We were in America! Hip Hip Hooray!
We had a place to live, and I had a job to pay for it.
I, however, didn’t feel like a real American until we purchased a new American car.
And so we did it!
No, not a really new one, of course not, but the one that would be new to us.
The new car was like a new family guest. The one who came from the far and you invited him to stay with you forever. It was our agreeable companion, silent yet demanding. It would take you places, but it would ask for care.
A lot of care.
I learned that right away.
The automobile we got required gas to drive and used a lot of it.
I calculated, and I found that every 10 miles would cost me a dollar. The whole big American dollar!
I didn’t know that before. All my dreams were short of any monetary responsibility. Everybody’s dreams are always like that.
The hospital where I worked as a floor operator was 20 miles away from our apartment. That would be the whole four dollars for a round trip. It would be about an hour of my works pay. I have never thought about it before. America happened to be full of surprises. The bus ticket was only 50 cents each way.
Wow, the dreams were coming true, but they weren’t free!
The joy of driving was expensive, actually!
I understood very quickly that I should take good care of my car and make everything possible to be economical.
According to my newly obtained car consultant, Misha, the big gasket was essential to my car performance and needed to be changed.
Everyone who is familiar with my previous story, ‘The First American Car I Bought’, is introduced to Misha’s personality already. For those who didn’t, let me backed up a bit.
*****
Among some other emigrants around us, I met a fellow who came over from some faraway Asian part of the Soviet Union. It was a very big country. Back over there, he worked for the local police, or “militia”, as it was called. He was a college graduate, a book smart, and knew different languages, but he got to work for the militia, as that work paid better for his time. He told me he dealt with the police vehicles and knew those in and out.
I didn’t know anybody who was car smart.
Misha seemed to be an excellent person to ask for the needed help with automobiles. And so I did.
Misha was an interesting fellow. My senior by about 10-12 years, he was much more mature than I.
I asked him to be my car consultant.
Misha listened to my request in silence.
The constant presence of the cigarette at the corner of his mouth, a long dark raincoat, a wide brim hat covering one of his eyes; all that made his personality stand up.
He was Colombo and Perry Mason, all in one, with the touch of Cosmo Kramer in his character.
Page. 1
Misha gave me his fatherly look, moved the cigarette from one corner of the mouth to another using nothing but his tongue, and whispered,
- I like what you are doing, my friend. You are asking the right person for help and I will be the one to help you.
- You do know nothing... - He continued, - You have been in America only a few months and your understanding about anything here is a big, big zero. A big fat zero!
He would like to repeat that phrase over and over again. And then he would suddenly stop talking and would give me a very expressive, downgraded look before continuing his favorite monologue.
Misha was the one who helped me to find and to purchase my first American car, and I was feeling deeply in debt to him. He noticed that my car drips oil and offered to help to fix it. I was very thankful.
One day he came by to see my new car and reminded me:
- Next, we are going to change the head gasket, remember? - Misha spoke smilingly. He was in a great mood.
At that moment, I agreed instantly.
- I am free tomorrow morning, - Misha suggested.
- The morning would be good... - I said.
I didn’t know what to expect from that endeavor, but I was willing to learn.
******
- I knew already that time had amazing quality. It is always flowing forwards, regardless of whoever you are and whenever you might be. -
My life was going through that time and I was learning new ways and new things every day.
Yes, I was definitely ready to learn about the gasket, and I was happy because I had an “outstanding” teacher.
*****
Misha showed up on the morning of the following day, as promised.
And I ...? I was ready to dedicate all my time to the task of car fixing.
- Do you know how the Torah teaches that you should help your friend and then your friend should help you in return? - said Misha and twisted his cigarette over his tongue.
- I don’t believe you’re quoting the Torah entirely correct, - I replied humbly. - The Torah said that you should love your neigh... - I made an attempt to contend, but Misha interrupted me.
- You are doing this again! Ain’t you? Now you are the Torah’s professor... You are, ... Let me give you a little hint, - You have been in America only a few months and your understanding about anything here is a big, big zero!”- Misha turned his head toward me.
- I came to America the whole 8 months ago. Eight months! My English is already about 45% or even more. I know all about cars. So, I will talk, and you will listen. So be quiet.
Page 2
His face was so close to mine that the brim of his hat was touching my nose. His smoke-saturated breath didn’t help my obvious hesitancy. I felt itchy in my nose and wanted to sneeze, but was trying to hold it inside.
After all, Misha was right. I didn’t know much.
- Sorry, please forgive me... - I swallowed a big gulp of stinky cigarette smoke from the air.
My face was right in front of his face.
