Igor Savelyev: Off the Beaten Tracks: Stories by Russian Hitchhikers

A police officer entered the room. A regular police officer, and evidently a fairly junior one too. Unlike many others of his age and generation Vadim had no automatic antipathy for the forces of law and order, but he did take an instant dislike to this particular individual. He was short, with badly pockmarked skin, and his grubby, ill-fitting jacket gave him a slovenly look. But what Vadim found most offensive was the fact that the police officer hadn’t removed his shoes. Of course, they probably weren’t supposed to — after all, they had to be prepared for anything. But still, he and Squire had bare feet!

“Right then, Mikhail… yes? Renting the room from a Mrs Hassanova… yes? Living in Ufa temporarily as a student, originally from Kumertau…”

“From Sibai. Please, take a seat.”

Vadim decided that he must be a divisional inspector.

“So, Mikhail… I was here in April, wasn’t I? Did I not tell you then that the rent… the renting… the rental arrangements of this apartment are incorrectly formulated?”

“You did. But you need to talk to Mrs Hassanova about that.”

“Fine… But what about these complaints from the other tenants?”

“What complaints?”

“Same as last time! Noise, disturbances, non-stop partying… Dodgy types turning up at all hours of the night. I’ve had four complaints already this summer!”

The inspector stared at Vadim. “He probably thinks I’m going to panic and make a run for it, or try and climb out of the window or something,” thought Vadim. He tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t help smirking. The inspector took exception to his smirk.

“Can I see your documents, young man?”

“No problem.” Vadim bent over his rucksack then turned to Squire. “The traffic cops here are as bad as ours. I’ve already had my passport checked twice.”

“So you’re not from round here, then?”

“No.”

“St Petersburg!” declared the divisional inspector. “Are you staying for a while?”

“Just passing through.”

“Ah, I see. Another freeloader, sponging off other people… There’s something wrong with you lot. You’re all as bad as one another!”

Vadim shrugged. He wasn’t about to argue. The inspector carried on inspecting his passport. St Petersburg passports were quite a novelty! Eventually he put it down with a little sigh. He had no axe to grind with this visitor. The student, on the other hand…

With a triumphant air about him, the divisional inspector produced some forms from his zip-up document wallet. He straightened the crumpled corner of one of them.

“Alright, let’s draw up this report. I’ve had four complaints this summer. Gross infringement of the norms of communal living, committed by an individual living in violation…”

The inspector was having trouble finding the right words. He paused, then appeared to lose his train of thought.

“I’m living in violation?”

“You do not have the correct paperwork relating to your tenancy of this apartment. So we’re going to draw up a report in Mrs Hassanova’s name. We’re going to have to draw up a report in your name too, unless…”

The inspector paused, pen in hand. Squire chuckled, stood up and shuffled into the kitchen. It took Vadim a while to figure out what was going on. He didn’t get it even when his host returned carrying a large can of beer, dark and heavy.

The divisional inspector looked from the beer to the report form, to the beer and back to the report form. He wasn’t weighing up his social responsibilities, though. Oh, no! It was just that he’d already started filling out the form. Eventually he capitulated, declaring, “Damn, I wrote the wrong date!” He screwed the paper up into a ball and threw it into the corner, as though he lived there. Social responsibilities, indeed.

Before leaving (with the beer under his arm) he seemed to cheer up a bit. He even attempted a few friendly remarks, although they came across as rather patronising.

“So you’re from St Petersburg, are you?” he asked. Then he smiled, although neither of the others had said anything. He almost seemed to be talking to the passport, which was lying where he’d left it on the sofa. “So what’s going on up there?”

“Nothing special,” Vadim answered with a shrug. “Same as always.”

“Mmm, I went to St Petersburg once, on a school trip… Or Leningrad, as it was back then. Nice place! Yes, I remember it well… The Hermitage, the Aurora…” His face suddenly changed, becoming sad and pensive. After a pause he added, “You’re still young… You can travel… Ekh!”

At the door, he reverted to his stern official look.

“Sort the paperwork out properly with Mrs Hassanova!”

“I will.”

Vadim expected Squire to be angry. He can’t have been happy about giving away his beer like that! He felt a bit guilty, too. Although the situation with the inspector wasn’t directly his fault, it was because of others like him… So Vadim was quite surprised when Squire came back into the room and burst out laughing.

“What a leech! That’s the third time he’s been round here. Last time I got off with a bottle of vodka, and now… You saw what he was like, didn’t you? Looking around to see what he could get his grubby paws on. Typical Tatar!”

“I thought everyone here was Bashkir.”

“Yeah, right. As soon as drivers find out I’m from here they always ask, ‘So, are you a Bashkir?’ There aren’t many proper Bashkirs here, you know. It’s mostly Tatars. Anyway, who can tell the difference?”

Squire went into the kitchen. Should he put the kettle on? Where was it, anyway?

“Well, that bastard has left us without any booze! I’ll have to nip out to the kiosk. It’s only a couple of blocks away. Have you got any money?”

“Yeah, of course, but… Well, not much. And I hadn’t really planned on spending any of it in Ufa.”

“I don’t need much! I know the girl who works there. She sells me out-of-date beer for ten roubles a litre. Better than dying of thirst, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, of course! Great…”

“Excellent. I’ll be able to buy my student record book back too!”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s had it for six months. I left it with her as credit for something, I can’t remember what… Ha, what am I saying? It must have been beer!”

They both laughed.

“So what’s so important that you have to get to E-burg for?” Squire grumbled half-jokingly. “Stay here for a bit! We can go out, have a few drinks… It’ll be a laugh.”

“I can’t, sorry!” Vadim laughed. “We’ve got loads of online friends there, and they’ve lined up a whole programme of events for us. I might even meet a girl there…”

As he pulled his customised jeans on, Squire started complaining that he couldn’t wear them in the winter, because dirty jeans are no good in cold weather. Why was that? When they were both dressed and putting their trainers on, there was another ring at the door.

“That’ll be Nikita. About time!”

“Let’s see…” Vadim heard Squire turn the key, then he called from the hallway, “Wrong again! This time it’s a beautiful stranger!”

“Are you Squire? Hi, I’m Nastya from Tyumen. Remember? We exchanged emails earlier this week…”

“Oh, yeah. Come in.”

Once she was in the apartment Nastya dropped her heavy rucksack to the floor with a thud. Finally! She’d made it to Ufa before nightfall. That in itself was a minor victory, and everyone knows that they lead to major ones.

She had brought with her the smell of the road, or rather, the rank smell of the cabins inhabited by Russian lorry drivers.

Nikita Marchenko was twenty years old. When he was ten, half his lifetime ago, he wrote the following entry in his diary: “Today I went shopping with mum and dad. We bought wellies made in 1991.”