Bugger, stinker, pooper…what other terms of endearment have my mother and grandmother used on me or my cousins? All of them fit Nelia quite well right now.
Our host family was home yesterday afternoon, and I took the opportunity to ask to use their iron and ironing board. Remember, I don't know Russian and they don't know English. I had it all worked out in my mind. I would find Tatiana wandering about in the yard, show her the wrinkled shirt I was carrying, then I would make like I was ironing with my fist. It would work splendidly, right?
Wrong. I failed to work out a contingency plan for Nelia. Nelia spies me right away from the third floor balcony. “Beh eht,” she says in her sing-songy voice. I was actually glad she remembered me…she’s been quite shy with me since my return to Moldova. “OK,” I thought, “I can handle this.” “Nelia…Mama?” I ask, hoping she will quickly fetch her mother for me. “Mama [insert Russian 5-year old speak] da,” she replies. Well, “da” means “yes”, so I assume she kind of understands me. Then I hear her talking to Mama (Tatiana), I hear Nelia saying my name, and then I hear Tatiana reply. Ahhh…great, Tatiana will come down soon, right?
Nope. Nelia comes outside to play. We play train and airplane and Follow-the-Leader. We play animal sounds and some new jumping game that anyone over the age of 7 shouldn’t be allowed to play. Consumes way too much energy, especially in 95 degree heat. I wonder where Tatiana is, but I also hear lots of scrubbing and general cleaning happening in the house. I figure she is stuck in a bathroom or bedroom, preparing it for the next round of guests they are about to receive. Finally, Nelia, out of the blue, leads me into the house. I should have suspected something.
But I didn’t. Making sure I am following her, she puts her finger to her mouth. OK, I am supposed to be quiet. I can play 5-year old “let’s be quiet games”. We tiptoe up to two stories of spiral staircase steps. “Hm,” I think, “This is interesting. Well, at least I might see Tatiana on the way up. I wonder what new toy she has that she wants to show me.” The scrubbing sound is getting closer, but then we pass by it. Now we are in a part of the house where I had never been.
And I hope to never go back there. There are Tatiana and Anatolli, lying on their bed. Dressed, but not ready for company! Nelia is beaming, I am turning red. I start to head down the stairs, but Nelia shouts, “Mama…Beh ehth.” Then Anatolli says, “Oh! Beth!” and jumps up from the bed in his bathrobe. Tatiana scrambles out of the bed, a towel around her waist. “Oh no! Could this get any worse?” I wonder. I am so embarrassed. I frantically search for the Russian word for sorry, but it is nowhere. I just say, “Sorry.” I hope they understood.
But Nelia is so proud. We had surprised her parents! Then she points to the shirt and Tatiana looks at me quizzically. I go back to my original plan, making the fist and pretending like I am ironing. Yeah...this is exactly how I intended it to happen.
