As promised, two Russian men show up just before dark to repair Svetlana’s broken car. They appear jovial - a slim one and a round one - dancing around just outside the gate pretending to be afraid of the dogs. I see through the guise immediately and invite them in.
“We here for my wife’s car,” Round says. He introduces himself, but I let the name slip from my mind. I have already been drawn far enough into this little espionage game they play; falling in any deeper is just out of the question.
“Yes. Come in. I tried jump starting it myself, but got nothing. There’s a strange clicking sound near the battery when you turn the key, but I don’t know much about cars, so I don’t know.”
Damn! It is perhaps my second mistake since allowing Svetlana through my front door with her vacuum and bucket of sponges. Giving away my weaknesses like that! What am I thinking?
The men, bent low over the engine, exchange some words in Russian, leaving me and the boy staring at each other in wonder. Everything ever said in Russian between two men sounds like fighting words. I raise up on the balls of my feet, ready for whatever is next. My arms bounce at my sides. I tense my back . . . .
And that is when it hits me. The pain, I mean, not the Russian men. In my excitement, I have pulled a back muscle! I can’t believe this is happening.
I am getting too old for all this excitement. I shuffle slowly back into the house, bent over like a primate. I hear the Russian men, still talking, very likely discussing their next move.