SOVIET UNION: Having What to Learn

Last year more than 7,000 Soviet citizens visited the U.S.—many of them armed with the official Russian-English Phrasebook, now in its third printing by Moscow’s Foreign Literature Publishing House. Far from bridging the communications gap between East and West, this vade mecum is sure to cause confusion if not some international incidents.

The core of the communication problem is contained in three preliminary sentences that the phrasebook recommends to Russian tourists: “I don’t know English. I know no other language except my native tongue. The study of foreign languages is greatly developed in our country.” On his arrival, the Soviet visitor may be asked how he enjoyed his Aeroflot flight to the U.S. If so, he can be expected to reply: “Flying in the TU-114, I felt myself excellently.” After his long journey, he clearly requires strong drink and a hearty meal. A profound cultural misunderstanding may be provoked, though, if a thirsty Russian asks, “In which saloon is the Folk Arts Exhibition?” Later, in a restaurant, he may turn to the waiter and say: “Please give me curds, sower cream, fried chicks, pulled bread and one jelly fish.”

Must I Undress? Inevitably, the tourist falls sick. At the doctor’s, he is likely to complain of “a poisoning, a noseache, an eye-pain or quinsy,” followed by a plaintive “Must I undress?” The best remedy may be fresh air. How about a tour of an American farm? The Russian is naturally interested in the workings of the capitalist agricultural system. “Is this a private windmill?” he asks. “What are the peasants in the county chiefly preoccupied with?”

Since consumer goods are scarce at home, Russian tourists are always bent on shopping. However eager to please, Saks Fifth Avenue is bound to be stumped by requests for “a ladies’ worsted-nylon swimming pants.” Salesmen at sporting goods stores will be equally bemused by: “Do you suggest a gun with a rubber or spring sear?” And how are the stylists at a beauty salon to comply with such requests as “make me a hair-dress,” “sprinkle my head,” or, God forbid, “I want my hair frizzled”?

Fortunately the language of international trade is universal—or is it? Take these-consecutive sentences, suggested by the phrasebook. “Whose invention is this? When was this invention patented? This is a Soviet invention.” A more forthright approach is manifested by: “Show us your devices for outer space research work. How powerful is this reactor? Show me a working diagram of the reactor.”

Indeed, as the phrasebook says, “our peoples have what to learn from each other.”