A ride with a Russian

A Ride With A Russian

By: Elder Lee P. Cannon
October 11, 2007


We found ourselves in the courtyard of the Calvinist meeting house waiting for a man named Sándor. Set on the main street, this edifice is a focal point of the enchanting Budakeszi. A screeching set of tires accompanied by a generous amount of horn honking announced the arrival of our long awaited associate. With a grin he beckoned us to sit in the front seat of his van with him. As I closed the door the incredible sensation of fear struck my heart, I would never be the same after this ride with a Russian.

The undeniable aroma of Russian vodka spoiled the air all ready polluted by the haze of cigarettes. Russian pop music exploded from the speakers in an attempt to overpower the thunderous thumbing of my heart. We set out in this brazen state towards his home. The city limits of Budakeszi approached and then passed leaving us on a windy forested road. As I looked over at our chauffeur's un-zipped vinyl black vest that exposed his hairy naval a headline flashed through my weary mind: „2 Mormon boys found dead with Russian vodka”.

The fast paced rhythm of the Russian pop music became the companion to my racing heart beat. Our winding pathway soon found an inlet to the main freeway and all thoughts of vodka murder left my mind. A new curtain of terror closed upon my window of life as we began gathering speed. Cars began to slide from in front, to beside, to behind us in an alarming rate. At 150 kilometers per hour the music was enhanced in quantity by Sándor's slightly slurred voice singing in complete ignorance of the melody. At 160 kilometers per hour my companion's hand found mine. The condensation produced through perspiration and anxiety pooled in our white knuckled palms. At 170 kilometers per hour the passing cars only seemed to be blurred in the ever increasing prospect of death. My mind swam through the swift currents of thought while my companion fervently prayed for protection in our hour of need. The taunting question, „Do you like the music boys?” escaped the Russian's nicotine infested lips over and over and over.

A swift turn of the wheel and a sudden squeal of rubber found us once again on a forest path. Re-occurring terrors of Russian vodka newspaper clippings flashed past our vulnerable minds. We were relieved of our all-consuming pressure when we came to an abrupt halt next to a beautiful park. Russian pop music blasting, the windows rolled down and with a delighted smile Sándor watched two young people enjoying the savory taste of each other's lips. In this moment of love all thoughts of horror escaped us as our captor reveled in his vacation from the rational mind. Smiles replaced the wrinkles of fear on our faces as the prospect of death passed.


And so it happened, we survived the Russian vodka, the Russian pop-music and the wreck less Russian driving. Upon arriving at his home, Sándor introduced us to his Russian wife and we had the privilege of introducing the Gospel of Jesus Christ to them. We will never be the same after this ride with a Russian and neither will he!