At 7.30 a.m. they began making their final preparations, rummaging around in their rucksacks and tightening the straps on their sleeping bags. Then just one tradition remained. Nikita went up to Squire.
“Have you got a bit of paper? We’ll leave you our addresses in St Petersburg.”
“Just write them on the wallpaper over there in the corner — see?”
Nikita went over to the corner and saw pictures of naked girls mixed up with scrawled addresses, names of cities and so on. He carefully wrote out his address. He always carried a pen with him.
“Vadim, shall I write down your address?”
Vadim nodded and Nikita wrote it on the wall. Then he looked at Nastya and raised his eyebrows questioningly, but Nastya shook her head. He shrugged. Fair enough.
Meanwhile the city was bathed in bright yellow sunlight, and a new day had begun. The buses were full of people. Drivers squinted, giving themselves extra wrinkles, as the low sun shone right into their eyes. They searched for their sunglasses and put them on. A man drove briskly past on a tractor. An old man set out for a walk, carrying a stool. Scenes from an ordinary morning in a big city.
A stout gentleman comes out of a building. Before getting into his posh car, he looks around furtively and leaves a bag full of rubbish by the front door. At that moment a window bangs open and an old woman sticks her head out. This is precisely what she’d been waiting for! She’s not going to stand for it.
“Young man! Who’s going to tidy that up?”
“You are,” he replies, as he walks towards his car.
“The bins are over there!”
“Thanks for letting me know,” he retorts, and then he gets into his car and drives off.
These days, squabbles on public transport are a thing of the past. Oh, how sparks used to fly! There was always such a crush, people pushing and shoving… that was communism for you! They have been replaced by a new phenomenon — GAZelles.
GAZelles essentially operate as shared minibus taxis, following set routes, but they’re so much more than that! They’re a kind of subculture, and they follow their own rules — crossing abruptly from the third lane straight into the first, sudden starts, ‘emergency’ stops and so on. Their drivers’ psychology is different too — they need the money! You must have witnessed it. For example, when a GAZelle minibus approaches a bus stop it watches for the slightest movement to indicate that anyone wants to get on. So the potential passengers sit there waiting, trembling nervously and watching one another’s reactions. All it takes is the twitch of an eye and the GAZelle screeches to a halt. Another example… A lilac GAZelle approaches a stop, and a boy who wants a good seat runs alongside it, grabs the door handle and leads the minibus to a complete stop, like the boy holding the reins in Petrov-Vodkin’s Bathing of a Red Horse.
No, you can say what you like, but in the city GAZelles are a way of life.
Another peculiarity of GAZelles is that they all have three or four rear-facing seats at the front, just behind the driver’s seat. If you end up sitting in one of these seats you have to put up with everyone else staring at you, and there’s nothing you can do about it! You look pointedly out of the window, deliberately ignoring the boy over there who’s devouring you with his eyes. That’s if you’re a girl, of course…
That’s where Nastya was sitting, right in the firing line. The minibus was virtually empty, so it wasn’t too bad, but the other passengers were staring straight at her. They were probably trying to work her out… What does she look like? Why isn’t she wearing any make-up? She’s dressed like a tramp… And why’s she got that huge rucksack with her?
Nastya couldn’t have cared less! Let them look. She was used to it. People were always staring at her as if they were in a zoo. She concentrated on looking out of the window, though the minibus was going so fast she could barely make out the view. It was heading to the Zaton district. Squire had written directions on a piece of paper for the police checkpoint in Zaton, which was the starting point for the M7, the Volga highway.
Nastya had already checked their progress with the driver a couple of times. Unusually for a hitchhiker, Nastya had absolutely no sense of direction. She found it impossible to get her bearings in the city. But they weren’t in the city any more! They were driving past trees and forests.
The GAZelle took a turning and pulled up at the side of the road, raising a cloud of dust.
“The checkpoint’s that way,” said the driver, indicating with his hand. “Keep walking for about three hundred metres and you can’t miss it.”
“Thanks!” Nastya held out her fare. The coins had warmed up in her hand.
“Don’t worry about it,” winked the driver. “Hitchhikers travel for free!”
Nastya thanked him sincerely. She jumped down from the step and set off, without a backwards glance at the other passengers, who were all watching her through the windows… Their curiosity had tripled.
It was nothing, really. Literally six roubles. But still, it was a nice feeling.
She walked along the roadside verge feeling cheerful, energetic and almost happy.
Meanwhile the boys were heading out onto the Ural highway, and their mood was very different. Squire had helpfully written down all the minibus taxi routes for them too, and as they travelled across the city Nikita tried to lift his friend’s spirits. Gazing out of the window at the city outskirts, he sighed and said, “We didn’t get to see much of Ufa, did we?”
Vadim nodded limply, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
So it was in silence, wearily and reluctantly, that they came out onto the highway, to the same spot where they’d been dropped off the previous day. They ambled across the wide intersection, two tiny figures laden with rucksacks.
The highway was virtually deserted. Just as they reached the verge, a lorry rumbled past at high speed, its canvas covering flapping enthusiastically on both sides.
“It’s from Chelyabinsk, that one.” Nikita nodded at the disappearing truck and added good-naturedly, “Bastard… He could have stopped!”
“Seventy-four… is that Chelyabinsk?” asked Vadim, perking up a little. “I ought to remember that… What’s Sverdlovsk?”
“Sixty-six.”
They walked a little further until they reached a reasonably straight stretch of road, then they stopped. It was time to split up.
This is probably the hardest thing about travelling as a group, when one says, “OK, I’ll stay here,” and the others say, “See you later.” Gradually the group gets smaller and smaller, until each of them is standing alone by the side of the road. I seem to remember a fairy tale like that, where all the characters say goodbye and disappear, one by one. Can’t remember what it’s called, though.
One of them had to go first. Nikita wanted to make sure it was fair.
“Go on, you go. It’s your turn.”
“I couldn’t possibly! Not with your track record… If I get a head start as well, you’ll never catch up with me! It’s best if you go first. Go on!”
“Let’s hope we both make it to E-burg tonight!”
They shook hands and Vadim walked away — to be honest, with a sigh of relief. Nikita was a great guy and didn’t ask too many questions, but right now he needed to be alone.
Vadim stopped about two hundred metres further along the road and looked back. He could still see Nikita, and the city in the distance. He could see them clearly because he was standing with his back to the sunrise — they were travelling east. There weren’t many cars.
Half an hour later Nikita finally got a lift — a young couple in a Moskvich, as far as he could tell. Nikita managed to wave apologetically through the window as they drove past. And then Vadim was alone.