- I didn’t want to upset you, Misha. I’m ready to do the gasket, as you advised. - I responded politely and stepped aside.
- It’s better. - Misha said and started another cigarette, lighting it out of the previous one, which was already too short and was burning his crunchy and yellow from tobacco lips.
- We, however, not going to start from the gasket for your car. Kapish!?! - Misha looked at me with certain perplexity in his eyes.
- We are going to change the oil in my car first. And you... - Misha gave me his famous downgrading look, and I was ready to take it.
- I got a piece of news for you! You will help me and you will learn... Because you are only a few months in America and know nothing and understand nothing. And you are...- Misha smirk.
- Right... - I agreed, - The big zero, that is what I am... - meanwhile, Misha continued talking, and I was listening politely.
I didn’t want to upset him. I wanted to do better for my big Dodge Royal Monaco of 1974. The big American car. I already was in love with it.
- You will help me, and I, in return, will help you! This way, you wouldn’t be in debt to me. Understand?!? - said Misha and emphatically spit between his teeth, not losing his cigarette in the process. I didn’t know how he did that. That was amazing...
I understood. In his own twisted way, Misha was very rational.
*****
He came prepared. He brought a few boxes of supplies and some tools out of his car trunk and laid those neatly on the side curb of our apartment’s parking lot.
Then he got inside his car, started it and drove straight toward the concrete curb.
Ouch!
I close my eyes.
His car made a loud rolling sound and wheeled its front onto the top of the parking curb.
- Don’t you stay there like a dumb monkey? Make yourself useful. Get me two bricks and put those behind the rear tires. You don’t want to kill yourself. Do you? You would be the one who is going to crawl to under the car. - Misha commanded.
There was a pile of old bricks near the dumpster. I ran and picked two. The bricks were to secure his car from rolling back while we would change the oil.
I understood that much.
- Take this aluminum turkey roster tray, a pair of pliers, and crawl under the car, - Misha said, opening the hood. - I will tell you what to do.
- Do you see that big plug at the bottom of the car? - asked Misha.
- Yes. - I replied.- It’s all covered in some grime.
- Good. Clean it up and get ready to undo it with the pliers, on my command. And move that pan from your chest already. It’s for the oil, you idiot!
- It’s easier to say than to do - I thought, crawling and twisting my body under the car and trying to find a more comfortable position.
Page 3.
Meanwhile, Misha was doing something with his tools under the hood, as I heard.
- Now I am going to undo the oil filter. Are you ready? - announced Misha and jerked something very strongly. The whole car trembled on top of me.
- You can start working on the plug now”- said Misha. - And be careful the oil will be hot.
- How hot? - I asked.
- You will find out right now. That stupid filter doesn’t turn! Let me shake it up a little... Uh... Blya...- He exclaimed swearing in Russian very profoundly.
The whole car shook again, and one of the front tires rolled down from the curb. Meanwhile, the oil plug got loose and hot oil spilled all over my face.
*****
Covered in black hot oil, I crawled out from under the car.
- You didn’t put those bricks correctly. You could kill yourself, you are a total fool! - Misha wasn’t happy at all.
- Now crawl back and put back that plug. - he commanded me.
- Is it safe? - I questioned.
- Safe for you... It’s not going anywhere anymore.
A few minutes later our operation was finished. Misha seemed to be happy and smiled finally.
- We saved $10 bucks today! - he giggled. And you learned yourself a lesson! Isn’t that good!
- I ruined my t-shirt. We made a mess, - I pointed my finger down. - Look at that terrible stain on the asphalt that we made.
- The rain will wash it out... - knowingly declared my teacher.
- It would be Okie-Dokie and clean very soon. But you... Don’t you ever park on that spot nevermore... - Misha catted a big gulp of air and got another cigarette out.
- And now, I can help you with the head gasket for your car - He smiled.
Honestly, some doubt wriggled into my mind. I certainly learned a lot today already and my inner conscience was percolated with uproar not to continue to Misha’s university.
Misha noticed my hesitation.
- Are you chickened out? You... Do you want your car to last? - he asked.
My car was too valuable for me. I unplugged my inner conscience and lowered my head. I agreed to do it regardless if I was ready for it or not.
******
Page 4.
*****
- Do you know how a head gasket would be in English? - Misha asked me.
- I don’t – I replied.
- I thought you were going to college to learn English.
- No, it is my wife who is studying. I started to work right away. I learned my English by talking to other people. It works very well for me. I remember so many words in English already. You would be surprised, how many! I, however, never talked about a head gasket with anybody yet. So, I didn’t know this word. - I replied.
