HEAT ROUTE

MERCY

- When you're cold, it's warm. It’s as if there is no body, you don’t try to get up. And suddenly someone pinches your ear! Voloket, yelling: "Be patient, man!". In the morning, you realize that someone saved you. The project "Mercy - Night Bus" arose in November last year with ...

- When you're cold, it's warm. It’s as if there is no body, you don’t try to get up. And suddenly someone pinches your ear! Voloket, yelling: "Be patient, man!". In the morning you realize that someone saved you.

The project "Mercy - Night Bus" arose in November last year with the blessing of the Patriarch and the Diocesan Council of Moscow. For the second winter at night, a small bus picks up freezing people from the streets of Moscow. In total, the project has three teams of five people and one car. They have already saved over a thousand lives.

Ilya Kuskov, the author of the project "Mercy", represents the team on duty, gathered in front of the bus at the Kursk railway station.

— This is Anton, foreman. He decides who to take on the bus, who to feed, and he will write a report after duty. This is Ksyusha, the nurse. Denis, assistant. Igor, driver Only Ksyusha has a medical education, and she is only in her third year. This is how we keep watch.

The watch begins at 20.30 on Kursk, the richest in "asocial elements." Duty officers in blue uniforms with the inscription "Mercy" on their backs bypass underground passages, wastelands, platforms. They will be recognized. The policemen nod, the homeless approach for help. Homeless people are sent to the bus, where the driver remained. At the northern entrance we select the first "patient". A man with a broken head lies at the door, in an icy draft. The warm place near the battery is occupied by healthier brothers. Denis and little Ksyusha grab the peasant by the arms, he cannot get up. Drag to the bus.

The bus is an old car. The seats are covered with polyethylene, a mesh with medicines hangs from the ceiling, hot water boilers are under the chairs, food is on the shelves: beans, instant puree and rations. Above the driver's cab is an iconostasis.

A motley crowd, about 30 people, has already gathered at the door. While the patient is being placed in the back seat, tea is brewed for the homeless, food is distributed according to priority: child - sick - woman. Denis takes out homemade pies.

Ksyusha conducts a reception: measures blood pressure, distributes antibiotics, washes abrasions, examines her legs. In ten minutes, humanitarian shoes in sizes 43-45, hats, gloves, and crutches are distributed. Everyone asks to get on the bus for the night. A woman with swollen legs is crying, clinging to the closing door. “She skated last time,” Ilya turns away. “We can’t take everyone – there won’t be room for the weak.” We take those who cannot get up, who will definitely die if they stay. It's scary to choose, but there's no other way."

Those who were taken on the bus drive around Moscow with a brigade all night. They sleep on covered seats, drink tea, eat. In the morning they are taken to the dispensation, where they are washed and given new clothes and shoes. To get on the bus is a great success, and the homeless embark on tricks. Throw tantrums. They leave shoes at the station (the unshod ones are taken on a par with the "clinical"). They come up with stories about the atrocities of the cops, about offended drinking companions. They are trying to break through.

In cold weather, they patrolled the streets at a run. There were fewer homeless people, but on the very first day an ambulance had to be called for help - the guy got frostbite on his head, his brain began to turn off.

We are going to the Three Stations Square. A bum came up and said that he had tuberculosis, so we put on masks. Denis brings two drunken homeless people from Leningradsky - the police gave. One busily goes to sleep, the other's hands are shaking. Tea is poured for him, he tries to drink. He sees the icons and falls to his knees. Tea spills across the floor. "Goss-go! he croaks. - Gosh! Saved me!". Ksyusha leads him to the back of the bus.

In three hours we go around Belorussky, Kyiv, Paveletsky stations. In Belorussky, a local drunkard donates children's things to the project. Dogs are tied on Kievsky, they are at war with our contingent. On Paveletsky, after the homeless, migrant workers come - hefty guys - and demand food. The crew starts laughing. Laugh to tears. Little Ksyusha scatters notes - the day after tomorrow the exam. Homeless people (there are already five of them) snore insensibly in the back seats. “This is how we relax,” Denis explains through laughter. “The job is nerve-wracking.”

- The hardest thing is not night shifts - you get used to it. Not the smirks of acquaintances - we don't talk much about our work. During the day I am a programmer, Ksyusha is a student, Denis is an industrial climber. And it’s not dirt, although it’s also difficult: Ksyusha, a twenty-year-old girl, launders these men in a dezstantion, and I’ve seen enough. It's harder to accept that they're human too. No worse, maybe better than you. The difference is that we are inside the bus, they are outside.

On the wall of the bus are the addresses of shelters, dispensaries, and hospitals. Tuberculosis patients are sent to the Solnechnogorsk hospital. Help recover documents. Most of the homeless are non-residents who want to try to return to their hometown.

Do you see this colorful one? - Ilya points to a woman with a huge exhausted face and slit eyes. This is Tongu. She is from Mongolia, from Ulaanbaatar. I came to work, my documents were stolen, everything is standard. She asked for help. We turned to the embassy, ​​bought her a visa, tickets. About 10 thousand all. They sent her and seven others. She got off at the next station, sold the tickets, and returned.

The brigade returns to the Three Stations Square, then to Kursky: new people in need could appear overnight. Kursk is empty. “Everything is on the reservation,” explains Anton.

It turned out that the administration of the Kursk railway station interpreted in its own way the order of the Department of Social Protection not to expel homeless people at night during frosts. With batons (about 40 people on duty night) they are herded into the coldest corner of the station, fenced off with shields. Guards are on duty at the shields, not letting the homeless either to the stalls or to the toilet. Men, women, children lie in one heap.

"Comrade, let me out! I'll leave! - an elderly Dagestanis catches the eye of the sergeant. “I can’t lie on the floor like a beast!” "What kind of friend am I?" - the guard laughs. "Well, at least let the girl out!" - the bum points to a girl of about 16, crying and frightened. Anton manages to get out a barely moving old man and another guy as an escort. The rest will either be released in the morning, driven out of the station, or loaded into an electric train car and, after wrapping the door with wire, will be sent to Chekhov. According to the brigade, “pens” have been practiced on Kursk for more than a year.

At half past five we drive up to the station. We wrap ourselves tightly in jackets and fall asleep ourselves under the snoring of “patients”. At eight the doors open, the homeless go to wash, the bus is disinfected, the uniform is handed over “to be roasted”.

The brigade celebrated the New Year in the same bus. Ten minutes before midnight we went outside and clinked glasses of lemonade.