A couple weeks ago I got an email from Arthur (namer of Bullshitstan) asking if I wanted to go for a walk sometime during the weekend. I always accept my students’ invitations, because they’re an interesting bunch and they invariably show me a side of the city I never would have discovered by myself. The free Russian lessons aren’t bad either. As my teaching personality deflates from super-energetic-Rhubarb-hoping-to-God-you’ll-like-her to normal-Rhubarb-trying-to-explain-how-English-works, I’m more comfortable hanging out with my students. It feels more like they’re inviting me, and not that perpetually-smiling person who’s endlessy enthusiastic about grammar.

The weather was nasty last weekend. Arthur and I ended up stranded under an overhanging entryway of a building, watching the rain form dirty puddles in the potholes of a Novoslobodskaya side street. He asked if I was cold, and I said truthfully that No, I felt fine. A couple minutes later he said Your lips are getting blue, we’re going inside. I was surprised because I wasn’t at all uncomfortable, but he said, half-jokingly Hey, I’m Russian, I can tell these things. I guess it makes sense to be attuned like that, if you live in a place where dying of cold is a real threat and common occurrence every winter. I remember blue lips in America seeming more like a funny curiosity than a warning.

The situation also rang bells of what a lot of expats notice—Russians, generally, are tirelessly protective and concerned for their friends, even if they seem to give less than a shit about the strangers they pass on the street. “Friend” in Russian even has two words—your знакомые are people you sort of know and hang out with occasionally, your дружья are people you trust and stick by no matter what. It irritates Russians how Americans call everyone their дружья, when it’s really a more significant relationship than that. I’ve also heard the argument that a lot of the Western paranoia about the Russian mafia is due to misunderstanding of that sort of friendship.

Arthur and I ended up finding a coffee shop. He decided my Russian needed improving and set to work, and I was more than happy to go with it.

We hung out again this past Sunday. We met by Novoslobodskaya, then went downtown to a bookstore and to Red Square. I don’t know if my mood was different or what, but he was doing my head in. He kept steering me by the elbow or the waist through doors and around the corners in the bookstore, and would touch my arm to get my attention even though he clearly already had it, whenever said something. It got to be pretty agitating, and soon I couldn’t stop myself from pulling away. I can deal with the different ideas here about personal space, I’ll play along with the gender stuff to some extent, but when the two combine it’s a little much.

In terms of relating to him, it was kind of downhill from there. Once we had talked about the obvious stuff, there wasn’t much left, and I didn’t have the incentive of the classroom to force the flow of conversation.

I’ve taught his class a couple times since then. He’s started correcting the other students (half the time he’s right, half the time he’s not), which annoys everyone, especially me. Plus he gets all huffy when I work with him on his mistakes. He’s acting like he wants to be exactly on my plane, which doesn’t work for the classroom. It’s made my stern side flicker on and off (I’m developing Dad’s stern-face, with the slightly raised eyebrows, steady stare, and mouth in a line) and I think he’s getting the picture.