A Russian Reverie

Winter in Russia comes suddenly. The humid heat of summer vanishes, the leaves shrivel and drop to the streets exposing the bare skeletons of the trees, the sun rises late and departs in the early afternoon, depriving the land of her solar rays. It didn’t really matter, the sun wasn’t warm. Snow clouds park above the city and dump hateful flurries of snow and sheets of ice onto the life below. Yet despite Mother Nature’s angry tantrum, the residents of the city have no choice but to cover as much skin as possible in wool and fur and leather and go about the necessities of sustaining their life.

Under the awning of a bus stop, my muscles tight, my body hunched over with my hands in my gloves and my gloves in the pockets of my leather, fur lined coat, I stared up into the darkness as snow flakes rushed at me from the black sky. They did not drift or float; they fell like heavy drops of water. Some of the snowflakes passed through the glowing light of a single, dingy yellow light bulb that poked awkwardly out of a brick wall, like a pimple on a featureless face. Human life on the street beneath the harsh light of the bulb hurried along in silence as pedestrians scurried along stiffly, their knees and elbows stuck like frozen hinges, passing each other in silent contempt and indifference while carrying grocery bags or purses. Their silhouettes appeared blurry to me in the darkness and only took human shape as they passed under the yellow light before vanishing back into the darkness. The streets were quite, like a cemetery, no one spoke.

An engine roared as a bus pulled near the curb. The bus looked blue or maybe gray, I couldn’t tell in the dark but I could tell it was rusty. The thin glass windows were frosted around the edges, giving the appearance of a cracked mirror. The number “2” pressed against the windshield told me this was the bus that would take me home. A few passengers, mostly elderly women, stepped off the bus, gripping the hand rail and not letting go until their rubber boots were planted firmly against the ground. The ice hidden beneath the snow could be sneaky and unforgiving and result in broken hips.

The mob that had endured the bitter cold lost patience and fought to get onto the crowded bus. I was in no hurry and waited at the back. I had lived in Russia long enough and I knew that I could squeeze, maneuver, press, crawl and push myself in if I had to, just like a Russian. Inside I felt the heater blast hot air against my face and my body began to relax, like a frozen piece of chicken thawing on the counter. On the radio I recognized the Russian music. The song had been popular in the summer and for a moment I felt warmth spread through my limbs as I thought back to sunny days, shish kabobs, and picnics in the forest.

“Young man, are you getting off here?” The woman over my shoulder asked. I shook my head left to right and she squeezed past me. My stop was still quite a distance. At the bus stops, more people would exit than board and finally a seat became free. I sat down in the darkness, cold on the outside, sweaty inside my coat and tired. I was tired of the darkness at noon, tired of apartments with bad heating, tired of the thin shoes I wore. I looked around the bus at the other people riding. They were all dressed in leather coats like me, some of the women in fancier furs. Each face weary and tired and red from frost bite but almost home to warmth and comfort. Almost. Then for the first time since I had moved to Russia, I understood just how far away from home I was. I didn’t know why, I hadn’t been home in over a year, almost two, but the thought stung me, the way my ears stung when I didn’t wear a hat.

The windows rattled behind my head as if they were about to burst when the bus hit a small pothole.

Over the radio a song I knew, in my native language, began to play.

“Everybody’s doing a brand new dance now, come on baby do the locomotion.”

In the dark, I smiled to myself and thought, “I’m the only person on this bus who understands the words to this song.”

The thought had barely scampered across my mind before a heavy loneliness crushed down on me. I never felt so alone in my whole life. Never before and never since have I felt so far away from anything familiar and so alone as I did then, in the dead of winter, late at night, in a Russian bus, driving across the frozen tundra.

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