Hell train

Radio Liberty correspondent, heading on vacation, survived the nightmare on the railway

It was hot. It is unbearably hot. The scoreboard of the Kyiv station was shown +36 in the shade. Slowing down later, sticking out his tongues and thanks to God that our dog is not with us, we came to our carriage No. 3 of the Moscow -Kiev train.

“Well, nothing,” my husband tried to cheer me up, at the same time transferring tickets to the conductor. Now we’ll go, it will be easier with the air conditioning.

“It won't,” the conductor said sadly. - There is no air conditioner. Breeding.

-? !!? And the fan? Is there a fan?

- There is no fan. Because the car is conditioned. Why a fan in a conditioned car? - She was even surprised at such a stupid assumption.

- But how to go in it?! Immediately transplant us to another car!

“And this is to the boss of the train,” the conductor eagerly advised. - The boss is in the ninth.

Dushegub train

There were 20 minutes left before the departure. It was still impossible to be in the molten wagon. We were slipped into him, but jumped out as scalded in literally. And then I rushed along the platform to the headquarters car.

“We cannot resettle you anywhere, because there are no places in the train.” This is once, ”the boss named Igor Viktorovich Korshunov, as it was on his badge, said firmly. -Secondly, air conditioners do not work throughout the train. They were not seasoned with a refrigerant.

The head of the train

- Who did not refue?!

- Kyiv. Kyiv does not refuel. We complain, they do not refuel. Let's go - open the windows - it will become easier.

“But this is still horror!” In the carriage wagon 40!

“Horror,” the boss easily agreed. “I don’t like it - write a complaint,” he habitually suggested, and invited me to his unbearably stuffy closet, where I diligently rolled a meaningless complaint in a meaningless yellow barn book, in which dozens of other meaningless complaints were buried. What was the point of they had for the upcoming trip to the oven? No.

Having finished writing, I once again looked at my strange creation, it is obvious that the grandfather addressed to the village, and asked: where would it go from this book? And at least what number my complaint has?

- It will go to the authorities. Number - without a number. You see, your complaint has no number. Write: b/n. Without a room.

I wrote a b/n disciplined, once again I looked doubtfully onto this sheet in the yellow book, then for some reason I photographed it, then I threatened it powerlessly that the train will move and I would go, see what was happening in other wagons.

“You might think when we move out, a refrigerant will appear,” the boss tried to reason me.

- You never know. Suddenly he did not disappear in places, ”I shaved and trimmed into my car.

The conductor was already preparing to close the doors.

- Well, what did he tell you?

- He said, we will open the windows - it will be easier.

So we go. People suffer. They complain. And the authorities say - there is nothing to refuel

“It will be easier for him,” the conductor sighed. - He has an old car, he has windows in the compartment.

- And with us? !!!

- And we do not open. We have a conditioned carriage. The compartment does not open at all, and in the corridor quite a little bit and that is not all.

- And how do you ride?!

- And we go. People suffer. They complain. And the authorities say - there is nothing to refuel. In our country, some of the wagons are seasoned with gas, part by freon. Our gas. But they have neither one nor the other.

After listening to this lecture on the air conditioning of long -distance compositions, we finally decided to proceed to our compartment.

And here we realized what real hell is, real torture, real murder. We squeezed to us through a mass of passengers, which overwhelmed the cracks in the corridor windows and eagerly tried to breathe. The men threw away T -shirts and sculpted to clicks in their underpants. From time to time, they ran to the toilet to splash the nasty warm water from under the crane and rush back to the crack. In our compartment, the picture was the worst. Not only did we have a window in the compartment itself, we had a window on the contrary, in the corridor, that is, the closest click with hot, but still with air, was diagonal from us, and all of it was clogged with the bodies of our neighbors. That is, it was clear that the whole wagon had to spend the night on the feet of these Switch, but we had nowhere to stand.

And then I went to the conductor and said: lead the boss of the train to our compartment. I patch him there and cut it out, how much he will last. She promised what would lead. But we could not wait for a minute anymore. It was necessary to do something. It was necessary to fight for life. And we went on the composition. We decided to investigate what is happening in other wagons of this Dushegub train.

"We just to breathe"

Take it! Take us to you! We cannot! We suffer!

