A Word about the Russians

This morning I walked, as usual, from my large and apparently crumbling monolith of a building, across the twin carriageway with the tram lines in the middle, and through a bustling area outside the Ozerki metro station. This space is usually full of shoppers, commuters and traders, and several permanent kiosks are grouped in no particular order on the tarmac. They sell flowers, newspapers, magazines, fast food, frozen food, fruit, shoes, beer, phone cards, and numerous other goods. This morning was no exception, but added to the general mele (with accute accent...) were a couple of musicians, who, on closer inspection through my now rather out of date spectacles, bore more than a close similarity to each other. Indeed I am almost convinced they are twins. They were playing the saxaphone and accustic guitar between them, and in the fractionally higher- than- zero temperature were playing very well. One of the twins was, as far as I could discern, completely blind, but he strummed away unhindered on the guitar and really produced a very pleasing noise.
This phenomenon is not unusual here. Physical disabilities are possibly the result of lax safety regulation (I teach a managing director who wanted to translate 'the faster you work the more you get payed'), difficult working environments (made worse by the weather) and a general Russian disregard for consequences. Equally possible is that they are the result of unscrupulous consumption of lethal 'Neva' water which contains lead and mercury, and possibly more that they didn't mention. Given the amount of nuclear waste entering Russia it is not beyond the realms of possibility that they tip it into the river. Thus far I have seen no illuminous fish with multiple limbs gasping for air in the murky water, but I will keep my eyes open.
All kinds of social problems exist here. There is some State care system, but it seems to have some problems. Begging is rife, with beggars even giving a cut of their takings to the rather corrupt police- as I have heard. Old women kneel on the ground at pedestrian crossings and cross themselves eternally, apparently in the hope that God will come to their aid through somebody's pocket. It is rather pitiful. Several times I have seen a woman and her young son sitting on the pavement very near my house. They wrap themselves up in shawls and cardigans and plead to passers-by for change. They were some of the notorious gypsies who prey on peoples' guilt, and sometimes 'appeal' by force, attacking vulnerable targets. The two I saw were peaceful enough; only the young boy, of about 6 years, would run along beside pedestrians and cry out for some change. I made a donation on one occasion, but refuse to be a permenant source of income. They did not stay for too long, and when it became colder they moved away to under a new tree in the urban jungle of the city. Their shadows are everywhere, pleading for some change. Some things will never change.
Some people are not so lucky. One day my next door neighbour's landlady peered out of the window to survey the scene in the grassy park area below our flats, and saw a body lying on the ground outside a small kiosk selling some fruit and tea and coffee. Apparently, the man had been buying something when he took a turn for the worse. I don't know the full details, but he collapsed, and despite the emergency services being called he died within a few minutes. When the ambulance finally arrives, they made a cursory examination of the body, then lay a white cloth over it before driving away, leaving the body sprawled out on the ground in front of the little kiosk. One could imagine better advertisements for one's products than a corpse outside your shop, but this vendor was stuck with the problem until the coroner appeared much later in the evening to remove the body. I should emphasize that it is not normal, even here, to see corpses lying on the ground in parks, but it does occasionally happen. Russia is a harsh country.
Several days later I nearly tripped over another body in a stair-well, under slightly different circumstances, but I will save that story for a few minutes.
Another interesting character is a guy who stands , as do many others, outside a metro (underground) station in another part of town. He is always dressed in the same clothes, with a light blue and white synthetic rain coat, and carrying a white stick. He loiters at the bottom of the steps up (ironically for an underground) to the station, and proffers a battered cap or just a pale weathered hand, and often seems to have a newspaper in the other. He is an unfortunate looking character, and the oddest thing about him is his expression. If you put out of your mind the lack of attention to his hair and general attire, and look at his face, he has the most disconcerting grin. His lips just twist slightly and it gives him a sly and disingenuous appearance. It is, I think, the result of either accute embarrassment, or shame. Either is equally likely.
I have already mentioned the bolder types who ride the metro vociferously appealing for donations. They are not as common as 'sales-people' on the metro, but are less easy to ignore. No doublt this is what they hope, but I haven't seen any outright beggars on the metro for a while. What I have seen is a number of people busking on the metro, ranging from a late middle-aged woman who sang (almost inaudibly once the train got up to speed and the clatter and rumble of the ageing carriages drowned out her quite but deermined voice) between two stations. This was, given her appearance and lack of collection, more out of mental instability than a desire to make money, but was nevertheless quite interesting. Other performers include a young boy, of southern Russian origin and about seven years, who played distractedly on a child's squeezebox while staring blankly around the carriage. I got the impression people had seen it all before. Another time there was a guy playing the penny whistle, and carrying a guitar on his back. He introduced himself as the amazing musician and proceeded to play a rather unusual rendition of Greensleeves. It was uninspiring. Couldn't fault his confidence though!
He stamped his way off down the carriage to repeat the jolly performance again for the incredulous pasengers at the far end. He got off at the next station not very much richer.
And so the desperate and illustrious people go about their daily work. They thrive, apparently, on the challenge of doing something new and succeeding, but never doing anything particularly well. With some exceptions most are pitiful and destitute, and have little to offer. They all have something in common- determination and resolve, and what that means in the face of such adversity is very important. In this respect they are simply human, and then Russian.