Unexpected

Part 46

"What happened at the end of the race?" asks Sangil. "I may be picking up more English being around your crew, but I'm lost."

"Seb crossed the finish line first, but he had an incident earlier in the race. The FIA ruled that he came back on track in an unsafe manner, and gave him a five second time penalty, which they added at the end of his race. And since Lewis was so close behind, this made Seb drop down to second place. He didn't agree with that, and switched the number one and two signs around. The top three cars park behind these number signs," I add when Sangil's brow continues to be furrowed.

"I see," he murmurs. "Would you ever do so?"

"No," I shake my head. "Even if I do understand how Seb feels. Sometimes it seems like the FIA makes different decisions for the same incidents. If a driver got away with something, and later you're penalized for the same actions, I'm sure it's infuriating." I smile and link his arm with mine. "Let's blow this joint," I joke. "It's time to eat."

We say give our goodbyes to my family members who made the journey to Montreal, and head out for dinner.

"This is poutine," I tell Sangil. "What I like to call the unofficial national food of Canada."

He examines it. "This is French fries covered in what, exactly?"

"Cheese curds and gravy. Did you have any last time you were here?"

"No, we didn't. But I'm looking forward to it. Have you tried it before?"

"Yes, this past week when Esteban and I filmed a segment for Nissan's YouTube channel."

"So you recommend it," he says before taking a fry and biting into it.

"You may not think it's good based on the ingredients, but it somehow works."

"It does," he agrees, swallowing. "I like it."

When we finish the fries we head to a spa. I hadn't known that I would crash when I made the reservations, but now I'm glad that I did (made the reservation, not crashed). I've been massaged by my trainer three times since the accident, but I'm looking forward to more.

I'm lying face down on a table, waiting for the masseuse to arrive, when Sangil arrives first.

I hear his footsteps abruptly stop. "Um, is that how you're going to be when we ... get our massage?"

"I assume you're talking about me being topless under this towel? Yes."

"Ah. Should I do the same?"

"Whatever you're comfortable with." I turn my head and watch as he takes his shirt off. "Nice view."

He blushes, but is saved by the arrival of our masseurs. And a couple of film crew members, who discreetly set up in the corner. I quietly tell my attendant to be careful with the towel and to be gentle with my massage, seeing as how I was in an accident two days ago. Then I close my eyes and enjoy myself. Maybe WGM would have preferred more conversation, but I'm too busy luxuriating in yet another rubdown. My sore muscles need it.

Maybe Sangil remembers that we're filming because he asks me to hold out my hand, then links our pinkies.

After the massage we go in the sauna until we're sweaty, then a dip in the cool river. And then we relax in these comfy swinging chairs until I tell Sangil I'm ready for another round.

"I thought we were saving this for Russia," he mumbles as he drowsily opens his eyes.

"I would have if I didn't crash. I feel like another round will do me good. If you aren't up for it, I'll understand."

"Of course I'll accompany you," he says. "Otherwise it'll be twenty or thirty minutes before I see you again."

Before we leave we dip our feet in a pool with little fish that nibble on us. I watch as they flit around, almost disturbed as to how long they're attached to my feet. "Do you think this is normal?" I ask Sangil.

"What is?"

"How much they're eating. I didn't think my feet were so bad."

"It's not like my feet are any better. I think this is perfectly normal." He wiggles his toes, scattering the fish before they come back for more. "Do you feel better, after the massage and the sauna?"

"Yes, although it wasn't bad to begin with."

He stares at me. "It looked very bad. You were going over one hundred fifty kilometers an hour."

"Only at the beginning. I slowed down before I hit the barrier."

"By how much?"

I'm quiet. "Not much," I finally say. "I didn't have time to hit the brakes for long."

"I knew that you were going to crash one of these days. I just had no idea how I'd react to it. When I had watched your earlier accidents in F2, it somehow didn't seem serious. Maybe because I knew it was months ago, and you were fine."

"I can't remember the last time someone crashed and it wasn't fine." I take his hand and give him a squeeze. "I'm here, and I'm okay. Let's not dwell on that."

"Should we head back to the hotel or do you have more activities planned tonight?"

"Not tonight."

But at the hotel I realize that it's a little too early to go to bed, so I decide to catch up on some Russian language lessons. Sangil stays with me in my room and works on his written Japanese.

"How well do you know Russian?" he asks me several minutes later, leaning over my shoulder.

"I'm excellent at reading it. Pretty good at writing, and okay at speaking."

"Oh? I thought you were better than that."

"Russian grammar is a pain in the butt. It's not similar to Japanese or English. So many rules, and plenty of exceptions to those rules."

"You have nice handwriting. Does it use the circular period like Japanese?" He gestures to my notepad.

"Oh, that? No. I get my languages mixed up I sometimes. Do you?"

"Get mixed up? No, not usually. But then again, I really only know two. I wouldn't say I know English."

"Your Japanese has improved tremendously."

"Yeah, thanks to you. How did you learn Russian?"

"First, my dad talks to us kids in Russian often. And he hired a tutor for us who taught us more. We would spend weeks in the summer with our Russian relatives. Grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles. And then there's books, movies, songs. I try to read - or listen to - one Russian novel a month. And watch a couple movies."

"What have you read?"

"War and Peace."

"No way. That's so long!"

I laugh. "I know. That didn't take a month. More like three."

"Moving on to songs. What are some of your favorites?"

"I find myself liking the older folk songs. Or classics. Like this one song translated as 'Horse'. And 'Cuckoo'." I laugh. "That sounds bad. It's named after the bird, and it is the nickname for a gun. It's a war song. Russians have a lot of songs about war. And nature."

"I like the national anthem," he says, humming the opening line.

"Me, too."

"Why don't you sing for me?"

"What, the national anthem?"

"Anything," he shrugs. "I really like your voice."

"Okay, but only if you sing for me."

"Deal."

🎶 Вышел ночью в поле с конём 🎶

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The Horse song.