All further reminiscent of some fantastic novel was a little like. Some Zamyamatinskoye "we" when you were sure that there, behind the wall, others live in the same prison, and they live in a completely different way. The next wagon was reserved for our car. He was very old and terrible. But people there did not spread along the windows, people calmly sat on their shelves and breathed air. Not conditioned, but obviously ventilated. And the next car was backward behind him, like ours. And then we learned what paradise is. In an empty corridor, the most conditioned coolness reigned. Not only that. Behind the open doors of the compartment, we saw obviously free shelves !! That is, it was already completely clear that the head of the train vilely deceived us twice. And with places that were supposedly not, and with air conditioners, for whom there was supposedly not a refrigerant. With our own skin, we felt that it exists.

And then we rushed to the guides of this fabulous wagon.

- Take it! Take us to you! We cannot! We suffer!

- But we only have the upper shelves.

- What do you! We agree! We just have to breathe!

The guides - a woman in shape and a man in a red shirt - looked at each other and suddenly easily agreed:

- Take things, take tickets and come.

We returned to our car. Now it was a return trip from paradise to hell. Naked, sweaty, suffocating people in our carriage still filled the entire corridor. I hardly squeezed between them to the guides to pick up tickets. Then we followed the suitcase in our compartment and saw that our full, middle -aged neighbor, panting, was half -away on my lower shelf, and her son dumps her with a towel.

-Have you found something? She asked us, opening her eyes.

“Yes,” we were afraid to tell the details so as not to frighten off luck.

- Fine. - She again leaned back on her back and closed her eyes. Obviously, she did not have the strength for feats with an unclear outcome.

We said goodbye to these people who reconciled with their fate, and leaned with all their belongings in the magical fifth car, where a big and unpleasant surprise awaited us.

Headquarters car. Snowflake is a sign of the air conditioner that should work. But it does not work

Battle for the shelf

Already at the very approaches, almost in the vestibule, like a border guard to protect the borders of his homeland, we were met by a guide in a red shirt. He spread his hands and exclaimed:

- I will not let it go! I will not let you into my car!

-What, what?! - I was amazed, but I was not at a loss and began to push him with all my suitcases.

- I will not let it go. Passengers against.

- What other passengers?! Show me these passengers! -I methodically pushed him with my suitcases to the door of the coupe, in which he promised to settle us some 15 minutes ago.

“These are these,” said the conductor, who was nowhere else to go, for we were already standing in front of the compartment open.

Have you really bought the whole compartment?

A couple sat in the compartment. On the left, a middle -aged woman with a tablet in her hands. Without raising her head, she poked her finger into pictures of a computer game. An uncle sat on the right, reminiscent of a priest with the whole vegetation of his head.

- These? - I was surprised. - Tell me, are you against it? Are you against the fact that people from another car move in this compartment? In which there is no air in which hellish heat? Who suffer?

The couple behaved like a deaf -mute. The aunt did not raise her head, the uncle did not turn from the window.

- Yes! They are against! - Bazaarno reported a guide for them.

“But why won't they say about it themselves?” Why are they silent? Tell me, are you against? - I continued to torment the silence.

Aunt with her head down continued to poke into the screen. The uncle sat not moving.

“In general, they do not say that they are against it,” I stated. “And by the way, why should they mind?”

- Because they bought these places! - suddenly blurted out the conductor.

- What?! - I'm fucked right. - They had tickets for all four regiments?!

“No,” the conductor continued to hug, “they bought them now, on the road!”

“Tell me,” I made another attempt to turn to a silent composition, “did you really bought all the compartment?”

The aunt has even more intensively with her fingers on the screen. The uncle clenched his jaws even tightly under a dressed beard. It should be noted the detail that, in the course of all this resigned communication, the conductor every now and then tried to pull the doors of the cherished coupe, hiding the dumb participants in the scene from me, and I opened it all the time, trying to get at least some remarks from them.

- They bought it, bought it! And they are against it! - the conductor yelled.

“They didn’t buy it,” I screamed in response, “you want to sell these places along the road!”

- Come from your car at night and check - they will be empty! - the conductor yelled.

Ha ha ha. This is the most ridiculous that he could say. The Lord God himself could not smoke me back into the old car. I was seriously preparing to spend the night on my suitcase in this conditioned corridor.

And then a person from a train brigade with a token on a shirt approached us.

-Please tell me, is it possible to somehow check whether these places are purchased or not? - I turned to him.

“Probably, you can,” the man said vaguely, and the two of them with the conductor went to confer of something in the service compartment.

