We had passed through Kazan and Nizhny Novgorod. It took us two days to reach Vladimir. We just wanted to get home by then and decided not to go into the town. What a terrible bypass though! At first we thought it was just little used: the road was so empty and overgrown. Then we came to the roadworks. A plume of dust rose in the air. Trucks carrying gravel were driving on the verge, asphalt was being drilled up, there were traffic jams of trucks and cars in both directions. Everyone was in a foul mood. Who was going to give a lift to hitch-hikers? We walked through it all, choking in the dust, then stood thumbing for an hour before a kind white Lada-6 with a local driver took us away from that hell.
Three hundred kilometres to Moscow. In the past, especially in the Urals where even the road maps use a smaller scale, that sort of distance would have struck me as trivial, but now I had no confidence we would get home by nightfall. With these thoughts in my head I felt suicidal, really wretched.
“The road will end for us soon,” Grand remarked cheerfully. “I know.” “You’re very gloomy these days. Smile! We’ve already turned down the gifts of the road, at least we shouldn’t scare it by looking like that.” I do try to smile but feel I may start bawling at any moment.
“Let’s play towns,” he suggests. “I say ‘Voronezh’, and you have to say ‘Zhitomir’. You know it? Right! Let’s go!” “I don’t want to,” I say in a flat voice and shut my eyes. “I do not want to,” I repeat, pronouncing each word distinctly, focusing on them one by one and, as a result, depriving them of all meaning. “I don’t want to,” I say, coming back to reality. “I’m sick of everything, the road, people… What are we going to do, Grand? We’re moving slower and slower and every kilometre just makes me feel so cheesed off. There’s nowhere left for us to go and we’re never going to be happy like this again.”
“Nowhere to go? Why are you talking like that?” I can see him looking at me very seriously, as if diagnosing the symptoms of a disease. “I’m tired,” I say quietly, “tired.” “Turn round.” He takes me by the shoulders and turns me to face away from the road.
In front of me I see green grass, quite, quite green, shining in gentle sunlight. A meadow. The ground slopes away from the roadway and further down there just has to be a river. Willows with rounded crowns extend in a row, bowing to the earth. I look harder and, through the green branches, seem to see the sparkle of water playing in the sun. I realise I’m already walking down through the grass and, understanding, suddenly lie down, embrace the Earth, feel her touch on my skin and almost cry, so complete is the happiness sweeping over me.
At this moment I see at a glance all my road, from above and afar, in the past and now, and everything I see is a miracle. Every driver who opened a car door for us showed great kindness; every person we met showed great tolerance and joy. A feeling of gratitude pours forth like the peaceful river, warm and dappled in the sun. I remember every driver, even if not their faces because usually they were sitting with their backs to me, but they pass before me and to every one I want to say again, “Thank you”.
We and they are one, and all of us together constitute the road. Do you love what is around you?
All of this is borne in on me instantly, and I turn over on my back, look at the sky and smile at the clouds.
“Samara,” I hear Grand’s voice. I picture him sitting two steps away from me and smiling. “The Volga,” I answer.
“Ufa.” “The Belaya.”
“Ekaterinburg.” “The Iset.”
“Omsk.” “The Irtysh.”
“Novosibirsk.” “The Ob.”
“Krasnoyarsk…” “Hey, that’s not fair! We didn’t go to Krasnoyarsk!” I laugh, get up and sit facing him. “Grand, this is so wonderful. What an immense, immense country we have!” I want to tell him everything I’ve just realised, but instead jump up and yell in jubilation, “Come on, come on, we’ll miss our lift!”
I almost run to the road. I stand there, thumbing. A few cars go whistling by, but I no longer take it personally. A MAZ appears. Before I have time to reflect that they don’t usually take two because there aren’t enough seats, he has slammed on his brakes and come to a halt on the verge about ten metres away. I run up to him as fast as my legs will carry me, throw back my head and yell into the cab, “Moscow!”
“You need a lift straight to Moscow?” “Yes!” “I’m only going to Podolsk. Can you go on from there?” “Sure!” I nod, open the door and throw in my rucksack. “Just a moment, there’s my friend too,” I say, already clambering in.
“Aren’t you on your own then?” The driver is chubby and for an instant reminds me of my brother. “No, there’s two of us,” I say and stick my head out the window, looking back at the meadow, the road and peering back further, down to the willows. Grand is nowhere to be seen. “Just a moment, he’s here somewhere, must have gone off for a moment, of course.”
“I haven’t got time to wait for you, I’m already behind schedule. If you want to wait for him, climb out now.” “No, no, just a moment…” “Well then, are you coming?” “Just a moment…” The road is empty. There is no movement in the grass.
The truck lurches, snorts, moves off, and the whole scene jumps and begins receding. I watch spellbound. Will at least a twig move? What if he really has just gone off for a moment. But no. Zilch. It’s as if he’d never been. “Your friend’ll catch up with you. You wouldn’t both have fitted in here anyway.”
Shaking like the picture on a broken TV, my very own piece of road disappears behind a bend. I can no longer see it even in the rear-view mirror. “Let’s get introduced then. My name is Igor,” the driver says after a pause.
We’re completely worn out. Evening is drawing in and I can see I need urgently to save the situation for both of us. Otherwise we’ll have to go back to the town and stay overnight at the station. I’m not going to risk hitching at night with Sergey.
“Go and sit over there, Seryozha,” I say. “Where?” he asks in puzzlement. “Move away and sit down.” “Hide?” “No, you need to be visible. Stop thinking about the road, relax, do something. I don’t suppose you brought your violin with you by any chance?” “I’ve got a flute. I haven’t had it long. I’m still only learning.” “Excellent! Sit over there and play.”
Sergey goes off, sits down in the dusty grass and pulls out a wooden flute. He starts blowing, tuning it, runs up and down a scale. I feel the heavy rucksack being taken from my shoulders and can now devote myself wholly to the road.
“I’ve only practised one song so far. Shall I play it?” he shouts. “Play anything at all. Just don’t look my way, please!” “Okay. It’s about a woodchuck.” Cars go rushing by as I hear the familiar tune.
“Smile, look them in the eye and say to yourself, ‘Stop!’” I murmur, only moving my lips. “It’s easy. I’m just about to succeed. Come on, sweethearts, do me a favour, I really don’t fancy spending the night out here.”
“Through many lands I’ve wandered and my woodchuck came with me…” The tune forms itself into words in my head and I smile. I smile and turn to look at Sergey. He is playing, concentrating, his eyes half closed and looks a completely different person: happy, inspired… “And gay I was and happy, and my woodchuck came with me…”
I turn back to the road and I feel it: right now I love everything around me.
Its tyres screaming, a strange vehicle that looks like a Gazelle, only bigger and squarer, brakes sharply. I run over as fast as I can, look inside and say, smiling, “Give us a lift, please?”