Playing the Moldovans At Tennis by Tony Hawks

Author:Tony Hawks [Tony Hawks]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781407025582
Publisher: Ebury Publishing

I looked out of the window and saw more than a road junction in the middle of the Moldovan countryside. I saw a man, a foreigner, an Englishman, called Tony, stranded – unable to squeeze on to a bus, falling prey to bandits and shivering in a ditch as the night closed in. That did it, I was staying. I looked up at the driver and I shook my head to him. He shook his. I dropped my eyes to the floor. I was making it abundantly clear that I wasn't budging. I heard the driver mumble something under his breath, and observed from the corner of my eye as he threw his head back in frustration and turned to make his way back to the driver's compartment. A murmur of disapproval. Then the engine starting. The girl looked at me.

You come to Orhei?' she asked.

Yes, I come to Orhei.'

I was going to Orhei.

'Where you go now?' asked the girl, as I stood in the area of wasteland that appeared to be Orhei town centre.

'I don't know. I thought I'd get something to eat. Is there a restaurant in Orhei?'

'Restaurant? No, I do not think so.'

'No restaurant? There must be one, surely?'

'Maybe. Come with me.'

Maybe. How, I mused, had I ended up in a country where the answer to the question 'Is there a restaurant?' was 'maybe'?

As we climbed some steps to the part of town where this restaurant might be, I learned that my companion was Rodica, a 21-year-old who worked as a secretary in Chisinau and was returning to Orhei for a weekend visit to her parents. Her knowledge of English was so limited that establishing this information filled the entire ten-minute walk to the ugly concrete block outside which she was now leaving me.

Thank you,' I said. You are very kind.'

'And you are very nice.'

Thank you again.' I pointed to the run-down building to our left. 'Is the restaurant in here?'

'I think so.'

Looking at the building I could see why there was an element of doubt. It was falling to pieces and looked deserted. If, in having met the nice Englishman, Rodica had something of a story to tell, then she certainly wasn't going to dine out on it. Not in this town, anyway.

Well, goodbye then,' said Rodica, rather plaintively.

'Yes, goodbye,' I said, shaking her hand.

Lovely Rodica. She'd been so kind, and but for an accident of dentists we could have been made for each other.

'Do you have a telephone number in Chisinau?' I asked, drawn to the idea that I should repay her hospitality by taking her out for a nice meal there next week.

'Yes I do,' she replied, beaming broadly, and as a result not really presenting herself at her best.

With some enthusiasm she wrote her number neatly on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

Thank you,' I said, 'I shall call you.'

'I hope so. Enjoy you meal.'

'OK Goodbye.'

Rodica smiled again and then turned from me, rather self-consciously. I watched her walk away, back to the world of her mother and father, back to the world of her youth.

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