Good Medicine - Medical School I

May 27, 1985, McKinley, Ohio

On Monday morning, I awoke before dawn, as was my norm, but decided I'd skip my morning run. Elizaveta was still asleep, her head on my chest, one arm and one leg thrown over me. She had been completely exhausted, emotionally, physically, and mentally, and if I was honest with myself, I had been as well. Our first lovemaking, as tentative and short as it was, had been strangely fulfilling precisely because it was the first time I made love with my wife. I lay quietly for some time, contemplating the awesome nature of what had happened.

Eventually, Elizaveta stirred, stretched, and snuggled close with a contented sigh. A few minutes later, she sat up.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her eyes glassy, showing she was about to cry.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," I replied gently, sitting up and giving her a quick kiss.

"But I fell asleep and ruined our wedding night!"

"You did NOT ruin our wedding night," I replied lovingly but firmly.

"But we were supposed to make love all night!" she protested, a tear dripping down her cheek.

"«Котёнок» (katyonak), we have sixty or seventy years to make love. We were both emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. And I wonder how your «пизда» (pizda) feels this morning." ("Kitten", "pussy")

Elizaveta giggled through her sobs, "That word!"

"I could use a medical term, but that doesn't make sense. Or I could say it in English."

"It doesn't hurt," she replied. "I guess 'uncomfortable' is the right word."

"And how would it have felt if we had done it again last night?" I asked.

"You're not upset?"

"About what?"

"I don't think I was very good."

"It WAS good," I replied. "And if you pull the duvet down, I think you'll discover why you're uncomfortable. And why what we did last night was all we could do."

She pulled the duvet down and exposed my groin and thighs, but also a red stain on the sheet about the size of a silver dollar. There were also dried red streaks on my flaccid member and red streaks on the inside of Elizaveta's thighs.

"Oh!" she gasped.

"So, if you want to hang that from the eaves, you could!" I teased.

Elizaveta laughed, "That would make my mom and dad VERY happy and satisfy my grandmothers. Mom and Dad thought we had cheated."

"They said that?"

"No, but they certainly thought it. And this sheet isn't our real sheet -- the new ones are black. I put this over the others on the advice of my grandmother."

"And now she'll want the proof?"

"Hah!" Elizaveta laughed. "I should, just to show my mom and dad!"

I chuckled, "I'll leave that decision to you. I trusted you and didn't need any proof."

"I would hope so, husband!"

"How about we take a shower together and then make breakfast together?"

"Oooh! A shower? Together? Yes!"

We got out of bed, and I helped Elizaveta remove the choker and waist chain, then we walked to the bathroom, where I turned on the tap and adjusted the temperature. I stepped into the large claw-foot tub, took Elizaveta's hand, helped her in, and then pulled the shower curtain fully around the tub to keep water from splashing out. A shower caddy hanging from the pipe that led to the showerhead had two bars of soap and two bottles of shampoo -- hers and mine. I took the bottle of apple blossom shampoo, and after my wife wet her hair under the spray, I proceeded to lather shampoo into her hair, massaging her scalp with my fingers.

"Ooh," she sighed, "that feels SO good!"

When I finished with her hair, I took her soap, which had a faint hint of cherry blossoms, and began lathering her body, starting at her shoulders and working my way down. Her nipples hardened as I ran my soapy hands across her breasts, and she giggled softly as I washed her thighs and between her legs and again when I rubbed her firm butt with my soapy hands. I knelt to soap her legs and feet, then had her rinse off under the warm spray.

Elizaveta wasted no time getting my shampoo and massaging my scalp as she worked up a lather. When she finished, she got my Irish Spring soap and began soaping my body.

"Are you bigger than average?" she asked as she carefully washed my groin.

"According to the textbooks, yes," I replied.

"I'm sorry I reacted the way I did last night," she said bashfully. "The only ones I'd seen before were on babies when I changed their diapers. And our sex-ed book drawings implied they were a LOT smaller than yours. But now I know why Tasha said you were a very virile man!"

"And just how much did you and Tasha discuss my body?" I asked lightly.

"Actually," Elizaveta replied with a touch of annoyance, "she refused to disclose any ACTUAL information! She simply said what I just told you!"

"I can just imagine that conversation," I chuckled. "Tasha can be very «некультурный» (nekulturny)!"

"I thought we weren't going to use Russian," Elizaveta said as she knelt to soap my legs and feet. "I mean, other than your nickname for me."

"Tasha can be very sassy," I chuckled. "But it's also true that my friends in the dorm, especially José, have taken a liking to that word! And what word would you have had me use earlier?"

Elizaveta stood up and giggled, "You do call me pussy cat!"

"When did YOU get," I chuckled, "sassy?"

"I don't have to behave with my own husband in private! Now, rinse off!"

I rinsed off and then shut off the tap. I drew back the shower curtain and got one towel from the rack. I turned to Elizaveta, holding the towel between my open arms. She giggled as I started to dry her off, then, with a kiss, I let her have the towel and reached for the other one. We dried off, then left the bathroom and went to the bedroom to dress. I watched as Elizaveta fastened the waist chain around herself, then got clean underwear, socks, jeans, and a polo from my dresser. Once we were dressed, we went to the kitchen and had our first 'spat' when I insisted on helping my new wife make breakfast.

"Just sit, husband," Elizaveta said firmly.

"I'd like to help, and I know how to cook breakfast!"

"Just sit, husband," she insisted.

"But..."

"Just sit, husband!"

