As he was heading back to the house after placing the garbage cans, he heard a scurrying sound from across the driveway and saw what he thought was a big rat. Instead, it was a tiny dog barking like a maniac. It had a red plaid covering over its back and a studded collar. Each time it barked, it seemed to lift off the concrete a fraction of an inch. The dog reminded him of a windup toy with an industrial strength spring.
“Whoa, dog. Calm down. I live here now.”
“Shatzee, be quiet. What is wrong with you, silly dog?”
A girl about ten years old came over and picked up the dog. “I’m so sorry. He’s a very sweet dog once he gets to know you.”
The girl spoke with a hint of a wonderful accent which Mike couldn’t quite place. It almost sounded German but not exactly. He’d spent two years in West Germany with the mechanized infantry and learned a little German. ‘Shatzee’ literally meant treasure but is often used as an endearment.
“That’s OK,” said Mike. “I just moved in so I was a surprise to him.”
“Oh,” said the girl, “you are our new neighbor?”
“Yes, I am.”
The girl turned and said “Mama,” and something else in another language Mike thought was Russian. There were well over a hundred thousand Russian speaking people in the Sacramento area and the language could be heard everywhere.
The girl turned back to him and said, “I called my mother. She will want to meet you.”
Mike smiled and said, “I would be happy to meet her.”
The girl smiled in return as an exceedingly beautiful woman in her middle thirties walked out of the mist. The woman looked part Japanese.
“Mama,” said the girl, “this is our new neighbor.”
The woman’s face melted into a strikingly beautiful smile and stepped forward. She extended her hand and Mike shook it. “I am Ludmilla Hermann,” she said. “We live next door.”
“I’m Mike Valentine. I just bought this house. I’m very happy to meet you.”
“And I am happy to meet you, Mr. Valentine.”
“Please, call me Mike.”
She nodded. “And please call me Ludmilla.”
A tall, handsome athletic looking blonde man of about forty came up behind her. He spoke with an undeniable German accent. “And who is this gentleman?”
“Ah,” said Ludmilla, “this is Mike Valentine, our new neighbor. Mike, this is my husband, Rolf Hermann.”
The man stepped forward and they shook hands. “Please call me Rolf. And this is our daughter, Greta. I heard our small pest introduce herself.”
“I just bought this house. I fell in love with it the first time I saw it.”
“Yes,” said Rolf, “it’s a beautiful house. The people who owned it before you were very nice and we were sorry to see them leave. But,” he held up his hands as if to say ‘oh, well,’ “I’m sure we’ll be great friends.”
Mike smiled. There was something about these people he liked. “I’m sure we will.”
Greta looked around. “Do you have a child I can play with?”
Mike’s eye twitched and his heart skipped a beat. “No,” he answered. “I’m alone.”
“Oh,” said Ludmilla. “You are not married?”
“I’m a widower. My wife died about two years ago.”
“Kak zhal,” she said. “Oh,” she caught herself. “I mean, how sad. I’m very sorry.”
“Thank you. I also had a daughter who would be six now. But, she died with her mother.”
“Oh, dear.” Tears came to Ludmilla’s eyes. “How terrible. How absolutely terrible.”
“Well,” said Rolf, “we have just made some coffee, and you must come to our home and sit and talk. We will get to know each other and become good neighbors. Ya?” He assumed control in typical German fashion. It wasn’t offensive. It was just the way Germans do things when they recognize something has to be accomplished. Mike always thought it was an admirable trait.
“That sounds good, Rolf. I’d like that very much.”
“Excellent,” said Ludmilla. “Come, come.”
Greta walked over and took Mike’s hand. “I’m sorry your little girl died, Mr. Valentine.”
Rolf was about to say something to his daughter but stopped as he saw tears spring to Mike’s eyes. Mike couldn’t help it. He kneeled down until he was even with Greta. “So am I, Greta. I know you two would have been very good friends.”
Rolf smiled at his daughter and took her other hand and they went into the house. Mike noticed immediately that the family was taking off their shoes by the door. Rolf explained. “My wife is Russian. It is a Russian tradition to remove your shoes when you come into the house.”
“OK,” said Mike, taking off his boots. “I believe in traditions.”
Greta grabbed his hand and led him into the living room. Mike had never seen a house so beautifully furnished. “I think this is the most beautiful house I have ever been in.”
Ludmilla was in the kitchen getting things ready. “Thank you, Mike. We love it very much.”
Rolf motioned for Mike to sit down at a huge oak table. “My wife is an excellent decorator. She enjoys it very much.”
“Maybe you can give me some ideas,” said Mike. “I have no idea how to decorate.”
Ludmilla laughed. “Very few men do. If I left the decorating to my husband we would be surrounded by charts and graphs and photographs of business meetings.”
Mike had to laugh. He looked at Rolf who smiled and winked at him. “And what’s wrong with that? It sounds wonderful to me.”
Greta brought over a silver tray with some silverware and cups and saucers decorated with intricate designs. She sat the tray down and laid out three place settings. Ludmilla was right behind and poured the coffee. Greta went back for some sugar and cream. Ludmilla made one final trip for some wonderful smelling dark bread.
“You men,” she said. “If you had your way, we would all be living like soldiers.”
Ludmilla poured the coffee, asking Mike what he liked in it. Then she offered him some of the dark bread. “This is good Russian bread made just this morning.”
“It smells wonderful,” said Mike. “I am impressed.” Mike wasn’t just saying it. He truly was.
Ludmilla smiled, sensing his sincerity. She was clearly pleased. “Sbaceba. That means thank you.”
Mike nodded. “Have you lived here long?”
“About four years,” said Rolf. “I was transferred here from Berlin. I am the west coast manager for a large, international manufacturing company headquartered in Berlin.”
“Where did you meet?”
“I attended graduate school at Moscow University where I received my doctorate in international business. Ludmilla was there studying art. We have been married for fifteen years now. We have one child, our little Greta,” he said, smiling at his daughter who was drinking orange juice.
Mike looked at him with open envy. “You’re a very lucky man.”
Rolf nodded. “I know I am.”
Ludmilla finally sat down. “Tell us about yourself, Mike?”
“Well, I was born and raised here in Sacramento. I began studying martial