To Russia, with love

Rocky

I was in my basement bachelor pad working on my essay “Buber’s I and Thou & Pink Floyd’s ‘Us and Them’: New Thoughts” when my cell phone range. My editor Bartolomeo Pistola from Edizione Testa d’Uovo was on the line.

“Hello, Rocky! Listen, I was at a conference last week and was approached by an editor from an English publisher. His firm wants to bring out a new translation of Vera Figner’s Memoirs of a Revolutionist. He asked me if I knew someone with a thorough knowledge of Figner’s milieu, a native speaker’s knowledge of both Russian and English, and the ability to deliver the translation by deadline. I thought immediately of you! What do you think, Rocky?”

“Before I answer that,” I said, “I need to ask you what happened to all the promotional work Testa d’Uovo was supposed to be doing for my books? My income stream has reduced to a dribble! I may be forced to sell my espresso machine collection!”

“Tough times, Rocky, tough times. Tough times in the publishing business. Tough times,” he said quietly.

“I understand,” I said, feigning magnanimity while seething on the inside. “Sure, I’ll take the translation job. As a Russian Blue living in the U.S. I know both languages quite well. But first I’ll need to go to Russia for research, and the publisher will need to cover all of my costs plus a reasonable per diem. And I’ll need market rate plus 20 for the translation.”

“You want 120 percent of the usual remuneration for the translation?” Bartolomeo asked.

“Yes. Because of my fame I demand extra,” I said.

“Fine, fine, no problem. I’ll get it for you,” he replied, sounding tired. “When can you begin?”

“Have the British publisher fax me a contract. Once we have signed, I will fly to Russia forthwith, dear fellow,” I replied.

Within hours I had received and signed the contract. I slipped into my Fifi the Calico disguise to foil DHS and its minions, and boarded a plane.