Dread
The Russian Princess says that we should go to the Black Sea. I have never been to the Black Sea so I say OK. She says it would be best if we went to the Crimea, which is in the Ukraine. I point out that my visa allows only one entrance into Russia and if we went to the Ukraine I probably couldn’t get back into the country. She thinks we should take the train but the train goes through the Ukraine. It is then decided that we will go to Sochi and that my Russian companions will take the train and I will have to fly and meet them there some three days after they leave.As soon as I get off the plane I have a distinct feeling of dread about Sochi. I mention this on a couple of occasions to the Russian Princess but it is promptly dismissed as my poor attitude. Sochi is a town on the Black Sea coast that seems to have had a booming tourist industry at one time. There is a ghostly feeling about its old, sort of run down attractions. The Princess explains that it was a very popular place to vacation back in the soviet era but now that Russians could travel elsewhere other places had become popular leaving Sochi a bit empty and under funded. I could feel sadness in that place~ sadness in the black earth, sadness in the dilapidated buildings, and sadness in the people.
We stay with an Armenian family. They are very poor. They live in a modest shack on the side of a hill in a sort of “side-of-a-hill / impoverished-condominiums / shanty town” type place. The shower is outside and consists of a stall with a curtain and a suspended gas tank that is filled each morning in hopes that the sun will warm the water throughout the day. The outhouse is down the hill and consists mainly of a hole in the ground. The countryside Around Sochi is very beautiful. There is a national forest right up in the hills call SumShit National Forest. This is infinitely funny both to myself and to my companions who are fluent in English. The Armenian family is very nice to us and we spend most of our days in Sochi at the beach.
The beach in Sochi is not exactly white sand Caribbean. In fact it consists of mostly medium sized rocks. When the tide is changing the surf is fierce and the sound of the rocks tumbling is deafening and hypnotic. On our way to the beach each morning we stop at an open market. The produce is amazing especially the berries. Each day we buy bags of strawberries and raspberries and blueberries. There is one lady that makes great pickles. There is another lady who makes the best wine. The wine is sweet and light and so each day we buy three bottles just to sip during the day. And each day that we would return from the beach we would be mostly drunk. There was one night when we had been to the beach and back to the shack and back to the beach again for more general celebration and more drinks. This is where this story really begins.
We are pissed, not angry in the American sense but drunk like in the British usage. We decide we’re all hammered enough and its time to go back our accommodations. Sasha and the girls are walking ahead of myself and Toma. Toma and I are engaged in a raucously funny discussion. I think we are talking about shoes and ships and ceiling wax and cabbages and kings, and why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings. Drunken rambling, gloriously smashed, the world is ours. We are laughing so hard that Sasha, Masha, Katya and The Princess Elena disappear off into the night. This is the end of our third day in Sochi and we have been to the beach and back seven or eight times. Although the home we are staying in is maybe a mile from the seafront Toma and I think nothing about finding our way. As we walk the streets of Sochi the conversation is engrossing. Talk turns to love and life and other topics of great drunken import. We walk by a soviet statue. I remark on how great the Russians are at memorializing things. Toma tells me a joke. Its funny, we laugh. All of the sudden the quiet of the night, that had only been broken by our laughter is absolutely shattered by the vicious bark of a guard dog. The fence line that we had been following bows under the weight of a great German Shepard. We both jump, hearts in our throats. I have a distinct flashback to nightmares I used to have as a kid about dogs. It is as if that dog was for a split second the embodiment of all my fears about dogs. My fear pheromones fill the air.
We move to the center of the street and quickly forget about the scare. We go back to our spirited discussion. All of the sudden Toma looks up and remarks that he doesn’t recognize this street, he says that we must have taken a wrong turn but he can hear the river up ahead and if we just follow that we will get to where we are going.
Then it happens. It all happens so fast but this is what I can work out about the particulars. I hear that bark again but this time much closer and not behind any enclosure. Before I can look back I am knocked to the ground. Her massive paw catches me in the back of my thigh. She hits me with such force that her claws dig deep into the skin causing a serious laceration. I hit my head on the concrete. Adrenaline gushing, I jump up and call out to Toma for help. He has the right idea and his actions teach me the lesson that I take from this tale. He freezes. Hands down by his side he stands motionless. I am freaking out. I don’t understand why Toma isn’t helping me. The Shepard bites my right hand but luckily she doesn’t hold on. She is satisfied with her attack. She has ascertained that we are not trouble and she trots away back to her fence. Lights come on in the compound that she is guarding. Men appear with guns.
After checking on me Toma begins a shouting match with the owners of the dog. The guns don’t seem to deter him. I don’t think any pleasantries are being exchanged but I don’t really know what all is said in that I don’t understand much Russian and the Princess would never teach me any of the good profanities. Toma explains to them that their dog has just attacked me. One of the men goes over to the fence and points out an open gate. The men back down a bit from their initial ferocious stance. They bring out a first aid kit and a girl comes out to tend to my wounds. Basically all that is done is an application of monkey blood and some bandages. These young girls come out and they are interested in me because I am American. Toma tells me that we need to be on our way post haste. We continue in the direction of the river.
When we reach the river I am so freaked out that I cry. I apologize to Toma. He says its OK and he understands. I am not in pain I am just so far from anything familiar and it is dark and I am drunk and now physically fucked up and I just sob. C’est la vie. Toma explains that most likely those guys were local mafia. He lets me in on the exchange of words. Nothing nice was said and I realize it is better that I didn’t comprehend. I am embarrassed.
When we get back to the others and our Armenian family I am extremely humiliated. We explain what happened. My pants are shredded where she got me. The father of the family is incensed. He immediately strikes out into the night I find out later he went to find out whether or not the dog has had her shots. I remember the horror stories that I have always heard about the rabies shots. The ladies take pity on me there is sympathy all around. I have the feeling that my sense of dread was directly related to my fortune there in that place. The Princess balks at this suggestion. The most important thing that I learn however is from Toma. When a dog attacks just stay still. Don’t be threatening and for Pete’s sake you have got to control that fear response. Fucking fear, it’s a lifesaver and the mind killer at the same time. Damn duplicitous universe.
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