Car

That wonderful March day arrived when we went by bus to buy a Tesla. A pretty girl-manager so quickly put Ivan in the picture! I stood patiently beside them and also tried to catch at least something. Everything seemed very tangled and computerised. In general, we sat down and drove off. The acceleration immediately impressed: very swift, like in an aeroplane when it lifts off the ground. American scale! And I had puppyish delight! But when we came home, our dog met us, and I at once “sobered up” and say: “And where are we going to take the dog?” We thought and thought and decided not to sell the Citroën, but to keep it for me and for the beloved dog. ...

I will not hide it: at some moment I lost the desire to drive a car. Closer to autumn a problem with the sun begins in Norway. The sun shines low, and when you are driving a car it can appear suddenly from behind a rock or a cloud and blind you. Everything happens in one moment, unexpectedly and very unpleasantly. Norwegians are used to this. But I, an impressionable person who notices everything around, naturally got stressed one day. ...

I received a book on the theory of driving a car and two hefty dictionaries, Rus.–Norw. and Norw.–Rus., as a gift from Ivan, opened the book, and what did I see there? Not a single familiar word! I had the feeling that I was seeing a completely different language. What I learn on the courses is “one thing,” and what is in this book is completely another. In general, as they say in Odessa, “two big differences.” ...

I thought today how one can say in two words about one’s life “before that,” i.e. before arriving in Norway, and already now, living here. So then: “before that,” i.e. in the CIS — HARD! And after, i.e. in Norway — DIFFICULT! In the previous part I wrote a little about the difficulties in everyday life. And yesterday my husband asked what I am writing about now. And then I understood that just as simply as I wrote in my native language, I will not be able to tell him in Norwegian, because he may “understand me wrongly.” Well, of course, I retold schematically what I am writing about, but I feel that I have no right to write about “all the skeletons.” So I will write about myself. ...

That is the title my brain dictated to me late at night. Well, it was hard for me… For 18 years, starting from the end of 1989, I had lived independently, raised two sons and brought them up, and had pedagogical experience in my country, and having arrived here, into a family, it seemed to me (and so it was) that I had found myself “out of work.” Ivan had taken upon himself all the responsibility for the growing generation and for me, arrived from another world, in which I had been an Octobrist, and a Pioneer, and a Komsomol member (I was forced to join in the 10th grade, otherwise they would not have taken me into the institute) and had even managed to become a pensioner. And here I suddenly fall under such masculine, fatherly guardianship. Nothing to do — only walk in the fresh air with him and the dog, ride in the car, and, at my wish, study Norwegian on courses. ...

At last a written notice arrived about entering into marriage in September. I told my classmates on the courses about the forthcoming event, and they began one after another to give me advice on how to “dress myself up more festively.” And I somehow was not thinking at all about my festive appearance. I was more worried about how Ivan’s daughters would take the news. One girl in the group asked: “And the rings? Have you bought the rings?” M-yes. I immediately recalled an old song with the words “love is a ring, and a ring has no beginning and no end….” In general, a good optimistic song. Having listened to the advice of the “experienced,” I told Vanya that we ought to buy rings and go to the hairdresser. No problem! “Everything as people do.” ...

The moment of entering into marriage had to be waited for a month and a half, until mid-September. Then I thought, and if there is no “approval” from the municipal officials for our entering into marriage, then what? The visa was given for half a year… August had already arrived. The school year began for Vanya’s daughters. They went by bus to their schools in different towns. (I give a note for those who have never been in Norway: in the morning and in the daytime school bus runs are well organised, but if for some reason a schoolchild “is late” for the bus, then one has to “think” how to get home or stay overnight with friends). ...

Like in a fairy tale? — almost… Yes, the nature is like in a fairy tale, but marriage is a serious matter. And in my situation it also implied fellowship with all the members of the family. With the cat and the dog I made friends at once…. We had two weeks to be alone, while the girls were on holiday in Spain, and to settle organisational questions: register with the police, submit an application for registration of the marriage, and wait for a decision and “permission.” ...

I flew into Oslo at 6 in the evening. It was a hot July day. That morning Ivan had seen the daughters off to Spain for a holiday. And he had to stay at the airport until evening to meet me. He met me in a new car, a Citroën Picasso Exclusive. (at last I have “formulated” the name, as of today, of my car!) The purchase of a new car was unplanned for him, but in May he had hit (he did not notice because of the bright sun) a small post, and the airbags went off. Repair would have been very expensive; he had to buy a new one. Having warned me in advance that he would drive me in a new car like a queen! Oh! Me, who had ridden a tram all my life! ...

I will say honestly: when I start writing a new part of my blog, I never know in advance what today “will come from under my pen.” And such a strange title today suddenly — “I’m preparing the skis!” — came into my head in complete confusion. Under this title I now mean my goal… marriage. Without particular romance and without “grandiose plans.” Having arrived in the homeland with a broken arm, I understood that, having given Ivan my consent to be with him in “counsel and love,” nothing depended on me any more, only to gather the needed quantity of papers and stamps for departure. Sign up at the embassy, submit all the documents in proper order, and wait. Long? And nobody knows. Maybe even 11 months, or maybe half a year. “The process has begun.” ...