Relating to The Idiot More Than I'd Like

Is there ever a good time to relate to a Russian novel?  Probably not.  Still…

The Idiot is a novel written by Fyodor Dostoevsky with the premise of how people would receive Jesus if he came to Petersburg society, or something to that effect.  The main character, a prince, returns to Russia after spending several years in Switzerland, for his health.  He sometimes has “fits”, some people think he is an idiot, and he is incredibly unassuming, compassionate, and genuine.  It’s a good read, and I finally finished it today.

I started reading The Idiot (this go-round) soon after I got back to Georgia in the cold, dark days of winter.  I was still adjusting to Georgian culture again, feeling a bit out of it, and spending my days by the pechka in order to keep warm.  Thus, when the opening chapter of the book shows the hero as suffering from Petersburg cold in clothes unsuited for the Russian winter and feeling quite confused and foreign despite being back in a place he’s been before, I connected with that feeling of being cold and alien.

I have been reading the book off and on all semester but started to get deeper into the story while traveling in Turkey.  I noticed I was extraordinarily sore while in Trabzon, but was not totally convinced I was sick until I got back to Georgia and slept all afternoon and all night after I got back.  I ached all over, my chest hurt, and I was miserable. I had no respiratory symptons, and actually my respiratory system was feeling better than it had in months, so I didn’t think I had the flu.  Then Dr. Mom informed me that I had hallmark flu symptons and could actually have the flu without any respiratory problems.  This happens, of course, the one year I decide to get a flu shot.  Suffice to say, my first two days back in my village were mostly spent on my bed, sleeping or resting and dreaming of Robitussin Cold, Cough, and Flu.

This does relate back to the book, I promise.  Aside from being miserable, I found that I understood the main character’s life a bit better.  I understood feeling feverish and confused much more than I had a few months earlier, which is good, since the prince spends about half of the book feeling feverish, confused, or upset.  Suprisingly, feeling feverish and a bit out of it made teaching easier, since everything felt a bit surreal.  Thus the prince’s feverish dreams that collide with reality and make him unsure of what he was previously convinced was true seemed much more believable.

I was already starting to feel like I was relating to the book a bit too much for my own comfort before yesterday, when the parallels heightened.  I had spent the weekend picnicking at the Tbilisi Botanical Gardens and making burgers with some friends, trying to give my body some rest instead of haring off on another adventure as planned.  I accidentally grabbed a friend’s phone (since they all look the same) and so yesterday had to return to Tbilisi to give it back to her.  Try living without a phone-you feel handicapped more than you’d think.  It meant I had a lot of time to spend on the marshrutka and read my book for part of the time, mostly about Pavlovsk society, gossips, and courtship intrigues.  When I got back to my village, I took the long way home and got a phone call when I was close to home that made me feel like I was in a Russian novel.

Several months ago, the gym teacher, and mother of one of my 5^th grade boys, told me she had a very handsome single male relative she wanted me to meet.  I listened to her detail his attributes, nodded, and smiled, assuming that this, like all other talk of matchmaking to get me stay in Georgia, would come to nothing.  After eight months of hearing people tell me I should marry a Georgian and stay here forever, I actually found one who did something about it.

Nanuli, the gym teacher, called me, asking me to meet her.  I then saw my host sisters and friends walking, and then we saw Nanuli.  They clearly knew she was looking for me.  I went to talk to her and she shooed her son away.  She also tried to talk quietly, since she did not want the woman who lived nearby to overhear.  I felt almost like I was in middle school.  Since when had talk of a boy elicited so much secrecy?  Regardless, she said her relative had finally come to Manglisi, told me again how handsome and strong he was, and said he had to leave the next day again, so I should meet him that night.  Trapped, I agreed to rest a bit and then meet him.

My host sisters, who had clearly been involved in this, had waited for me.  I assume that they had given the gym teacher my phone number, and that she had run across them while they were out walking, or the gym teacher had come to my house looking at me.  Regardless, the addition of intermediaries struck me as similar to the book, when third parties are always relaying messages or notes or gossip.

We got home, were fed, and my host mom asked me what Nanuli wanted.  I told her that she wanted me to meet this relative.  She asked why.  For some unknown reason, I was totally honest with her: because Nanuli wants me to marry him.  This caused laughter all around.  If nothing else, this was helping me bond with my host family.

A little after dinner, I went out, where I was supposed to meet either the relative or Nanuli by the park, but when I walked out of my house, I saw her.  We walked together to the relative’s parents’ house as she told me about how wonderful he was.  We got to the house early, since the guy had been visiting friends.  When he came in, I remembered that Georgians are very attractive and then age very quickly, so 32 meant that he looked older and less attractive than I was hoping for, especially since Nanuli had told me how attractive he was.  She also said he was great at Russian, which, perhaps because he was at least a bit drunk due to meeting his friends, was not that true.

I thought the whole thing would be painfully awkward, but eventually the mother came home and started putting out food like all good Georgian mothers do.  Mostly the Georgians talked amongst themselves, occasionally translating.  I did feel like a girl on display, with her matchmaker trying to entice eligible men with her excellent qualities as Nanuli boasted I was good at Georgian (and made me utilize my limited Georgian) and was always studying while the teachers chatted (which I’ve only done a few times).  She also mentioned that I am always the one to remind the teachers to ring the bell (since they are always too busy chatting and sometimes I can’t stand it so I mention it).  When it was discovered that the guy didn’t like coffee, Nanuli and the guy’s parents all thought this was a wonderful similarity, as in ‘aren’t they perfect for each other, they both hate coffee and like tea’ kind of way.

In The Idiot, the main character often feels at a loss for how to act appropriately in situations.  I could definitely relate to that.  How does one act when meeting a Georgian man the villagers think you should marry?  They don’t really teach you that, although it seems like something girls in Russian novels probably were taught.  I, instead, felt out of place and hoped I didn’t do anything stupid, which the prince often worries about.  While I have no interest in marrying said relative, I also don’t have any interest in causing a “scandal” (to borrow from The Idiot) or causing any problems in my village.  I’ve tried very hard to remain a good girl in my village and for everyone to approve of my actions and would like that to continue for the next two months.

I think I managed to end the night without doing anything damaging, and then went home and tried to relate everything to my host mom.  Of course, in The Idiot, people manage to recount events perfectly.  I was tired and could only remember bits and pieces.  Today, at school, Nanuli caught me on my way out the door. She said that the guy liked me and was worried this morning that it might have been obvious last night that he was drunk.  I smiled, told her that it was fine, and went on my way.

My neighbor invited my host mom and me for tea today.  My host mom told her about the meeting, so she asked if I was going to get married.  I told her probably not, and as an afterthought realized that subtlety was maybe not the best way to go about it.  The fact that I laughed probably kept them from thinking there was anything serious in it.

I think my village really is trying to get me to stay.  My fourth grade girls keep showering me with seed bead jewelry.  It’s quite pretty, even if some of the beads are neon orange and the bracelet I got today fits a fourth grader and not her American teacher who has eaten too much white bread and too many potatoes in Georgia.  I got flowers last week from a fifth grader and yesterday from an eleventh grader.  They just pick them from someone’s yard, but still, the daffodils are lovely.  Some of my kids have given me drawings, and I can’t leave third grade without getting kisses and hugs from a few girls.  Not to mention that the whole set-up is apparently largely due to the concern of one of my fifth grade boys, who has been very concerned about me marrying a Georgian.

Like The Idiot, my story starts off about where it started.  I’m healthy and still very single, but the whole adventure has made me appreciate Dostoevsky a little bit more, if nothing else.