Galina Toktalieva for die Wiener Nachrichten
Photo Galina Toktalieva
It seems not long time ago I stood before Moscow grocery store, chilled to the marrow and hungry, eager to get my portion of buckwheat, in line with hundreds of other hopping, popping and clinking with empty bottles Muscovites. It was after putsch time, when Boris Eltsin – then boisterous and robust-looking man who instigated spirit of rebel in red-carpeted corridors of ruling power, would appear in front of White House mounted on the tank, like Lenin in 1917. Eltsin conquered particular admiration and support from inhabitants of suburban Zelenograd, where I resided at that time. It was center of national electronic industry with military styled, barbwire fenced plants standing in ruin, with workers getting no salary for years in a row. We greeted all the revolutionary change could bring. It brought hope. But also disorder. Shop windows stared back at us with blind sockets of empty shelves. Pensioners could buy only a box of vodka for their lifelong savings. We kept in purse not money but ration cards. Life was wasted in queues.
The broken window was secured with piece of carton, and February wind
whistled in cracks of small hotel room. I pooled old newspapers and jacket at the top of my bed, but could not fall asleep. Tranquility and slumber eluded me. The sheets of manuscript at the table seemed snowy blue in lucid moonlight. Rolling over, I eventually sprang to the feet. I boiled some tea with camp boiler from my travel set, and after sipping it hastily, came out. (more…)