The Russian greeted me with a smile which grew ever broader as I came into the room. It took me a minute to switch my head into the right language - he thought I didn't understand, and at first I didn't. Two years ago I was last here, and the matnas has been renovated."Construction" translates a woman, probably his wife. I grabbed kit and a weapon. "Don't you need to warm up?" asks the English-speaking girl. "No, I already swam and cycled." I'm already late, and I rarely bother, although my muscles might thank me better if I did. And so we fight, and Yakov watches, as is his way, without saying anything. He is like the godfather, silently watching his small part of the world dance to his whim. When we are done, he asks a question, I guess the word means "to win", so I say yes, and as the caretaker turns out the lights, the four of us chat collectively, in a mixture of languages, each translating odd words for the other. "Tomorrow" insists Yakov, and we go our separate ways.