The Girl with the Pearl Herring. Part 3

 They drove in silence for a few minutes then Lincoln asked,

“Where did you learn Russian?”

“The Russian?” Jaques said, sounding surprised, “I was speaking Russian? Hunh. One year, between opportunities as the Brits say, I went to St. Petersburg to see the wax sculpture of St. Peter the First and the Vermeer in the Hermitage. I want to see all 34 of them, something from a book I read, I guess it always stuck with me. Anyway, I remember that Checkoff had made the Trans-Siberian train trip and having plenty of time, unemployed and all, I extended my visa, and hopped an Aeroflot to Moscow. I got lucky and picked up a single refund ticket from a top notch tour company, top notch Brev. For 16 days and nights we stopped at small towns. We always were put up in nice hotels, there was always lots of vodka, and we ate exceptionally well but it was still 16 effing nights and days on a train. Having nothing better to do I bought a Hooked on Phonics CD and started learning Russian. Because I was in Russia, surrounded by mostly Russians, practicing was easy and by Vladivostok I was conversant, but I had so many accents nobody could tell where I was from. It was as if somebody had learned and practiced English on that train that goes across America. By the end I could order borscht, ask directions to the bathroom, and say ‘spade o, nuer’ (no thank you) when I was done with the ubiquitous vodka. When we reached Vladivostok I was offered a discount for the return ride.”

Jaques paused for a long drink of water,

“I couldn’t say no fast enough, and as soon as I could I got on a plane and was out. It was a good, nice, time and I have kept my toe in, I listen to Radio Kremlin when I can and make an effort to chat with native speakers whenever possible.”

“Hunh,” grunted Lincoln, “that’s really cool. I never did get into the Russian writers and poets. Wasn’t ole Anton about 70 when he took that ride?”

“Something like that, we should be so lucky tebe ne kazhetsya (don’t you think)

“Da” said Lincoln proudly, managing to mangle the word in ways heretofore unthought of.

Two letters, thought JAQUES, two letters and at least eight mistakes. How does he manage to do that in every language?

JAQUES was an information junkie. At least that is what he called it, and would change the radio to a local news Channel at least three times a day. After the perfunctory and pro forma don’t ever touch a black man's radio Lincoln seemed to suffer through the interruptions to their combined soundtrack to travel. It took JAQUES a day or two to understand that Lincoln’s silence wasn’t apathy, or deep thought to the geopolitical ramifications of what he was hearing, but didn’t understand a word. In a compromise they listened to the bbc news hour once a day, and would occasionally discuss what they had heard. It worked as a compromise, JAQUES got his news, Lincoln could understand it and they were never far from what both men considered one of the finest traveling tapes of all time.

Jaques picked up the phone, hit an autodial button and waited.  Lincoln looked at him and raised his eyebrows.  AS the phone was ringing, Jaques said, don't worry, this won't take long, and the other party picked up.

“Sherry, what time is it there?” he said into his phone, “So I didn't wake you up?

Happy Anniversary. What? No, not this time. I'm in France right now. Say again? oh, thank you, I will.  Happy anniversary again Sherry, bye.”

Jaques hung up the phone. “Sherry is my ex wife,” he explained, “and today is our wedding anniversary.  I like to call her when I can.” He sounded bitter, “One day each year, one day”

“How long?” Asked Lincoln

“About three years I guess.” Jaques answered, “close enough for gov’ment work anyway.”