I’ve finally returned to Hrebinka, to the abode of the two saltiest motherfuckers on the planet, expat brothers Ray and Tim, who have made their Great American Escape, and are now living their best lives in Nowheresville, Ukraine with their three dogs.
“Where the fuck is Hrebinka?” Tim will often joke. “Ain’t nobody gonna come here!”
I was supposed to go to Hrebinka on Monday, but Ross called me Sunday night and asked me if he could come and get his stuff Monday night and leave Tuesday morning for his new assignment with some crazy prima-donna task force. He got me a 6 inch knife and two exploding .762 rounds as souvenirs.
“I just figure while you’re in Ukraine, you should have at least something to protect yourself,” he told me.
Ross and I parted ways at the train station in Kyiv, and I headed back to Hrebinka. The strange moan of the air raid siren with its melancholy melody floated through the air from the center of town. Ah, the children of Ukraine, what music they make! The siren is much more noticeable here than in Kyiv, even though they go off at the same times. This is because Kyiv is a large region and bustling city, while Hrebinka is just a pinprick on the map.
Ray was recently badly bitten by the dogs when he tried to get in between two of them fighting. His hand needs constant care on a daily basis, that Jane, their elderly neighbor lovingly provides despite Ray’s paranoia and discontent.
“I don’t trust these people,” he told me.
Part of this mistrust was developed when he tried to walk to the store against Tim’s advice and fell on the return journey. Apparently the Ukrainian people going by didn’t stop to help him. Tim thinks that it’s probably because they thought he was drunk, but being a communal society, they also don’t like the highly-individualistic-cowboy-energy emanating off Ray.
“They don’t like people who obviously are two-faced,” Tim complained.
Ray is still very much alive, despite his promises to die last year at the first snowfall, much to Tim’s chagrin. His persistence with a near-nonexistent-blood-oxygen-level continues to shock and surprise everyone in the medical field. Ray and Tim’s relationship has gotten more conflict-ridden than Donetsk, but that’s just what happens when two people spend too much time together.
“The joy he gets out of making me suffer allows him to overcome his natural negativity,” Ray explained.
Ray still mostly persists on beer and cigarettes, with occasional candy and ice cream, as his sensitive system finds it hard to process real food.
“I can’t eat these Ukrainian spices,” Ray will often say, despite most of the meals Tim cooks only having salt and pepper.
The need to take about a dozen or so medications a day really takes a toll on a person’s stomach and taste buds, but even dying men have to eat.
Ray and I spent the day listening to the Grateful Dead and other related bands like Little Feat, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and getting dirty looks from Tim for listening to that, “Hippie shit.”
Ray said, “Oh, now he’s pissed off.”
The next morning when I came down for coffee Tim asked, “He ain’t dead yet? Bummer. I’ll get Jane to come over and fuck him up,” referencing getting Ray to take his medication.
There’s nothing quite like brotherly love!
Ray’s willingness to die has decreased as the expiration date closes in. Despite coming to Ukraine to escape being put in a nursing home in the United States, as well as to keep his ex-wife from collecting on a million-dollar-life-insurance-policy on him, he continues to talk about the possibility of returning home for medical care due his misplaced mistrust in Ukrainian medicine. He also refuses to allow a caregiver to come and help him cook meals and bathe.
“I just want to preserve what’s left of my dignity,” Ray explained.
“You don’t have any dignity!” Tim retorted.
“Whether you go back to the United States, or stay in Ukraine, eventually, you’re gonna need a caregiver,” I tried to tell him.
“I know you think I should just roll over and die, but it’s not that easy,” Ray told me.
Pride is such a stupid thing. No matter how big you are, no matter how great you are, someday you will begin to deteriorate. Someday you are going to need someone. Refusing to acknowledge that fact and making life harder on your loved ones isn’t a sign of pride or strength.
It’s a sign of weakness.
Comments