- Don’t you worry. You will have an opportunity in a minute, - Misha giggled. - Go and ask somebody right now. We need to know and I don’t have a whole day to wait!
I went toward my car trying to figure out how can I build a question like that in the English language. I popped the hood and started to wait for a suitable walker by.
- Women... - I thought to myself. - Women wouldn’t know that word. That is for sure. It should be the men. What kind of a man?... A nicely dressed, in suit? No, those wouldn’t know. It needs to be someone dressed in work clothes, like the coverall. Someone like a farmer. That’s right. I would see the first man wearing a coverall and I will ask him, what that is. That would be the right approach. I can wait and Misha would too... It shouldn’t be that long... - and therefore, I started to wait intently reviewing each and every person coming and going from the entrance to our apartment building.
I also decided that the right person to ask should be black. I was somewhat uneasy to ask white Americans. White Americans, for the most part, appeared to be somewhat sophisticated and intimidating for me. With the black folks, it was much easier for me to communicate. It was simpler. I couldn’t really explain why, but that was the way I felt back then.
Finally, the right person for my task came out of the apartment’s doorway.
- Isk-uz me. Do you spik English? - I asked.
- Certainly. How can I help you? - smiled my newly chosen consultant. He didn’t even know yet, how important his role would be in my formative American education.
- Ken Yu tell me this in English? - I asked and pointed invitingly to my car.
- It is a car. - My newly chosen consultant smiled and look at me with a shade of wonder.
- Zet is gut, - I said. I happy yu undrstud, come... - I smiled and invited him to come closer to the vehicle.
- Ken Yu tell me this in English? - I pointed to the edge of the engine block where Misha said the gasket needed to be changed.
- Oh, It called the car engine. - giggled my chosen consultant.
- I knov zet. - I exclaimed. I ned zees, bit-vin, do yu understud bit-vin?- and I pointed to the edge more precisely.
- Oh, of course. It is a gasket. That is the word you are looking for, ain't you? - My chosen consultant smiled.
Page 5.
*****
I was thrilled.
I accomplished my task.
I found the right English word.
I did that in no time at all. I felt so good!
I sincerely thanked my chosen consultant. I shook his hand for a long time. I was trying to explain to him that his help was enormous and his timing was superb. I was certain that he understood me in general.
It was enough for the fulfillment of my obligations and his delight.
I ran back to Misha all around smiling. I was sure, he would be pleasantly surprised that I found the needed word so quickly. I was elated!
To find that word was one thing, but to remember it, was another. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was quite difficult. I instantly created a memorizing riddle in my head:
" Gasket- basket, Basket - flasket, Flasket - casket, Duh, Duh, Duh."
I didn’t know what I was saying, but it was sounding good, rhyming well, and helped me to remember, or so I thought.
- Misha, I got the word! I know that now:
"Gasket- basket, Basket - flasket, Flasket - casket, Duh, Duh, Duh!" - I exclaimed happily.
- Whatever... - said Misha, and I realized that to make him happy would be an impossible task.
- I guess, now we can do it, are we? - and I looked at him with the inquiry.
Misha squeezed his right eye for a second. He twisted his ever-present cigarette in his yellow from the constant tobacco use lips. Then he turned half of his body toward me, throwing the edges of his long gray raincoat to fly, and answered to me with the question:
- Do you know the Yellow Pidzh?"
I didn’t know. Apparently, it was another very important American thing I didn’t know.
I didn’t hesitate and admitted my shortness of knowledge instantly.
*****
Yellow Pages, for those who don’t remember the time before the cellphone, was an American business phone book. That book was enormously large and listed all the businesses and services in the area with phone numbers and addresses.
Misha called that book a “Yellow Pidzh”. It was pretty good for his self-rated admission of 45% regarding a British English language skills equivalent.
- Don’t know anything... You... You have been in America only a few months and your understanding about anything here is a big, big zero! - and Misha gave me his ever judging look.
- But you are a lucky one, don’t you know... - he continued.
- I will teach you and you will remember for the rest of your American life! - and he went on and on...
- Yellow Pidzh is a Telefon Book in Amerika. And it is the most important book here. - he poped a smoke.
- You can find everything you need, dial the number and can go and get it! Go and get it! Now, go to your apartment. Get your Yellow Pidzh and find the phone for the gasket. You dial the number and I will do the talking. Understand? Kapish?
Page 6.
I definitely understood.
Actually, I found that to be a very smart and innovative way to get different stuff you may need. I went to the kitchen and readily put a huge phone book right in front of me.
"Gasket- basket, Basket - flasket, Flasket - casket, Duh, Duh, Duh!" - I exclaimed happily. I was ready to do it!
