Maria: A Theatrical Performance

We are scrubbing the house inch-by-inch, as we prepare to host our praznic, next Saturday.

One the things Maria's been advocating for is some serious curtain washing. Almost with out fail, she hasn't been able to enter a room without looking up, saying we need to wash the curtains and vacuum the ceiling.

After dinner last night, and her evening tea, we pulled the clean curtains from the line and headed to my bedroom to re-hang them.

"Melissa, I'm going to go up there, and you hand me the curtains," she said as she stepped onto my bed, then maneuvered the old radiator like it was her last step to the summit of K2, and finally stood in the window ceil. Her frame is just the perfect height, as she was able to stand in the window ceil without hitting her head. One might say it was her custom built stage...

By this point, there are three of us in the room, including a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer with whom my host mother is fascinated. He is a Russian speaker. We talk and joke for a few minutes in the way only PCVs and host country nationals from Moldova can, a ridiculous mix of Romanian, Russian, and English languages. Then Maria begins to praise her work for the day, and call for recognition.

"Very nice. Look Melissa, now you won't be able to see anything from the street, and no one from the street can look inside at us." She said from behind the curtains, her fingers fastening the last clips at the top of the curtain being the only evidence she was there at all.

Already having a case of the giggles, I took her bait for play, "Thank you, Maria! But are you sure you don't want to stay up there and do a little show? I mean, I'll go call the neighbors and have them stand in the street for theater night!"

And then there was silence. Silence. My colleague and I exchanged mutual glances that whimpered embarrassment and "oh no, she didn't think that was funny."

But Maria is rarely one to miss a punch line. As I squirmed uncomfortably for three seconds that passed like an hour on a crowded mini-bus, she was behind the curtain scheming up her next move. One that included just the right amount of gesture, the appropriate words in the most appropriate language, and something she could pull off without laughing throughout the execution.

The result was one perfect theatrical performance including exactly one gesture, one word, and one language. Bold enough to induce hilarity, yet short enough that she could wear a smile as she did it and laugh all she wanted when she successfully completed it.

Her gesture? Pushing the curtains open with both hands as she held a sassy pose, still standing squarely in the window ceil. Not one bit shy either!

Her word and language? An ethusiastically delivered, Russian "hello"..."Здравствуй!"

Did she laugh afterwards? Whole heartedly... as did we.