from Lenchov on Menchov

by M. T. Fallon


I first became acquainted with Ivan Menchov while lecturing at the National Linguistics Institute. It was my honor to assist Menchov on the project that would eventually produce our groundbreaking repertory linguistic method. — Igor Lenchov

Menchov Gets Sick

Good day, I said to Menchov, how are you, I said, entering the applied linguistics laboratory. I am sick, Menchov said, shaking his head, I am sick as a god, he said. You mean dog, I said, the expression is sick as a dog, I said. No, Menchov said, I am not sick as a dog, he said, I am sick as a god, said Menchov. I want to kill innocent women and children, he said. I want to wipe out entire nations, said Menchov. I am sick as a god, he said, nodding his head. I see, I said, you are sick like the god in the bible, I said. Yes, Menchov said, smiling at me, I am sick like that, said Menchov, nodding his head. You want to annihilate nations, I said, looking at Menchov. I do, Menchov said, I want to annihilate them, said Menchov, smiling again. How are you going to do it, I said, how are you going to annihilate the nations, I said. Iím not, Menchov said, shrugging his shoulders. I donít have the power, he said. I am sick as a god but I am not as strong, he said. There is nothing I can do, said Menchov, shaking his head.

Menchov on a Rainy Night

I feel cooped up, Menchov said, looking out the laboratory window. All this rain, Menchov said, all this rain is making me crazy, he said, watching the rain fall. Menchov, I said, there will come an end to the rain, I said, in just a few hours the rain will stop, I said. I cannot wait any longer, Menchov said, scratching his head, I cannot wait for the rain to stop, he said, pulling his hair. I cannot wait for the rain to end, Menchov said, pulling the hair off his head. All this rain, Menchov said, pacing the applied linguistics laboratory, this endless rain makes me insane, he said, scratching his eye. I feel caged, I feel confined, said Menchov, gripping his eyelid. I feel like I am confined in a cage, Menchov said, ripping the lid off his eye. Menchov, I said, you need to calm down, I said, the rain will abate, I said. I feel trapped, Menchov said, I feel oppressed, he said, scratching his lip. This endless rain makes me crazy, said Menchov, gripping his lip. There is no end to the rain, Menchov said, ripping his lip off his face. Look, I said to Menchov, the raindrops have stopped, I said, the rain comes to an end, I said, pointing out the window. The rain will never end, Menchov said, scratching his ear, the rain goes on forever, he said, pulling his ear off his head. Menchov, I said, the sun is coming out, I said, the last of the rain is falling, I said. I am sick of the rain, Menchov said, scratching his skull, I am sick of linguistics, he said, pacing the laboratory. I am sick and tired of applied linguistics, Menchov said, gripping his skull. Menchov, I said, donít do it, I said, watching Menchov grip his skull.

Smiling for Menchov

Show some teeth, Menchov said to me. Pull back your lips and show some teeth, he said, pointing at my face. Use your fingers to pull back your lips, Menchov said, pointing at my lips. Thatís it, Menchov said, nodding his head. Now you are smiling, Menchov said, now you are happy, said Menchov, nodding at me. Menchov, I said, I am not happy, I said, I am baring my teeth, I said. You are smiling, said Menchov, pointing at my face, you are happy, he said, smiling at me. I am not smiling, I said to Menchov, I am agitated, I said, baring my teeth. I am uncomfortably agitated, I said. Ha, Menchov said, you look like a monkey, said Menchov. You look like a zoo monkey, he said, nodding his head. Are you laughing at me, I said, curling my lips, you think I am funny, I said, baring my teeth. Ha, Menchov said, ha ha, said Menchov, pointing at my teeth. Itís not funny, I said, shaking my head. You look like a zoo monkey, Menchov said, clapping his hands. Stop laughing, I said, reaching into my pants. Ooh, Menchov said, ooh ooh, he said tickling his underarm. Stop it, I said, pooping in my hand. Ha, Menchov said, ha ha, said Menchov. Itís not funny, I said, flinging poop at Menchov.

Menchov Meets His Admirers

Here come your admirers, I said to Menchov, pointing at the linguistics enthusiasts. These linguistics enthusiasts admire you, I said to Menchov, standing by the cake table. Whatís that you say, Menchov said, pointing at his ear. I have wax in my ear, Menchov said, pointing at his ear. Here come your admirers, I said, shouting into Menchovís ear. Ah, Menchov said, looking at the admirers, here come my admirers, he said, taking a bite of cake. Ladies and gentlemen, I said to the linguistics enthusiasts, may I present Ivan Menchov, I said, pointing at Menchov. We would like to say, the linguistics enthusiasts said to Menchov, we would like to say that you are like a god to us, the admirers said, nodding their heads. Really, Menchov said, spitting out his cake. What kind of dog am I like, said Menchov, picking up the cake knife. Thatís not what we said, said the linguistics enthusiasts, backing away from Menchov. I want to know what sort of dog am I like, Menchov said, wielding the cake knife. Am I like an attack dog, said Menchov, attacking his admirers. Stop, I said, grabbing Menchovís arms. Stop attacking, I said, reaching for the cake knife. They said god not dog, I said, shouting into Menchovís ear. They said you are like a god, I said.



M. T. Fallon's writing recently appears or is coming in Abjective, New York Tyrant, Sleeping Fish, Unsaid, and Wigleaf. He lives and works in Colorado and has a blog at mtfallon.blogspot.com.