Division

Reforms of migration legislation force illegal migrants to become even more illegal

The changes that have come into force look like this: the migrant is obliged to get a patent (2.5 thousand rubles), draw up documents with mandatory fingerprinting (1.5 thousand rubles), pass an exam for knowledge of the Russian language and other (5 thousand rubles), undergo a medical examination (4 thousand rubles). Total - 13 thousand rubles; And then look for a job. In the evening, money is chairs in the morning.

Here we have seen snow from the roofs. Tajik workers walked and cleaned. They immediately divided into two teams. The first team upstairs was wielded with shovels, and the second from below screamed “ware” to passers -by. Moreover, the first team hit the roof through my bedroom. So historically, given all the features of a difficult roof. Having let the workers into the apartment and closed the window behind them, I felt like the mother of the baby, who is a friend of Carlson. And everything was fine, the work was over, I managed to warm the tea and wash the floor, when suddenly the doorbell rang.

These were Tajiks. They wanted to get a signature about the work. Like, tenants have no complaints, but rather are happy. I signed, closed the door and prepared to swallow tea. Call. Again workers. Tajiks. Two.

“We need a signature,” they say with a duet, rest on shovels.

- And what am I? - I don't understand. - I put a signature.

“Put,” Tajiks repeat slowly, as if teaching me a foreign language.

“Well, the signature,” I poke my finger right in the signature.

“No,” Tajiks say, “this is not a bit, this is just a surname.”

“Well, yes,” I say to Tajik, “the last name.” I have such a signature - I just write my last name. I could not come up with original curls at one time. I tried, of course, but ... everything was not that. Not that. Do you understand?

“Yes,” Tajiks nod, “we understand, I couldn’t.” But here it is necessary-at the right. Not a surname.

So we talked for another three minutes, until the young mother ran out of the next apartment and screamed that she was putting the baby to sleep for three hours, first rumbled on the roof, only fell silent, and now again. The neighbor was frightened by one of the Tajiks, somehow even exaggeratedly frightened and noisily jumped down the stairs through many steps at once. He threw a shovel, and she fell, with a knock and a rattle. The second Tajik was not afraid, picked up a shovel and asked for water.

I took out in a glass, and he, gratefully drinking, commented on the escape of a comrade:

- Navus always runs. The police are afraid. I am not afraid of the police, I have a work permit. I am a legal migrant worker.

He uttered the last words very confidently, as if he had previously learned for a long time.

“Thank you, mistress,” said the legal migrant worker. - Can I call me on the phone? I'll call quickly. I'll call the boss. The boss will scold me if I do not call me.

I gave the phone. Constructing with a crumpled sheet, the employee dialed the city number, and for some time listened to frequent beeps.

“Busy,” I said.

“Ay, busy,” he repeated. - Can I call more?

I nodded. The neighbor at the door screamed at the baby to quickly sleep.

- Why will Nasurus not get good permission? I asked, filling in a pause.

- Where did the money come from? - said Tajik. Then he thought and added: “But the Navus will receive, he will give three thousand rubles to the captain and receive.” Not very good resolution. And just permission. So as not to run from the police. So that they do not drive to Tajikistan.

“Yeah,” I said, “that is, it will give a bribe.” Three thousand rubles. Captain.

- Why a bribe? - Tajik was offended. - Three thousand rubles. Then he will be able to live with me, in my room, with a Russian grandmother. And now in the hostel Navrus is bad. A lot of people in the hostel, and it’s dark at all! The windows are laid with a brick, or a newspaper, a lot of newspapers, but cold. Light cannot be turned on, you can’t bask, you can’t eat. In the summer they cooked on a gas cylinder, exploded. Now it is impossible. Sometimes it is only possible. There are seventeen people in the Navrus room. Everyone does not fit. Sleep in turn.

The legal migrant worker smiled cheerfully, as if his story was funny. But it was a terrible story, and I said:

“Or maybe it's better to leave Navrus to go home?” What is he here. Hungry, freezes. In the room without windows. Sleeps in turn.

“You can’t go home,” Tajik explained with a wide smile, “he escaped from home.” Schurab fled from the village. It used to be a good village - Shurab. Coal was mined, the rich were, they lived well. Now it’s bad there at all. Razor escaped.

- Did you run away? I asked. - Did you go to earn? For the family?

“He killed his neighbor, so he escaped,” said the legal migrant worker everyday. - The neighbor set fire to his kitchen, and Navus killed him.

He began to dial the number of the boss. I stood, leaning my back against the wall. The legal migrant worker phoned and suddenly spoke in Tajik ... I talked for three minutes, returned the phone to me. He smiled broadly.

“Well,” I asked after all, “your boss, too, is a legal migrant worker?”

Tajik laughed. He laughed for a long time, even cried a little with laughter. Or not from laughter.

“No,” he said, wiping away his tears with a dark palm, “not a migrant worker.” Just a smart woman.

His voice sounded respect, reverence and gratitude.