By Kevin McCaughey
A traveler to Russia learns he is not allowed to understand Russian humor.
“It’s impossible for you to understand.” That’s what Galina told me. She was head of the university English Department in a city on the Volga river.
Maria, Galina’s sidekick and thesaurus, said: “Unattainable. Russian humor is very specifical.”
These pleasant, fleshy-faced, forty-something
by Kevin McCaughey
A writer’s moments with a very different Natasha.
Natashas have always seemed long to me. Long-haired, long-legged, comfy at great heights, like in an expensive revolving restaurant.
Which is funny, because I never met a Natasha like that. But, if I ever saw a Russian girl like that, I’d think she would be a
by Kevin McCaughey
There are many lessons to be learned teaching in the former Soviet Union.
It was a mistake, finishing that bottle of Kagor. But with no heat and no lights, no TNT all night movies, there wasn’t much to do, except wait for spring. But that was last night. This morning, outside my apartment
by Kevin McCaughey
He needed a happy ending in the worst way.
Anusha was late to my apartment. She came in soaked, harried. Storms had drenched the north of Poland the last four days, a fine Baltic September. “Oh, God,” she said. She worked herself out of her coat.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It was cat,” she said.
