'll meet you at Strogino metro in half an hour," he said and hung up.

The race was on. I got a text message from Irina, "Antonina says that you need to pay 550 euros plus 30 euros for the visa." I responded, "Ok, thank you," and snorted as I thought, "Humph, not going to happen!" She was outside the city as well, but on her way. It would be close- very close.

I met Sebastian at Strogino. It's not hard to recognize a Spaniard in Russia though his sallowed olive skin spoke of cold and lack of sun. "We've got less than twenty minutes," I said. "We'll take a taxi, it won't be more than 50 rubles," he countered.
I agreed and we hastily set off. He flagged down a car driven by a Korean. I could hear the accent even through his Russian. "A random car?" my uncertainty played strongly across my features. Sebastian took one look, and held the door open for me, "Get in. This is what I meant when I said taxi. This is Russia, not Spain." I got in the front and directed the driver to my flat. Once inside, I threw things into my two small bags and handed Sebastian my toiletry bag, "Put my bathroom stuff in here!"

Five minutes sped by, "Hurry, we've got to go!" he yelled across the tiny, dilapidated flat. "The kitchen..." I began.
"Forget the kitchen! We've got to go!"
"In the kitchen," I continued, "in the fridge there are two beers! Grab the beers! They are important!"
He laughed quizzically and dutifully grabbed the beers and shoved them into my waiting pack. "Ok, let's go!"

We flew out the door. "The keys!" I bit my lip, unsure of what to do. Mailbox? Mat! Sebastian called the lift as I shoved them under the mat. We took off through back ways near the river to lessen our chances of accidentally being spotted. Finally, on a main road again, we hitched a ride to another metro station. Two trains later and I'm here, out of breath and precariously balancing y bags between my legs as rivulets of sweat trail down my back despite the cold day as the train races across Moscow.

.....

Across town, his flat is small but cozy, the type of one room flat that's typical of the communist era, now renovated for comfort. "I didn't expect company and my girlfriend is out of town." He shrugs as I look around. There is a sofa bed in the middle of the room, a desk to the left, a wardrobe and an entertainment centre. It's perfect to live but difficult to have unexpected guests.
"It's a palace and a safe haven," I declare as I easy my pack off of my now aching back and into a corner.

I send a text to Irina, "Thanks for everything. The key is under the mat. I changed my flight. My plane leaves shortly." I wonder if she will even get it. Half of the text messages that I'd sent in Russia got lost and people ended up calling me wondering why I'd not messaged them.

A pang of regret for poor Irina touches my heart but is met by a steely force that will NOT bow to emotional blackmail. Antonina knew that I was not the kind of person to let someone else hurt because of me, so that was the only way to hurt me.

I send off another text to say goodbye to Lera, "Thanks for everything. Tell Irina, 'No contracts, not legal. Do NOT allow Antonina to deduct money from her pay!' xxx"
I know that Irina has a good heart and is often taken advantage of. In all of the years of her teaching, she's never been paid for taking kids on trips - even month long ones. I sincerely hope that she will finally buck up, or that Antonina decides to let this go. It was an emotional response of anger on her part, and not a rational one. I understand.

Sebastian shows me the bath and says that I can use anything there (he left my shampoo and soap in the abandoned flat).

I grab one of the Hoegaardens which I sip, contemplating my toes as the hot bath eases the tension in my shoulders. I hear Sebastian on the phone in the kitchen and briefly wonder if he will explain to his girlfriend about my being there.

Refreshed, I join him for a welcome meal of leftovers. He's apologetic at not having more or better offerings, but for me it's a feast and a relief to be chatting in Spanish again. "Sorry, I would have gotten a better wine, but those are for special occasions and I always help fugitives on Wednesdays, so normal day, normal wine. Thursdays are more exciting, that's when I help the Peruanos escape."
I laugh, "I apologise for being such a mundane escapee. I'll do better next time, I promise." We continue to joke as he pours more wine.

After dinner he puts me on the computer while he watches television and then irons some work shirts. He calls a taxi for the morning. It will be 1200 rubles (roughly 33 euros). We talk photography for awhile, then he makes up the bed. He is a perfect gentleman and I even have my own duvet which separates my side of the bed. (If his girlfriend happens to be reading this: we NEVER so much as touched, beyond the customary greetings. He was very kind and I'm very thankful.)

.......

Morning, I'm in the airport and my plane leaves shortly. I'm pleased that I can now read menus in Russian (at least enough to get a drink- beer, tea, coffee or water)

Sebastian said goodbye a mere 13 hours after we met, wishing me luck as he put me into the taxi. The driver drove like a bat out of hell, and although it generally takes two hours to get to the airport, through sheer force of speeding and aggression, we made it inside of 40 minutes. My mantra in the taxi was, "There's not a single dent on his car. There's not a single dent on his car..."

Wandering through the airport to my gate, I wondered briefly if I wanted anything to remember Russia by. In a shop while idly browsing to pass the time, I spied a red newsboy type cap. I tried it on. It was perfect. It was twice as much as it was worth, and I bought it anyway. I liked the way it sits. It's as if it could tell the story of my journey through this formerly red land and of how I got out- suddenly and through the back door.

And now, my tea and my tale are nearly at an end. They're announcing my gate.

It's been a good summer- no, the BEST of summers. and I've two more countries to go before I see home.

*Note on the most expensive city in the world's airport:
I spent 20 euros on 1/2 a pita sandwich, a small beer and a cup of tea.