Suggesting A Natural Affinity

Friends are leaving Beijing.  The father is a Russian emerge who is as much of a New Yorker as I am, though the home he owns is in Florida.  His wife is from Belarus.  Their son, whom we’ve watched grow alongside our girls from the time he was eight is now going to have to figure out what high school in Boca Raton is like.  He’ll be alright.  He looks like Robert Zimmerman with his blue eyes and his pouty mien.  “What do you like studying?”  “Physics.”  He’ll be alright. 

We’ll be off to Russia soon and I thought to take my friends out the finest Russian restaurant that Beijing might be the host to.  But he preferred to stay in our neighborhood.  “There’s a place at Long Wan.”  And indeed, I remember that there was a Russian place in our neighborhood that never seemed particularly relevant, until now. 

Over the years, we have spent probably seven Thanksgivings dinners together at our place.  I cook Turkey.  He offers me shots of cold vodka.  We discuss literature.  Always literature first.  This is safe.  History is also firm ice.  And his recollections of Moscow in the 1960s.  But politics are difficult.  He is a big Ted Cruz fan.  I don’t know any other Ted Cruz fans.  He’s adamant.  I’d ask a few incredulous questions about Ted Cruz.  He’s emphatic.  We do another shot and I’d baste the turkey and try to steer things back to Marina Tsvtaeva and Andrei Bely.  He mentions an inchoate but persistent adoration for the Irish, suggesting a natural affinity between bogtrotters and the Jews.  We pull for the cold bottle and the orange juice chaser.  Yes.  Another shot for the Irish and the Jews.  “Surely you have read "Ulysses"?  To Bloom and Daedalus!  Laheim!”

Back at our local restaurant, we try out a few phrases in Russian.  We order far too much food and slurp at Beijing borscht, pass round the plate of Shunyi-style Chicken Keiv.  And my friend tells my wife many, many wonderful things about Georgia and how wonderful the food and the wine are.  “This is the Mediterranean food of the Caucuses. All Russians know this.  Ohh.  The wine!  It is served in a ram’s horn.”  My wife is enthralled and I’m grateful.  His independent voice is infinitely more effective than my own.

We snap photos and exchange hugs and kisses.  Next time then.  Next time in Boca Raton or in Brooklyn.  “Be well.”  “Travel safe.”  “Yes.  You too.”  “We’ll send pictures.”  “Please.”  Our transitory community of Beijing old-timers has shrunken yet again. 

Saturday 6/16/18