Michael nodded. It made sense. It was common knowledge that there was an ongoing relationship between Sidereal Pharmaceuticals and Middleton Healthcare. Not only had Sidereal funded a large portion of the Shapiro’s construction, there was talk about Sidereal, with its deep pockets, gaining a controlling interest in the hospital chain.
Michael took the man’s phone and quickly figured out how to type a message in English and have it appear below in Russian, and they began an electronic conversation:
Michaeclass="underline" My name is Michael Lamar Pender. I’m a fourth-year medical student. What’s your name and where are you from?
Vladimir: My name is Vladimir Malaklov. I am from Yekaterinburg, Sverdlovsk Oblast, Russia.
Michaeclass="underline" How long have you been in the United States?
Vladimir: Short time. I came to New York and then here three months ago.
Michaeclass="underline" Were you brought over here for a specific reason?
Vladimir: I am a specialist in the MUMPS computer language. The system here is coded in MUMPS.
Michaeclass="underline" It must be hard for you being here to communicate.
Vladimir: English is a struggle. I studied some in Russia before I came, but it hasn’t helped very much. I am trying to learn, but it is difficult.
Michaeclass="underline" Do you know any of the Russians who work in the hospital?
Vladimir: Yes. I know several from the same university where I trained. I am staying with one of them, which is difficult. He says that after all day he is tired of talking English, so I do not get to practice.
Michaeclass="underline" I’m about to finish medical school and have some free time. Maybe I can teach you some black-talk.
Vladimir: I do not understand. What is “black-talk”?
Michaeclass="underline" It is the way we African American sisters and brothers talk to each other. It’s like the words in rap music. You like rap?
Vladimir: I love rap music. Here, listen!
Vladimir changed the app, took out the second earbud, and handed both over to Michael. Michael held one of the buds close to his ear. He recognized the tune and the artist immediately. It was Jay-Z belting out “Hard Knock Life,” a piece Michael knew well.
Michael took out his own phone with an attached Beats headset, brought up the same tune, and handed the earplugs to Vladimir. Vladimir’s face quickly broke into a contented smile and his head bobbed to the beat. Michael wasn’t surprised. He knew that the quality of his headset was far superior to the one the Russian was using. It was like night and day.
Michael motioned toward Vladimir’s phone and pantomimed tapping the screen and then looking at it. At first Vladimir didn’t understand, but then caught on when Michael said: “English to Russian.”
Michaeclass="underline" The music is better with my headset.
Vladimir nodded and gave a thumbs-up, indicating he agreed. He was still bobbing to the percussive beat with a slight smile on his face. He was enjoying himself, and Michael was ready to reel him in.
Michaeclass="underline" I give you the headset as a welcome present to the United States.
Vladimir: I cannot accept. You are too kind.
Michaeclass="underline" You have to take it. You dishonor me if you don’t, and that would be a problem. In rap-talk we’d have a fucking beef, which means that I might have to shoot you, since everybody and his uncle packs a gun in this country.
Michael watched Vladimir’s face as he read the translation, wondering how the last sentence would be translated into Russian. He smiled inwardly, thinking that beef might be translated as steak or hamburger, neither of which would make any sense whatsoever. But a broad smile lit up Vladimir’s face. The Russian then typed into his screen before holding the phone up for Michael to see.
Vladimir: I accept with pleasure to avoid a fucking filet mignon, whatever that means, but you must accept a gift from me as well. I have some souvenirs I brought from Russia.
Michael after a good laugh: Whatever. Russian souvenir would be nice. How about a selfie with you and me?
Vladimir: I do not understand selfie.
Michael alternately pointing to himself and to Vladimir: A photo. The two of us. To demonstrate, Michael quickly snapped a selfie picture of himself and showed it to Vladimir. Michael wanted a photo of this Russian fellow, thinking that Lynn was not going to believe his meeting this guy.
Vladimir: Yes, photo, but with my camera as well.
Michael first held his own smartphone at arm’s distance, put his arm around Vladimir’s shoulder, and took a photo. Then Vladimir did the same. Michael took Vladimir’s phone back and typed into the translator app:
Michaeclass="underline" I also have a collection of all of Jay-Z’s albums on my PC that I can share, if you are interested.
Vladimir: Very interested.
Michaeclass="underline" How will I get in touch with you, say tomorrow or the next day?
Vladimir: I give you my mobile number and my e-mail address.
Michaeclass="underline" Perfect. And I will give you mine.
For the next few minutes the two men concentrated on getting each other’s information into their phone’s contacts. Michael noted that the country code for Russia was 7, followed by ten digits. He wondered how much texting the man was going to cost. Although Michael bolstered his meager finances with various jobs around the medical center, like working at the blood bank, by the end of the month he was always a bit short.
When he and Vladimir finished exchanging their mobile numbers and e-mail addresses, Michael pantomimed he had more to say. Vladimir brought up the translating app once again on his phone.
Michaeclass="underline" Pleasure to meet you. In black-talk we say good-bye as “catch you later!”
Vladimir: Okay! Catch later! And thank you for the headset.
With a broad smile on his face, Vladimir stuck out his hand and vigorously pumped Michael’s. When Vladimir let go, Michael balled the Russian’s fingers, did the same with his own, and then proceeded to bump fists with him.
“That’s how we black folks do it,” Michael explained.
Vladimir kept it up, nodding and smiling. “Catch you later,” he repeated in his accented, halting English.
“Cool,” Michael said with a laugh. The guy was a piece of work.
Vladimir picked up his laptop and briefcase from the ground and insisted on bumping fists again, which necessitated tucking his laptop under his arm to free up a hand. As he managed this, he never stopped smiling, obviously enjoying himself. Then, with a final wave, he turned and headed off in his original direction.
Michael deliberately waited until the Russian was about thirty feet away. Then he called out the man’s name and jogged toward him, struggling once more to keep his medical-student paraphernalia from flying out of his pockets. When he reached him, he motioned again that he wanted to use Vladimir’s smartphone translation app. When he got it he typed in:
Michaeclass="underline" I just thought of something. I have a distant relative who was taken into the Shapiro Institute a few months back. I haven’t heard anything about her and promised my mother I’d find out if she was still there and doing okay, but I haven’t been able to do it. When you go back into the institute, would you mind just finding out if she is still there so I can let my mother know.