Access to the cherished pair was completely open. Now that the conductor could no longer say for them, they had nowhere to go. I entered the compartment, sat opposite the woman and clearly asked:

-Excuse me, are you talking in Russian?

- Yes. - The woman finally raised her head. - But my throat hurts.

“Tell me,” I continued, “what is your place?”

“This is,” the woman pointed to her regiment.

- And all?

- And all.

- And you?

“This,” the man with a beard pointed to the shelf on which he was sitting.

- And all?

- And all.

“Here,” I declared triumphantly announced the guide who had already rushed back, but did not manage to cut me off from his devoted support group. - You lied.

- We hold these places for customs! - The conductor put forward a new legend, but in his appearance it was already clear that he was backward. It was evident that something miraculously changed in the five minutes that we spent with him. He somehow softened, he no longer yelled. - Why did you write a complaint? - he suddenly told me. - We would have agreed well about everything.

And then I was terribly surprised. Suddenly it turned out that in appearance a meaningless yellow barn book in this world still has some kind of meaning.

He wore tea for us, refused money for this tea and even asked if we were cold

“I generally wrote a complaint before the train started and before we met,” I specified in the back of the guide, who already myself, with my own and hands, dragged our suitcase to the doors of another compartment in which he intended to settle us! He, as it turned out, had a lot of free shelves. On these regiments, one more passengers of our torture car could be laid out on these regiments, if they had guessed at least somehow to compete for their rights.

- Here! Get up! - The conductor opened the door of the compartment, threw our suitcase up and from that moment and until the last was infinitely amiable with us, he wore tea, refused (!) Money for this tea and even asked us whether it was cold if the air conditioner is muffled (which, of course, caused our healthy laughter).

We tolerate and copy. But we encourage so much that it breaks into the revolution

The passengers of this coupe, of course, were interested in what people fell on them in the middle of the road, so I felt like a radio operator Kat, who told everything and told Stirlita the details of her nightmare epic, which ended with an incredible case, "which is known to every intelligence officer and which happens once in a life." I told and breathed, breathed and told, and we all imagined our former neighbors who had to spend the whole night in a 40-degree haze, and I pushed my new neighbors, who were both from Kyiv and who were amazed, why our whole car did not rise, did not jump, did not cause the bosses, did not write a collective complaint, I pushed them my favorite theory of Russians about the difference between Russians Ukrainians, that we are Orem, when our domestic rights are violated, our right to comfort, and they, Ukrainians, are silent and endure in similar situations, but when their civil rights are violated, they are bang - and immediately to the Maidan, to the revolution.

“We really are more patient,” the woman said, “we tolerate and copy.” But we encourage so much that it breaks into the revolution.

- Well, yes. And we do not have time to accumulate, waste on distant borders, on air conditioners, so we have no revolutions, ”I praised.

Then we chatted for a long time with these beautiful people, but all the time I returned to those first, who silently participated in not letting us into the car, not to save from our hell, who even agreed that the conductor dumped this fascist decision on them! I came up with that I would come to them in the morning and say, maybe a cheap, but spectacular phrase:

- And when you will kill your relatives with you, will you be silent too?!

So you are still a priest?! And you are not ashamed?

These are incomplete, of course, things, but their silent participation in the ugly and most importantly, no benefit that they did not promise such an anomaly from the point of view of behavioral reactions that, perhaps, this comparison was not so unacceptable.

In the morning, when the suitcase and I walked along the aisle to go out in Kyiv, I put my nose into this compartment. There was no woman in him. But there was a man. In the cassock!

- Father! So you are still a priest?! I exclaimed. - And you are not ashamed? And when they kill your relatives, will you be silent too?! - I blurted out my homework with satisfaction.

The priest glanced at me and snapped angrily. I did not even hear what he said. He snapped and continued to mess with his Bauls.

And I left the car and waited for him to come out to photograph him. It seems to me that this is the case when parishioners should know that this priest cannot be under any kind. This priest will hand over, sell, will lie - will take inexpensively. And I also feel sorry for those innocent passengers who will continue to sit on this train and in this car and gather in inhuman suffering, because other passengers who themselves experienced these suffering, then, having left the finger at their station, they will not hit a finger on the sadists who arranged for them natural torture. This train was in some completed, finished way of the world in which we live: a lying boss, a deceitful subordinate, a false priest and a submissive human mass. This world is completely supranational, you can’t designate it Russian, Ukrainian, etc. So far, so far we are all cooking in this.