Show Looking underground to find society's sou soul Megan K Stack Los Angeles T Tunes Times The old womans woman's back was so hunched she couldn't get her chin off her chest Wrapped in layers of ratty sweaters she stood against a tile wall one hand and extended Elderly Russians are everywhere in inthe inthe inthe the subway tunnels runnels beneath Moscow begging for pocket change Still looking at her I felt a stab of melancholy Then four mean-looking mean teenagers in scarred leather jackets rushed past her They muttered to one another turned back and surrounded her My stomach clenched in panic But then I realized what I was seeing These kids who slouched and stank of cigarettes and beer were digging furiously through their pockets handing the theold theold theold old woman every coin they could scrape together Since moving to Moscow last year Ive I've been schooled in the stark realities of Russian society by daily rides to language classes and the office on the Metro The sprawl of tracks and tunnels seems to offer a direct line into Moscow's soul a place of faded elegance and hopeless cynicism debauchery and destitution barely contained brutality and touches of kindness Its It's potent stuff and some days I just dont don't have havethe the stomach for it I have to force myself to walk i into to the station and spend the commute staring at my shoes afraid of what Ill I'll see if I let my eyes rove But there is something in these halls that tells a astory astory astory story about Russia i itself elf a monument to communist days when underground palaces glittering in chandeliers decked in mosaics and frescoes and Stalin-era Stalin sculpture were built for the common commuters Now they are shabby and cramped the bulbs burning out in the chandeliers the halls a miserable jam of too many frazzled bodies Up above wild Moscow rages along lawless and mad cold and rich Down below the trains are arc roaring through the dark miss this one and the next will be right behind it The Metro is where you'll find the people who are just scraping by in the shadow of oil wealth and the ones who already have fallen through the cracks Its It's the haunt of stray lovesick teenagers homeless alcoholics alcoholics' and wounded veterans tourists and bone- bone weary commuters The sight of a stray dog startled me early one morning He was limping confusedly on three legs in inthe inthe inthe the tangle of the turnstiles His front paw dangled It appeared to be split in two dripping blood as if somebody had stomped on it He was glancing around desperately as though he was looking for help Hundreds of commuters clogged the station but nobody stopped for the dog An old man bent down over him for a moment then hurried along I was on the theother theother theother other side of the turnstile fumbling for my card When I looked up again the dog had melted into the forest of legs I peered around but I couldn't see him anywhere I stared at the rows and androws androws androws rows of students workers pensioners an anonymous mob stolid and stone Somewhere in this vast Soviet building a creature was suffering but I would never find him And if I did then what I didn't know how to find a vet I had been in Moscow just a few months and barely could peak Russian I had to take my place in inthe inthe inthe the line and the line moves only one way If you dont don't move fast enough you get shoved in the back I thought about the dog all day I told my Russian teacher about him and she gave me an incredulous look from between blackened lashes sparkling lids lids' But the people you see on the Metro have horrible problems she reproached meI meI meI me I know I said She was right but I couldn't help it I was embarrassed Still I looked for the dog dogon on the way home I didn't see him I walked back to tomy tomy tomy my apartment slowly trying to g get t the memory of his crushed paw out of my mind the hopeful wounded way he had looked up at atthe atthe atthe the indifferent passengers When I finally got home I sat on the couch and cried When I first got to Moscow it was the heat of summer and the press of bodies on the Metro almost turned me into a I couldn't bear the stink of the drunks on the trains sweating out vodka their clammy skin clinging to tomine tomine tomine mine like plastic Empty bottles of beer rolled and clattered underfoot Then I would see young men spring gallantly to their feet to offer their seats to old women or orthe orthe orthe the way Russians buried their noses in in books as the trains screamed through the tunnels and decide it wasn't such a bad place after all But I couldn't get over the cold faces of all those strangers sketches of anxiety and woe lit in inthe inthe inthe the greenish glow of the massive fluorescent lights so gothic they're almost beautiful When you take that escalator down and look at those faces get hit with all of that anxiety all of the worry its it's incredible one of my Russian colleagues said You You are are stuffed like a herring in a barrel of everybody else's stress One day I was riding out to the university for fora a Russian class It was around noon on a Saturday and the city was shaking itself out of sleep as a few early snowflakes skittered down from the steely sky The Metro car was almost empty I sat staring at a young woman across the way She must have been up all night Her hair had been styled she looked delicate and well dressed Her head sagged on her neck as if she were nodding on heroin Her eyes heavy with last nights night's makeup drooped shut Her chin dropped to her chest She crashed onto the floor and the jolt woke her long enough for her to haul herself back onto the bench where she promptly fell back into her dreams ms The stout young mother at her side scooped up her little boy and moved across the aisle lips set in disapproval The young woman fell onto the floor again this time landing on the feet of the old man at her side He shook his foot free irritably She resumed her place o othe on the bench By now everybody in inthe inthe inthe the carriage was staring at atthe atthe atthe the girl but impassively A pair of tough-looking tough men were watching her like wolves Anybody cW could could ha have e scooped her off the die subway car ar taken her away done anything Who Who- had MJ abandoned her here How Howlong Howlong Howlong long had she been rattling through the tunnels waiting to sober up I glanced at atthe atthe atthe the men again They were whispering to one another laughing a little running their eyes over her slumped body Then my stop came up so I stood an and got off In the end I was just another face facein facein facein in the crowd watching and then moving along I |