One morning, Sasha had called from
Kharkiv. I was in the other room and only heard tidbits of the
conversation. “The police were called? What for? There hasn't
been anything here Sasha, it's been all quiet. There was a kids
party upstairs, but that was it. Shawn's been quiet. There hasn't
been anything happening. No, Sasha, you need to talk with the
landlord and put your foot down. Nothing's been happening here.”
The conversation gave me a little to worry about, but not much to
think about. I went back to surfing on Facebook. But then later
that day, there was a knock on the door. I approached it, looking
for a key, but then it opened on its own. A short, wide man with
darker skin and a thick, Stalin-esque mustache walked in. He looked
Caucasian, but I couldn't tell if he was Azeri, Armenian or Georgian,
he had one of those pan-Caucasus looks about him.
He immediately walked in and started looking around. “Who are you?” I asked in Russian.
“I am the owner,” he said in Russian. “Who are you?”
“We're Sasha's friends,” I said. I didn't know how much he knew about us or if Sasha had even told him about renting the other rooms out to other people. Being an international, you quickly learned that things like housing you wanted to know the least about and accepted the most tenacious agreements.
“Which rooms are you staying in? That one?” he pointed to Chris's room. The room was a disaster. Papers were everywhere, the white pleather couch was missing cushions, there was a mattress on the floor.
“Yes, we're both in that one.”
“And there's another occupied one,” he said, looking back at my room. “Who's in that one?”
“I don't know, we just got here.”
He pulled us into the kitchen. “Listen,” he said, putting his hands on the table. “Where are you from?”
“We're Americans.”
Chris chimed in, “Tell him we have our documents. Everything's in order. I can show him my work documents and registration.”
“We have our documents. Everything's in order. He's got a work visa.”
Chris ran out of the room for a moment. The owner said, “I'm just worried about foreigners. You know, we are not supposed to have foreigners. They bring attention. You know, if someone asks about foreigners, then the police might come and check into and I'd have to pay the bribes. I don't like that. I'm weary about foreigners.”
“What's he saying?” Chris asked me when he came back in with a stack of sheets. I translated for him. Chris hand the papers to the owner. “These guys are always overwhelmed by papers,” he said to me in English, handing over all his papers.
“What did he say?” the owner said.
“He said that he was working in L'vov,” I translated. While the owner perused the documents, I asked him where he was from.
“Azerbaijan.”
“Azerbaijan! Yaxshi!” I exclaimed. “Yaxshi” meant “good” in Azeri. I switched to Azeri. “How are you?”
“I'm good,” he said in Azeri. “And you?”
“I'm good too. How long have you been in Ukraine?”
“For 20 years,” he said.
I had expended my knowledge of Azeri, so I switched back to Russian. “20 years? That's a long time. Do you go back often?”
“Yes, often,” he said. “So how long are you guys staying here?”
Chris had gotten up to fix some tea for us.
“We've been staying for a week.”
“How long will you stay?” he asked.
“Can we stay for a couple of months?”
“What would you pay?”
“How about 1300 a month?” This was the same amount that Sasha was charging me. I figured it would be okay to offer that.
“How about in American dollars?” he asked.
“That is a joke, right?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. I couldn't tell if he was relaxing a bit. Only a small flicker of a smile came across his face, but I couldn't read why he smiled like such. I also noticed that he didn't necessarily agree to that price.
“So why are you guys in Ukraine?” he asked.
After translating the question, Chris had me translate his response. “I'm here because I want to get more into Orthodoxy. I'm really active in the Church.”
“And what are you?” the owner asked me.
“Catholic,” I replied.
“I'm Muslim.”
This is when Chris started reciting a syrah. Chris had, in the course of his career as an English teacher, lived and worked in Syria, where he also studied Islam and Arabic. When Chris finished reciting the syrah, the owner took it up and recited the rest. “Do you know what that means?”
“It means that God is one,” Chris said.
“Yes,” the owner said. “Listen, when someone comes here, tell them you are a friend of Taymaz. That's me. If someone comes asking, they can't know you are living here. Just tell them that you are friends of mine and are visiting. You're visiting from L'vov. Understand?”
“Yeah, sure, no problem,” we replied.
“Listen, Taymaz, do you know where any good cheap Azeri restaurants are around here?” I asked him, interested in where I could get some lamb shish kebab and pilaf.
“We could go get some food now if you want to join us?” Chris said.
