Initial Arrival 7

Date Unknown
Yakutsk, Siberia, USSR

Jennifer put down the cup and turned her attention to the soup. “What is this?”

“Schi.” Jennifer didn't recognize the word. Ivan seemed to notice, so he explained, “Cabbage soup.”

Jennifer still didn't trust the food. She wasn't in the mood for trying new things. “What is in it?” But she knew this wouldn't give her the information she wanted, so she continued, “What spices, seasonings, herbs do you use?”

“I don't understand. It is just soup. It isn't spicy. We don't have many seasonings. I am sorry it isn't what you are accustomed to, but there isn't other food.” Ivan paused, then continued with, “Can you please try it before assuming you don't like it?”

Jen took a spoonful. She tried to avoid the leaves as she took out the other solid chunks. “This tastes ok.” She continued to eat.

Ivan was watching what she was doing and responded to this, “Do you not like cabbage?”

Jennifer stopped eating to talk to him. She turned to look at him before responding, “I don't know. I always find leaves awkward to eat. And lettuce seems like a filler in salads.”

“Cabbage isn't lettuce!” Ivan paused slightly and changed his tone again. “You should try to eat it, food isn't cheap here, we don't want to waste any.”

Jennifer wasn't happy with this comment. This isn't the first time she has had people unhappy about the way she eats. I guess he doesn't know this. He just assumes this is the same thing typical of Americans. Or of people who come from other cultures in general. Jennifer began to cry again. Seriously, why do people think they scold people until they somehow act like they want? Why can't people realize that others … have other needs I guess?

Ivan began to talk to the woman with him. Jennifer didn't understand what they were talking about. She did notice however. She was very uncomfortable with the situation. This made it more difficult for her to speak. Her thoughts were focused on this discomfort, afraid they would scold her again. And on her sense of isolation.

Ivan eventually turned to face her. “If you want, if you don't think you can continue, we can finish this conversation later.”

Jennifer looked up at him, but was still crying and couldn't speak. She eventually nodded slightly, figuring that it would be a while before she could converse again.

“When you are done eating, you can leave your dishes here.” He points to the nightstand. “If you need anything, I will be in the building, and you can ask for me. The nurses won't understand, but they will know to get me, so I can translate.” Then, to the woman he said, “Poydyom.” Both individuals walked out of the room.

Jennifer eventually stopped crying and started to eat again. Why can't my mother make things like this? Why does she insist on covering everything in tomato sauce, or soy sauce, or whatever spice concoction she decides to use? … I guess this is just soup. They probably have their own way of ruining food.