From Russia Without Love

 

Bored of life

I take up learning Russian

To what end?

Who knows

But I’m sure

it can’t be any worse

than Monday evenings home with mother

Querying the whereabouts of the TV remote

Her disdain for Ice Road Truckers

Punctuated by reminders

Of my increasing age

Yet constant location

 

My tutor

Masha she’s called

Calls to verify

my ongoing interest in the course

Her Russian accent

oozes through the phone and licks my ear

causing orgasmic whatevers

in all the appropriate regions

sending my voice an octave higher as it wavers clarification

 

Masha’s

voice

I’m joyed to discover

Is matched by the vision

a bone structure

and shape

I’ve been hard pressed to find

at the pub on the corner

or newsagents

bakers

or bus

I must

Make

This

happen

 

 

As weeks go by

I find

I’m not that good at Russian

I can’t roll my Rs

I can’t be arsed

To do all the homework required to nail it

I’m loathed to fail it

For fear of scuppering my ongoing

Charm offensive

Which in turn

Is weakening due to the constant

Mothering and hand holding I require to get through the simplest of exercises

No surprises

The patronising

Prize

For improver of the week goes to me

I’m expected to speak

Though my heart is pounding from a kiss on the cheek

From a proud

If a little condescending Masha

I’m fully aware the award is used by way of a confidence booster

Rather than an honest assessor of any actual achievement

Thank you

I say

In Russian

as titters fill the room

it transpires I actually said

I’m fine, thank you

Forget it

 

As the final session passes

The whole class passes

I’m suspicious as to the authenticity of the qualification

Anyway

We head to a bar for a celebratory drink and one more chance

For a nod and a wink with a hitherto impenetrable Masha

 

Upon arrival we’re welcomed

By a guy in a suit

He’s saved us a seat

He’s not one of us and I immediately dislike him

“Now then Masha, is this your class?”

A sleazeball grin and a voice to cut glass

“Oh yes, these are my little learners” she answers and ruffles my hair

I glare

as he swamps an arm around her and hogs her away

I stay for one drink then get on my way

 

Back home

I take out a pie and chips still warm from the oven

My mother calls through

“Do you wana watch that documentary? It starts at half 10”

I sigh

and answer

“Yeh, go on then.”