Return: smoke of the Fatherland

The New Times continues to publish the diaries of the famous journalist Masha Slonim, who went into exile for the second time* When you wander, you return home, And the smoke of the Fatherland is sweet and pleasant to us; Homesickness! A long-exposed trouble… etc. Returning after four months of absence for just a week is, of course, not a return, but just a fleeting visit. But now, on the way from Sheremetyevo, I recalled my first return to Moscow after thirteen years of wandering. How worried I was then, standing in line at passport control, that they would not let me in, although I had a completely legal Soviet tourist visa! How worried I was four days later, standing in line at passport control, that they would not let me out, although I had a perfectly legitimate English passport! This time I tried to remember, even to cause this excitement, but nothing worked. Then the smoke of the Fatherland beat in the nose with exhausts of 92 gasoline, for an eye already accustomed to bright Western advertising lights and shop windows, the streets and houses seemed gray and faded, and on the gloomy building near the Belorussky railway station only an advertisement for Cuban oranges glowed dimly. Four months - not a term, but during this time Moscow has become different. The center after the demolition of the stalls looks gutted, lifeless, the outskirts, like solid construction sites. Road repairs, some twisted pipes, mountains of sand, iron fences, mud. Early spring does not suit Moscow, everything looks untidy and sad. Four months is not a period, but during this time a new word appeared for me. On the roads near Moscow, billboards advertising "DOMOHAUS" for some 9 million rubles. And around - rickety shacks, iron fences, black tired snow. Well, okay, let's not find fault, I did not return for Moscow views and landscapes near Moscow. If today, like many years ago, they asked me what the purpose of your trip is, I would answer: friends. Then, in 1987, people gathered in the house of close friends who had not seen each other for many years: someone like Leva Bruni and I returned to Moscow for the first time after many years in exile, someone like Felix Svetov and Zoya Krakhmalnikova returned from exile. And all of us, and our dissident friends who remained in Moscow, and those who returned from exile, and those who were from exile, drank to Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev! And we ourselves were surprised that we were drinking to the health of the General Secretary of the Central Committee of the CPSU! But we understood that our meeting became possible only thanks to him. I missed the celebration of Gorbachev’s 85th birthday and missed the birthday of Arseniy Roginsky, the founder of the Memorial, but I know that my Russia is the people who gathered there, my Russia — these are friends with whom I almost never parted and met again in Moscow. I will not retell conversations with taxi drivers, because I did not go by taxi, but I rode the metro, buses and trams a lot and with pleasure. It was interesting for me to look at people, and looking at their frozen, unsmiling faces, at the complete absence of non-verbal communication and contact, I tried to understand whether this was my Russia or not? Probably mine, too, but it somehow makes me feel uncomfortable. Especially if you are used to, and you quickly get used to it, to the goodwill and smilingness of strangers on English streets and in transport. And on my country roads, where two cars, and sometimes even tractors, cannot pass, and where each driver strives to back up to the nearest pocket when they meet, crawling along the hedge and clinging to the bushes with his bumper, and also waving his hand in greeting and smiling, as if you're best friends...It's time to go back!Continuation. Beginning - NT #40 of November 30 and #42 of December 14, 2015. Nos. 1, 3, 5, 9 of 2016. Photo: youtube.com

The New Times continues to publish the diaries of the famous journalist Masha Slonim, who went into exile for the second time*

When you wander, you return home, And the smoke of the Fatherland is sweet and pleasant to us; Homesickness! A long-exposed trouble...etc.

Returning after four months of absence for just a week is, of course, not a return, but just a fleeting visit. But now, on the way from Sheremetyevo, I recalled my first return to Moscow after thirteen years of wandering. How worried I was then, standing in line at passport control, that they would not let me in, although I had a completely legal Soviet tourist visa! How worried I was four days later, standing in line at passport control, that they would not let me out, although I had a perfectly legitimate English passport! This time I tried to remember, even to cause this excitement, but nothing worked. Then the smoke of the Fatherland beat in the nose with exhausts of 92 gasoline, for the eye, already accustomed to bright Western advertising lights and shop windows, the streets and houses seemed gray and faded, and on the gloomy building near the Belorussky railway station only an advertisement for Cuban oranges glowed dimly.

Four months is not a period, but during this time Moscow has become different. The center after the demolition of the stalls looks gutted, lifeless, the outskirts, like solid construction sites. Road repairs, some twisted pipes, mountains of sand, iron fences, mud. Early spring does not suit Moscow, everything looks untidy and sad. Four months is not a period, but during this time a new word appeared for me. On the roads near Moscow, billboards advertising "DOMOHAUS" for some 9 million rubles. And around - rickety shacks, iron fences, black tired snow. Well, okay, let's not find fault, I did not return for Moscow views and landscapes near Moscow. If today, like many years ago, I was asked what is the purpose of your trip, I would answer: friends.

Then, in 1987, people gathered in the house of close friends who had not seen each other for many years: someone like Leva Bruni and I returned to Moscow for the first time after many years in exile, someone like Felix Svetov and Zoya Krakhmalnikova returned from exile. And all of us, and our dissident friends who remained in Moscow, and those who returned from exile, and those who were from exile, drank to Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev! And we ourselves were surprised that we were drinking to the health of the General Secretary of the Central Committee of the CPSU! But we understood that our meeting became possible only thanks to him.

I didn’t have time to celebrate Gorbachev’s 85th birthday and didn’t get to the birthday of Arseniy Roginsky, the founder of the Memorial, but I know that my Russia is the people who gathered there, my Russia is friends with whom I almost never parted and met again in Moscow.

I will not retell conversations with taxi drivers, because I did not go by taxi, but I rode the metro, buses and trams a lot and with pleasure. It was interesting for me to look at people, and looking at their frozen, unsmiling faces, at the complete absence of non-verbal communication and contact, I tried to understand whether this was my Russia or not? Probably mine, too, but it somehow makes me feel uncomfortable. Especially if you are used to, and you quickly get used to it, to the goodwill and smilingness of strangers on English streets and in transport. And on my country roads, where two cars, and sometimes even tractors, cannot pass, and where each driver strives to back up to the nearest pocket when they meet, crawling along the hedge and clinging to the bushes with his bumper, and also waving his hand in greeting and smiling, as if you are best friends...

It's time to return!

Continuation. Beginning - NT #40 of November 30 and #42 of December 14, 2015. Nos. 1, 3, 5, 9 of 2016.

Photo: youtube.com