“Okay, I know a place very close,” Taymaz said. “But first I need to say my prayers.” He stood up, took off his jacket and went into the next room to say the prayers. I drank the rest of my tea while Chris went on talking, theorizing about just why Taymaz had come in.
“Do you think the whole thing about the police was a ruse?” he asked.
“It might well have been. He might have just wanted to check out the situation here.”
Taymaz came back in the room. “What do you want to eat?”
“I guess some shish kebab,” I told him.
“I'll call a place.”
“Before we go, I need to go shower.” I went to take a shower. When I came back, Taymaz was still sitting there with Chris. Not having a common language, they sat silently. “How about 1600 grivna for the room per month?” he asked.
“I need to talk with Sasha about that,” I replied. I had agreed with Sasha at 1300 grivna, plus 200 for the bills.
“I need to talk with him about that,” he said. “1600 grivna?” he repeated, holding up a calculator. I knew that if I had refused to deal, then it would be obvious to him that we had made an arrangement with Sasha already. But on the other hand, we didn't know what Sasha had arranged with him and if Sasha was receiving a cut from our rent money. I wouldn't have minded that, as long as Sasha would have told me in advance what exactly was going on. After Taymaz insisted on solidifying the deal, I decided to go ahead and enter into negotiations.
“1500, but only if it includes everything. All bills paid,” I said.
Taymaz considered and then agreed. “Okay then,” he said. “I don't want to put you guys out on the street during winter. Where would you go? 1500 is okay, with everything.”
Taymaz then brought us down to his car and drove us over the river. He was on the phone, so I had to wait before I asked him where he was taking us. I heard him saying on the phone though, “2,000 would be normal, yes? 2,000 for each room, with all the bills paid. In March we do that. The contract is until the end of March.” I didn't know what contract he was talking about, but I can only assume he had a surprise waiting for Sasha when it was time to renegotiate.
When Taymaz hung up, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“Ah, that other place was out of lamb. I'm taking you to another place I know about. But I don't know how it is.”
“It's not expensive is it?”
“I don't know, I've never been there.” When he parked the car opposite the street of the restaurant, he said, “I don't eat at restaurants anyway. I eat only clean food. So I'll leave you two guys here.”
“Where's the metro from here?”
“Far, you can just take the bus back. Any bus.”
“Right. The idea was to eat with you, Taymaz.”
“No, that's okay, I don't eat out as it is.”
He left us on the side of the road. Luckily the temperature hadn't turned too cold yet. “Do you really want to eat here?” asked Chris.
“No, not really, let's get back. I'm supposed to meet a girl soon anyway.”
He immediately walked in and started looking around. “Who are you?” I asked in Russian.
“I am the owner,” he said in Russian. “Who are you?”
“We're Sasha's friends,” I said. I didn't know how much he knew about us or if Sasha had even told him about renting the other rooms out to other people. Being an international, you quickly learned that things like housing you wanted to know the least about and accepted the most tenacious agreements.
“Which rooms are you staying in? That one?” he pointed to Chris's room. The room was a disaster. Papers were everywhere, the white pleather couch was missing cushions, there was a mattress on the floor.
“Yes, we're both in that one.”
“And there's another occupied one,” he said, looking back at my room. “Who's in that one?”
“I don't know, we just got here.”
He pulled us into the kitchen. “Listen,” he said, putting his hands on the table. “Where are you from?”
“We're Americans.”
Chris chimed in, “Tell him we have our documents. Everything's in order. I can show him my work documents and registration.”
“We have our documents. Everything's in order. He's got a work visa.”
Chris ran out of the room for a moment. The owner said, “I'm just worried about foreigners. You know, we are not supposed to have foreigners. They bring attention. You know, if someone asks about foreigners, then the police might come and check into and I'd have to pay the bribes. I don't like that. I'm weary about foreigners.”
“What's he saying?” Chris asked me when he came back in with a stack of sheets. I translated for him. Chris hand the papers to the owner. “These guys are always overwhelmed by papers,” he said to me in English, handing over all his papers.
“What did he say?” the owner said.
“He said that he was working in L'vov,” I translated. While the owner perused the documents, I asked him where he was from.
“Azerbaijan.”
“Azerbaijan! Yaxshi!” I exclaimed. “Yaxshi” meant “good” in Azeri. I switched to Azeri. “How are you?”
“I'm good,” he said in Azeri. “And you?”
