Читать книгу Russian She-bear in American and British Settings - Юлия Кузьменкова - Страница 2

I’ve got a call on a gloomy wintry morning – not the best time for the news. No, not for me. And in my place anyone would be taken aback and get a bit suspicious woken from a drowse by something like that: “My congratulations, Julia! You’ve got it! Ready to jump with joy, aren’t you?” Why should I? In the declining post crisis Russia there were few reasons for good humour – rather for well-founded pessimism.

I couldn’t afford being discourteous and of course I’ve made all the appropriate noises over the phone: that’s great…, thank you…, oh, yes, I’m awfully touched… and so on but perhaps some of my mood came to the surface and was immediately noticed. “You didn’t catch it,” the motherly reproach came. “It’s a stroke of luck. You’re on the 1999 list for the IVP. Come at once and I’ll tell you the details. The journey will probably change your whole outlook”.

“Maybe the wise girl is right,” I thought and looked out obediently. Nothing in the air spoke of any change other than impending rain – so nice for the end of October November. Inside it wasn’t much better either. My kitchen – where the call had reached me – badly needed repairs after twenty years of… – I hope it’s easy to guess what – and it had been number one on my urgent changes priority list for centuries. Yes, the call was from the American Embassy but I simply couldn’t afford indulging in surprises. After all, I’ve got a family to take care of, not to mention my professional projects and quite a heap of administrative work to do. Slightly curious though as to what on earth had this IVP (sounding suspiciously similar to VIP whom I’ve never been) to do with me I was walking towards the embassy. It started to rain heavily (another uninspiring fact) when I reached the premises still wondering what was going to happen to me in the nearest future.

What I came to realise was quite an event. Going to the United States for three weeks as a member of the International Visitor Program (IVP) with the group of Russian teachers of English to uncover the aspects of the American education system… That was unheard of! Moreover, to have your joint report accepted by an international conference board and on top of it, to have all the expenses covered by the American government – that sounded too good to be true. I needed time to ‘digest’ the news, as Russians say.

The enormity of the news discovered went home, I’ve got a funny feeling of being an impostor. There should be a kind of mistake, those fine things couldn’t be intended for me, they are for some ethereal VIPs, and I’m just an ordinary human being. (When the matter was discussed later in the USA, it turned out that nearly all the members of our team reacted almost in exactly the same way on learning the news). It was pure chance, just as if you suddenly won in a lottery. But if it were really a lottery I would be on the loser’s side, as usual.

Yes, that really sounded a bit too good… Suddenly a chorus of voices started shouting and raging in my head.

“No, no way, dear!” one of them yelled. “What about kids?” another implored. “And more pressing work?” the third slyly inquired. But the most persuasive was the fourth.

“Hey, just think properly. You’ll have to abandon you daily routine for a month or even more, to have jet lag problems, to be on guard every single hour, to communicate with all imaginable and unimaginable sorts of people… And on top of it you’ll have to leave your cosy ‘bear den’ with thousand and one small things, small thoughts, small deeds – trifles you cherish no matter how small they are and even dearer being small.”

Oh, I instantly recognized the latter voice – it was my primal inner opponent, my inner ‘she-bear’ self. Normally deeply hidden but most reasonable and convincing as no one else – when voicing an opinion. The best way to deal with it was just to ignore before it could score too many points to become irresistible. So that’s what I did for the time being. Successfully, it seemed.

So I began digging in my past looking for an explanation – something plausible to retain my safety belt of scepticism. About a couple years ago I was making a report on typical mistakes in cross-cultural communication at a Moscow conference. The room was full of familiar and not so familiar faces of our compatriots; somewhat relaxed I felt free to offer comparisons of the kind: we are used to…, they misinterpret it…, our mentality is too… they cannot grasp the difference… While thus speaking less and less formally I suddenly caught my breath – to my sheer confusion I'd spotted in the periphery of my view a face or two that undoubtedly belonged to ‘them’. Proceeding now with greater caution I was at the same time trying to remember whether in my agitation I could have used a phrase or a gesture that might’ve been offensive. That’d be a capital joke: while theorising about possible dangers of losing cross-cultural awareness to fall into the same trap! I wound it all up rather smoothly and was about to leave the room when to my returning horror one of ‘them’ raised her hand and said she’d like to speak to me after the session ended. “You’ve got it; there’s no one else to blame,” I thought waiting for the lady to approach. Having introduced herself, she said that she was much interested (oh, thank God) in the subject discussed and offered further cooperation.

And it so happened that our keeping in touch was followed by filling some forms and papers related to a nominee selection for the IVP which were duly sent to officials in Washington. They benevolently granted their consent but I still have suspicions that it was mostly due to the fact that I’d last travelled abroad some twenty years ago…