"The Surprise Party-"Chapter IV- a call and response story for the Short Affari

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

I slowly leaned closer to my partner, pausing for a moment.  Should I tell him how I really feel? No now was not the right time. Perhaps tomorrow. At the moment I was enjoying the music of Django Reinhardt that was playing on the phonograph.

He was an exquisite Romani guitarist, and it was a miracle he escaped being killed by the Nazis during the war, unlike so many of my gypsy brethren.

“The food is wonderful, as is the music and company,” I finally answered.

“That’s it tovarisch?”

“That’s all you are going to get for the moment, and now I am going back to the buffet for more. There is also some Russian standard vodka that is calling to me.” I rose from the table and walked away before Napoleon could question me further.

Suddenly someone, Rob from translations began to sing the Russian birthday song.  When he was finished everyone else broke into the birthday song in English.

Cookie from the Commissary appeared rolling a trolley with a rather sumptuous chocolate cake on top.

After cutting the first slice, I handed over the knife to Glenna, who apparently baked the cake.

“Oh Illya!” she smiled, “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Yes it is quite lovely.”

“Illya,” Adrienne swooped in, snuggling close to me.”Can I have the next dance? I asked for something we could do the boogaloo to. I have it on good source that you can really really shake it up on the dance floor.”

“Good source? Hmm, well perhaps later. I need to get something to eat, thank you.”

Adrienne stared at me as I walked away, making a beeline for the buffet while the others lined up for their cake.  It took me several tries to get there as Linda who handles the UNCLE newsletter grabbed hold of me.

She seemed to want to say something, but suddenly clammed up, but not before she giggled.

“It is okay Linda, we will talk later. Your Ukrainian honey cake was most delicious, thank you.”

Next it was Dawn, standing there in her black dress  with her blood red scarf wrapped around her lovely throat.

I stopped for just a moment, remembering our little Valentine role-playing rendezvous.

“Hello Zarya.”

“Hi Illyusha, I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I am trying, though you know these social situations are difficult for me.”

“I understand. We’ll talk later if you like.”

Thanking her, I finally made it to the buffet and got myself a second helping of just about everything.

Every mouthful of food made me think of home more and more. I remembered my mama’s pelmeni, and baba’s borscht...cabbage with sour cream.

Making a mental note, I reminded myself to visit Brighton Beach more often. There I could freely speak Russian, and eat in the company of Russians and Ukrainians.

As little as I spoke Russian, I spoke Ukrainian less and no Roma at all. English, that was it for the most part, and though I had no problem speaking it everyday I still missed speaking Russian...being Russian.

Still the trouble these people went to for bringing in Russian food and music said a lot...

Ahhh, the music was starting to ramp up a bit, but I am not going to dance. I cannot celebrate. If they only knew the real reason why.

Illya sat in a corner, his plate of food in front of him on the table, though he was only picking at it.  He wanted to be invisible, though it was hard given the party was for him.

The spot he chose was in the shadows, away from any lights. There had been a candle on the table but that was quickly extinguished.

I felt like I was done being sociable, for now.