By the end of a recent encounter with Russian children, the newly arrived clown had a hoarse voice, teeth marks on his right hand and a bloody finger from tying one too many balloons. He wasn't complaining.


"It's a sign of affection. Kids hit most clowns. They kick you. They bite you," said Johnie Kavanagh, 36, a professional clown from Dublin who is spending a month in Russia giving free performances. "Still, Russian kids are better behaved. And that makes it a little easier because they don't take your props."


For a month-long visit, Kavanagh came to Russia with his fiancee and manager, Caroline Moore, to find and entertain delinquent, orphaned and handicapped children. Staying with members of Moscow's tight-knit Irish community, living off money raised by holding pop quizzes and comedy nights in Ireland, the pair hope to cram in as many performances as possible in Moscow and St. Petersburg.


"It seems like there are poor orphanages and rich orphanages here. We want to go to the poor orphanages," said Kavanagh, after an hour-long show Wednesday at a north Moscow home for retarded, learning-disabled and handicapped children.


After making free clown tours last year of Romanian orphanages and Croatian refugee camps, Kavanagh and Moore settled on Russia because they had contacts and because Kavanagh was interested in the country's rich tradition of clowning.


"They have a lot of respect for clowns here. As soon as they hear you're a clown, their faces light up," he said. "Next week we may seek out a clown school, but we won't go to a circus. I don't like animal acts."


Kavanagh and Moore arrived in Moscow one week ago with only a few props and some phrases in Russian, but they quickly lined up gigs and enlisted the help of an unemployed Irish real estate agent as a translator and guide. At the Center for Rehabilitation of Children No. 2, where Kavanagh performed Wednesday, the children didn't seem to notice Kavanagh's 10-word vocabulary. Even before the show had started, one hyperactive demon named Dima was wildly clobbering Kavanagh about the face with a balloon.


"Most of our children are from poor families, and I doubt they have seen clowns before," said the center's director, Viktoria Gribovskaya.


Kavanagh and Moore have been traveling together since falling in love last year in Romania. When not on the road, Kavanagh makes a living as a professional clown and Moore runs drama workshops in Ireland's inner cities. They work together well as a team. Moore polices the children and administers face paint while Kavanagh entertains.


"He has the gift," said Moore, 26, from County Cork. "You can have 100 clowns and only one really can strike up a relationship. A lot of clowns really keep their distance." With a broad repertoire of flatulence noises, bird whistles and sight gags, Kavanagh's ceaseless energy during Wednesday's performance kept the children enthralled. The teachers and therapists lining the walls of the playroom seemed grateful and had nothing but praise.


"He doesn't know the language, but he can do everything with mimicry," said Albina Solod, a speech therapist. "He has a wonderful intellect."


Those reactions, Moore said, were what made the whole expedition to Russia worthwhile.


"You can give a toy and it'll get stolen, but a show you can't take away from a child," said Moore. "They'll always remember a show."


Kavanagh, too, said it is watching the faces of children that drives him to travel.


"I had a pretty lousy childhood myself. We were poor and there were 10 of us. The church used to pay for us to go on holiday," said Kavanagh, a convicted robber who was formerly addicted to heroin, also known as smack.


Describing the feeling of seeing children respond to a show, Kavanagh said, "It's better than smack. A natural high. A great feeling."