I knew there was but one way to resolve this, so I sat down and let her prepare breakfast. She started with coffee, using the Mr. Coffee machine, then prepared bacon, eggs, and toast. The coffee was ready first, and she poured us each a cup, and when everything else was ready, she set it on the table and then sat down. I prayed, and then we began eating.

"Thank you for not being upset about last night," Elizaveta said quietly.

"There's nothing to be upset about," I replied. "Nothing at all."

She smiled, "I love you, husband."

"I love you, «Котёнок» (katyonak)." ("Kitten")

We finished eating breakfast, and I was permitted to help do the dishes. When we finished, it was too early to go to the Clerk's office, so we decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood.

We left the cottage, walked around the side of the main house, then down the driveway. We held hands, interlaced our fingers, then walked down the sidewalk. We followed the sidewalks in what amounted to a long circle, and when we returned to the cottage we had another cup of coffee, then went to my car to drive to the Clerk's office.

"May I help you?" a middle-aged woman at the counter asked when we walked in.

"We need to get a certified copy of our marriage certificate," I said.

"When did you marry?"

"Yesterday. I have the license."

"And it was signed by the minister?"

"Yes. He's aware you'll call to confirm his signature."

"May I see your ID, please?"

I showed her my driving license, and after she verified I was the person whose name was on the marriage license, she took the signed license from me and looked it over. Satisfied, she went to a desk, picked up a phone, and called information for the phone number of the Cathedral. Once she had it, she pressed the switchhook and dialed the number in Columbus. She asked for the name on the license -- Bishop Timofei Udalov, which was Vladyka's given name and, thus, the name on the government's form. She received the confirmation, typed up the certificate, had the Clerk sign it, then attached a piece of foil and impressed the Clerk's seal on it.

"That will be $21.00 for the immediate service," she said.

I paid her with cash from my wallet, she wrote out a receipt and then handed me the receipt and the license. I thanked her, and Elizaveta and I left the Clerk's office.

"Why did she call information instead of calling the phone number written on the license?"

"I suspect to make sure we weren't committing some sort of fraud. I was surprised she didn't ask for your ID, but I suppose that was because I was asking for the certificate to be issued. Normally, they're turned in by the minister, and the certificate is mailed to the couple."

"Did you know the Bishop's given name?"

"Yes. I've known his family name for a long time because it's used on some official proclamations. I learned his given name when he introduced himself to the cardiologist who was caring for Father Deacon Grigory. And then my grandfather used it a few times because they were friends when they were younger."

"Your grandfather is older than the bishop, right?"

"Yes, by twelve years or so."

"So, now what?" she asked as we reached my brand-new Mustang.

"Home, pack, and be on our way to Niagara Falls."

"We should probably do something about the sheet," Elizaveta said.

"Hang it from the eaves?" I teased.

"I should!" she said fiercely. "We don't have time to do laundry, but I think I'll just throw it away. We don't need a white sheet."

"What?" I teased. "No souvenir?"

"The only souvenir I need from yesterday is the piece of paper we just received!"

"What about me?" I asked.

"You are NOT a souvenir! You're MY husband, and for real now!"

When we arrived back at the cottage, Elizaveta went to use the bathroom but called out to me as soon as she got into the bedroom. I walked down the short hall to join her. She didn't say anything but directed me with her eyes. It took me a second to realize what was wrong -- the bed was made. We'd left the duvet jumbled and hadn't removed the white sheet which had been protecting the regular sheets. I was seriously annoyed at the disrespect and the violation of our privacy.

"We need to have the locks changed," I said. "I don't want to start a fight today, but when we come back from New York, I'll speak with your dad. This is wrong in so many ways. Your grandmothers?"

"I'd guess my mom's mom," Elizaveta said. "Do you think my dad will let you change the locks?"

"I'm going to ask him to do it; if he refuses, then I'll have it done. If we don't put our feet down right now, we'll NEVER have any privacy."

"I can't believe they did it," she said, shaking her head.

"Let's not worry about it now," I replied. "Let's pack so we can be on our way."

About twenty minutes later, we were ready to leave, and I carried our bags to the Mustang. I considered saying 'goodbye' to my in-laws but decided against it. They knew our plans, and the last thing I wanted to do was cede anything to them that even hinted at some kind of control. We'd been married less than twenty-four hours and there was already a problem, one I probably should have thought about at the time I first talked to Viktor about the cottage.

The situation with the bed, like the one with family dinners, had all the makings of an ongoing struggle, which I did not relish. It was going to be a source of conflict unless I found a way to completely nip it in the bud. The problem with doing that was that I was coming face-to-face with the meaning of the aphorism 'he who pays the piper calls the tune', or the 'golden rule' wisecrack -- 'he who has the gold makes the rules'. I had, willingly and knowingly, allowed Viktor to put handcuffs on me; they might be made of gold, but they were still handcuffs.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Yes. Let me just say 'goodbye' to my parents."

I shook my head, "I don't think that's a good idea. Yes, it's polite, but it also cedes control to them. We need to be able to come and go as we please without checking in with them."

"Are you sure?"

I nodded, "Positive. Just get in the car, «Котёнок» (katyonak)." ("Kitten")

She did as I asked, buckling in while I walked around to the driver's side. I got in, buckled my seat belt, started the engine, and pulled out of the driveway. Elizaveta got my map book from the floor of the backseat and opened it to the Ohio page, where I'd stuck a sheet of paper with driving directions.

"US 23 to I-71 as far as Columbus," she said. "Where will we stop for lunch?"

"Around Erie, Pennsylvania," I replied.

I turned out of the subdivision and headed for US Route 50, which would take us to US Route 23.