Воспоминания из детства

Мне 3 года (1964 г.). Я, мама, бабушка и дидя живём в Торжке, в доме, в котором до революции жили монахи. Можно сказать живём в кельях. Папа на Кубе.

Длинный корридор, несколько комнат, общая кухня, в общем, коммуналка. Не помню с чего начиналось, наверное, Люда заходила за мной или я за ней и мы начинали бегать по корридору. Бегали на перегонки, кто первый добежит  и ударит ладонью по стене. Раз, два, три, начинаем! Мне хочется первой добежать, я ударяю ладонью по холодной стене, ладони больно, но я бегу обратно и опять ударяюсь, отшибаю пальцы, но опять бегу и так, чтобы быть первой. Но не всегда получается успеть первой и я вдруг останавливаюсь, мне обидно, что Люда меня обогнала. Я встаю и делаю вид, что  мне не интересно играть, а Людочка как назло всё бегает и везде первая. Слёзы подступают к горлу мы начинаем спорить и нас разводят по комнатам до следуюих соревнований. Люда, как мне бабушка говорила, уже потом, когда мы все выросли и стали взрослыми -  работала диктором на Ленинградском телевидении. 

Public transport stories

  Traffic jams in a rush hour are usual on my way to the office and back home. And it is not uncommon that public transport breaks down on the way causing more troubles for the traffic. So the events which accompany such cases are worth describing for acute observers.

  Every day I take the same route to reach my office. First I go by tram which takes passengers to the upper central part of the city across the bridge and the hill. And then I catch any route taxi to the bus stop near my office. Though I have direct transport from home, it is almost impossible to get on it in a rush hour. The feeling of terror overwhelms as you see chock-full buses with protruding doors holding pressed parts of clothes, bags and smashed faces behind the glass -those are passengers  who were "lucky" to be the very last to enter.
  However once you manage to push into, you are condemned to have a “sardines in a can” experience. It is when you are travelling squeezed in a cramped bus all the way through the traffic jam hanging or lying in a standing position on somebody’s back, shoulders, even head with elbows or fur hoods of the neighbors’ coats right in front of your face tickling your nose, and you have to spit out the hairs after every sufficient jerk of the bus. At the same time, the tension grows up with the whole body massage by elbows, bags and umbrellas. And when you elbow your way towards the exit and finally get off and hungrily gasp a fresh air with torn away buttons and crushed shoes and feeling as if you had being chewed.

  So just to avoid pleasure from experiencing community closeness I take the tram. The one very unpleasant drawback is that they break too often and it usually happens on the bridge just near the foot of the hill.

So passengers face a dilemma: go back across the whole bridge to the nearest bus stop or to the equally near stop up the hill passing by  a picturesque view over the Great Russian river Oka and the lower part of the city.

  Finally, here is the description of the whole process. Near the foot of the hill the tram breaks down. After a few attempts to start the machine the driver make an announcement that the tram is broken and will head off for the depot for repairmen. At the same time, doors open and a flow of angry people pours on a cramped road blocking the way and leaping among isles of a tight car lines meeting mutually angry faces of drivers. 
Some enthusiasts stay in the tram in anticipation that they will be ignored and the tram will start off. But our drivers and conductors always "care" about every passenger. Initially comes the first warning with three exclamation marks to leave the tram. Here the conductor comments that they cannot break the rule and go on to move with people on-board. 
   Those who lost the faith get off, and only bold enthusiasts leave to see the focal part of the drama around the tram sensing the tenseness of the situation. 
Then comes the second warning of the driver who is on the verge of hysteria asking all passengers to leave the tram accompanied by hostile comments of the conductor that driver has no rights to risk lives of the passengers, and only two of them can sacrifice themselves due to their responsibilities.
   Then noticing that some passengers are still not touched by the tram drivers’ dangerous fate, the driver personally meet those brave hearts and for the sake of considering all the precaution measures and armed with noble virtues of saving human lives they shove the rest of the passengers on the automobile road, a female driver can even ask for the help of liable passengers who left the tram but still puzzled what to do. So once excited passengers on the road they are like rebellions become the masters of the traffic apart from those who without hesitation started to mount the hill. So traffic masters begin to stop any passing buses or even cars.

  Of course you realize that passengers from the following trams on the same tracks are experiencing more or less the same situation with the only difference that nobody is shoved out. However sometimes there is a possibility that the broken tram will be fixed or drown to the depot quite soon after the first announcement. In that case those who stayed, enjoy spacious travel with any kinds of seats available in the carriage, and generous and caring drivers pick up exhausted rock climbers on their way.
  That is why I always prefer bicycling whenever it is possible.