I knew how to say that word. Now I was wondering how that word can be spelled...
The book was arranged in alphabetic order. I understood that much.
- Ok, It shouldn't be that difficult. - I thought to myself and I started with the letter "A"...
It was the A's, then the B's, then C's came along...
I felt my word is somewhat near.
And then I saw it.
Eureka! I felt like an Archimedes, or at least sir Isaak Newton.
My word was there! It was in the big black letters in the middle of the page.
It said, - " American-made Casket."
Hip-Hip Hooray! I found it so quickly.
- Misha, I got the word. I found it already. Look, there is a phone number, - I was elated.
- Okie - dokie... Dial it up. See how easy everything is with the Yellow Pidzh ! - Misha replied.
I dialed the number and handed the phone receiver to Misha.
- He-llo, Zis Amerikan Kasket Yes?... Yes... Do Yu Hev A Bik Head Kasket for Dodge Royal Monaco 1974? What? No... Yu Luk Katalog... You Understend Katalog?...
Apparently, there was somebody on the other side of the phone line, who didn't really understand Misha's 45% English.
That however didn't discourage him at all.
- I speak more of a British English dialect not an Amerikan - told me Misha. - I am about 45% plus, I think. Here in Des Moines, Iowa they all are farmers and speak Amerikan English. Don't you worry, I know how to show that part to them in the catalog. I got the address. Let's go. You drive.
*****
I was happy to help, and readily opened the door to my car. The address listed in the book indicated the place that was not too far. It was on the University Avenue. I remembered that.
We found the place with no problem, except it didn't look like a place for the auto parts...
It was a very neat-looking house all covered in flowers and greeneries. It stood in the middle of the big parking lot and didn't have any cars around it. There was a garage, but the door was down and there were pots of the blooming flowers hanged on that door as well.
I liked it actually. It was very beautiful.
- Misha, It doesn't look like a place for the auto parts. - I queried.
- Are you starting with me again? Ain't you, one month American...
- Five months actually... I just wanna say that it doesn't look right to me.
- Do you know anything about tax deductions? - Misha gave me one of his down gratings looks again. - All Americans are trying to hide their income to pay fewer taxes to Uncle Sam. Do you know about Uncle Sam?
- I know, he was the one who wore a striped jacket and a hat with the finger pointed to you.
- Yeah, He was that one. Everyone needs a tax shelter! Everyone is looking for a cover-up! See, those guys look like a greenery business. Yet, I am sure they sell auto parts from the back door. Don't you see the sign? Does it say all American flowers? No, that is saying, An American-made Casket. Do you understand?!!
That was amazing. I couldn't believe how Misha was able to learn that much about America in only eight months! He was so smart.
Page 7.
Misha brushed away all my worries. I parked my car and we stepped inside.
The interior of that business looked even more beautiful. There happened to be a lot of flowers and many big and small vases of different styles. Some of those were made from marble and some of silver or other metals. That was an astonishing office decoration! All people who worked inside were neatly dressed. All men wore black three-piece suites. Ladies wore very modest black business dresses. How fancy!
Misha told me to sit down and wait. Meanwhile, he started to talk with one of the salesperson.
*****
- Do Yu Spik English? - Misha always started his conversation like that, so am I, actually. - Ve Lukin For Kasket. Do Yu Sell?
- Yes, we do. I would be glad to help you. What style would you prefer?
- We need one for the Dodge Royal Monaco 1974. - Said Misha in his 45% off perfect British English dialect.
A man paused for a second and asked, - Pardon me?
- Look, - Misha turned to me. - he said “Pardon”. Did you hear that, right? Would this man be French? He is probably an immigrant just like us. He should understand me. I know French.
Misha folded his hand into the point with three fingers together and aimed that to his mouth.
- Escusez-moi! La... Je cherche... La... un joint rubber de caouchouc La... tete... pour une voiture Yes? La... mashina.Yes? Ne... me La... comprenez-vous? - Misha looked at the clerk and then explained to me. - I studied French in school. I know it well, just like English, or even better. I just asked him in his language if they have a head gasket for our car. But for some reason, I'm not sure he understood...
- Do you Par-la-vou me,... - Misha continued very slowly mimicking every part of his phrase with his face.
*****
Salesman stood silently. His eyes got big, round, and stop blinking. It was clear to me, whatever language he spoke, wasn't French.
- I am very sorry if I offended you, - mumbled salesman.
- So, Yu Ne Par-la-vou Nu… ti… Not Fran-cu-zi-vou, ... Nu ti Ii blya... Zhe tu... vou! - Misha yelled with desperation. ( broken French with Russian expletives - So You don't understand French, You...)
