Comrat, Gaugauzia, Part 1

“You’ve given him reason to keep living!”

I wriggled my eyebrows in mock-pleasure as the Gagauzian man across from me grinned widely and teased. He was referring to his father, a slurring 73-year-old with a fondness for wine and a delicate red stain on the collar of his light-pink-pastel shirt. I had just sat down after a short dance to Gagauzian national music where we stepped (close but not too close) in a near-waltz and whirled a few times out-of-sync with the beat (I wanted to see if I could give my unintelligible partner a bit of a shock, but he was delighted with my spin and emphasized it with his favorite exclamation, “y-AH!” I imagine this is the sound a farmer would make when an ox refused to take yoke, a curt half-yip with a hint of glee). Apparently, now that my new gentleman friend knows I’ll be back in town, he’ll have a little more spring to his step. Continue reading “Comrat, Gaugauzia, Part 1”