“I'm good too. How long have you been in Ukraine?”
“For 20 years,” he said.
I had expended my knowledge of Azeri, so I switched back to Russian. “20 years? That's a long time. Do you go back often?”
“Yes, often,” he said. “So how long are you guys staying here?”
Chris had gotten up to fix some tea for us.
“We've been staying for a week.”
“How long will you stay?” he asked.
“Can we stay for a couple of months?”
“What would you pay?”
“How about 1300 a month?” This was the same amount that Sasha was charging me. I figured it would be okay to offer that.
“How about in American dollars?” he asked.
“That is a joke, right?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. I couldn't tell if he was relaxing a bit. Only a small flicker of a smile came across his face, but I couldn't read why he smiled like such. I also noticed that he didn't necessarily agree to that price.
“So why are you guys in Ukraine?” he asked.
After translating the question, Chris had me translate his response. “I'm here because I want to get more into Orthodoxy. I'm really active in the Church.”
“And what are you?” the owner asked me.
“Catholic,” I replied.
“I'm Muslim.”
This is when Chris started reciting a syrah. Chris had, in the course of his career as an English teacher, lived and worked in Syria, where he also studied Islam and Arabic. When Chris finished reciting the syrah, the owner took it up and recited the rest. “Do you know what that means?”
“It means that God is one,” Chris said.
“Yes,” the owner said. “Listen, when someone comes here, tell them you are a friend of Taymaz. That's me. If someone comes asking, they can't know you are living here. Just tell them that you are friends of mine and are visiting. You're visiting from L'vov. Understand?”
“Yeah, sure, no problem,” we replied.
“Listen, Taymaz, do you know where any good cheap Azeri restaurants are around here?” I asked him, interested in where I could get some lamb shish kebab and pilaf.
“We could go get some food now if you want to join us?” Chris said.
“Okay, I know a place very close,” Taymaz said. “But first I need to say my prayers.” He stood up, took off his jacket and went into the next room to say the prayers. I drank the rest of my tea while Chris went on talking, theorizing about just why Taymaz had come in.
“Do you think the whole thing about the police was a ruse?” he asked.
“It might well have been. He might have just wanted to check out the situation here.”
Taymaz came back in the room. “What do you want to eat?”
“I guess some shish kebab,” I told him.
“I'll call a place.”
“Before we go, I need to go shower.” I went to take a shower. When I came back, Taymaz was still sitting there with Chris. Not having a common language, they sat silently. “How about 1600 grivna for the room per month?” he asked.
“I need to talk with Sasha about that,” I replied. I had agreed with Sasha at 1300 grivna, plus 200 for the bills.
“I need to talk with him about that,” he said. “1600 grivna?” he repeated, holding up a calculator. I knew that if I had refused to deal, then it would be obvious to him that we had made an arrangement with Sasha already. But on the other hand, we didn't know what Sasha had arranged with him and if Sasha was receiving a cut from our rent money. I wouldn't have minded that, as long as Sasha would have told me in advance what exactly was going on. After Taymaz insisted on solidifying the deal, I decided to go ahead and enter into negotiations.
“1500, but only if it includes everything. All bills paid,” I said.
Taymaz considered and then agreed. “Okay then,” he said. “I don't want to put you guys out on the street during winter. Where would you go? 1500 is okay, with everything.”
Taymaz then brought us down to his car and drove us over the river. He was on the phone, so I had to wait before I asked him where he was taking us. I heard him saying on the phone though, “2,000 would be normal, yes? 2,000 for each room, with all the bills paid. In March we do that. The contract is until the end of March.” I didn't know what contract he was talking about, but I can only assume he had a surprise waiting for Sasha when it was time to renegotiate.
When Taymaz hung up, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“Ah, that other place was out of lamb. I'm taking you to another place I know about. But I don't know how it is.”
“It's not expensive is it?”
“I don't know, I've never been there.” When he parked the car opposite the street of the restaurant, he said, “I don't eat at restaurants anyway. I eat only clean food. So I'll leave you two guys here.”
“Where's the metro from here?”
“Far, you can just take the bus back. Any bus.”
“Right. The idea was to eat with you, Taymaz.”
“No, that's okay, I don't eat out as it is.”
He left us on the side of the road. Luckily the temperature hadn't turned too cold yet. “Do you really want to eat here?” asked Chris.
“No, not really, let's get back. I'm supposed to meet a girl soon anyway.”
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