The faux-french clerk stood in total disarray. - I need to talk to my manager... - He quietly whispered and left.
- I don't know about those people,- stated Misha. - sometimes they understand me alright, and sometimes not...
Meanwhile, the faux-french clerk came back with the manager. The manager looked as impressive as a salesperson, even more. He had a huge gold ring with a shiny black stone on his finger.
I didn't know what they were taking among themselves before. I only cut the very end of the conversation. The manager was telling to faux-Frenchman that something might be, one of the kind, life opportunity. I didn't understand what it was about, but I grasped it wasn't about us apparently.
- Those two foreigners are asking for a casket that would fit their car...- said the salesperson.
- That's right. Dodge Royal Monaco 1974 - Misha jumped into the conversation.
The manager smiled with the biggest smile I have ever seen.
Page 8.
Misha explained again what we are looking for, and suggested finding a part number in the catalog.
- Now, do you believe what I told you? - the faux-french clerk asked his manager.
The manager looked at Misha, then looked at me, and then he looked through the window into the parking lot where my car was parked. He got silent for a minute...
- That might be a special order, - he said
- We agreed to wait, - Misha replied quickly. - that car isn't going anywhere...
The faux-french salesman asked us to wait, and both of them went outside to the parking lot.
The manager got the notepad, and the measuring tape, and they started to take my car’s dimensions.
- Look at those french idiots! - Screamed Misha - You didn't eat your croissant in the morning or what? You idiots! You don't need to measure the car from outside to find its gasket's model. You need a year and a number on the driver's door! - and he ran outside to explain.
I meanwhile, decided to look around. The place was very beautiful with a lot of lovely art pieces on the walls. All of those were mostly landscapes with green pastures. Some were with the beautiful sunsets. I felt like in a museum of some sort.
What all of that got to do with the auto parts?
Misha said it is all about the tax shelter and the business income cover-up. He has been in America longer. The whole eight months already. Maybe he knew. But it didn't make much sense to me.
I proceeded to the next room to explore. I carefully looked inside, and I got really surprised.
In fact, what I saw - astounded me!
In the middle of the room, on the special platform, stood...
I couldn't believe my eyes.
It was a casket!
Yes, it was a casket. It was beautifully done. It was decorated with red velvet, white silk, and golden trimmings, but it was the casket!
I knew the Americans like very controversial types of art, but that was too much. Clearly, too much.
A lady in a very modest black business dress approached me.
- How can I help you? - she asked.
- How do you call that in English, - I asked pointing to the casket.
- It is a casket, - the lady replied with a smile.
- And how do you call the casket inside the car? - I asked. Suddenly the strange chill ran through my stomach.
An office lady looked at me, trying to understand what am I asking.
- How do you call the casket inside the car? The engine casket? - I asked again.
- Did you mean the gasket? - Lady wondered.
"Gasket- basket, Basket - flasket, Flasket - casket, Duh, Duh, Duh!" - ran through my head.
- The gasket is what in the car, you put dead people into the casket? - I asked carefully.
- Yes, that is correct. - the office lady in the very modest black cocktail dress smiled at me.
Page 9.
******
I wasn't smiling... Oh, Gosh, ... How embarrassing. How stupid! - and all of that is my fault!
I looked through the window.
I couldn't hear anything, but what I saw, was enough for me to understand how deeply in trouble we are!
Misha was all red in the face. He even lost the ever-present cigarette from the corner of his mouth. His wide brim hat slid to the back of his head but held on to the very edge of his curly black hairdo. The salesman and the manager were standing on both sides of my car in silence. My big American car stood between them.
The Dodge Royal Monaco, 1974 model. A beautiful beige American car that had a bad gasket, but the "casket" was it not!
Misha was throwing his hands up in the air in anger.
- Misha! - I screamed. - Misha stop. Please stop. We are wrong. The word is wrong. The place is wrong. Everything is wrong. We need to go. Misha...
I grabbed Misha by the hand and pulled him to inside the car. In a second we were back on the University avenue, driving home.
- How could you do that to me? - asked Misha after listening to my explanations of what happened.
The rest of the way we drove in complete silence.
At our apartment's parking lot Misha opened the door and stepped outside. He walked over a big black oil stain on the parking lot asphalt and drove away in his car without saying even one word in neither Russian language or a 45% British-American dialect.
He has never helped me again with the vehicle, and I never asked him for help, actually.
It was too embarrassing, but I learned another few American words, and I memorized for life,
"Gasket- basket, Basket - flasket, Flasket - casket, Duh, Duh, Duh!"
August 2021
Page 10.
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