Writing for Fun
The Hitch-hiker - Pete Norman
June 2013
'Come on, it's not exactly rocket science.' Grigory Yanayev said when Mikhail had seemed uncertain about the job offer. He was grinning from ear to ear as if he had just cracked the joke of the century, but Mikhail had heard it all before and returned nothing more than a brief smile, which was more in sympathy than in collaboration. Of all people, Mikhail was best qualified to decide what was 'exactly rocket science', having worked in the industry right up to the dissolution of the Soviet Union and the abandonment of the Space Race with the USA.
His downward spiral since then had been catastrophic. The specialist knowledge that had driven his success in the industry was no longer of any practical use to the nation. . . or his wife, who, having become accustomed to the comfortable life style which came with the job, had left him for an army Colonel a few weeks before their luxury flat was scheduled to be re-possessed. Since that dreadful day, Mikhail had struggled to maintain a meagre existence by doing all manner of menial work simply to survive, but at fifty four he no longer had the physical fitness to compete with the youngsters in physical labour.
Of course, Grigory knew nothing of hardship – he had too many friends in the 'right places' to have ever known the true meaning of suffering – and now he was offering Mikhail the opportunity to work long hours as a waiter in a prestigious Moscow restaurant for a salary which would barely pay his rent.
But beggars cannot be choosers and Mikhail soon found himself riding the Metro into the city centre for the very first time. The train was typical of Russian engineering: solid, austere and uniformly gun-metal grey. Only the advertisements inside the carriages hinted at more colourful luxury, but Mikhail knew from painful experience that such delights were only available to the privileged few. His train was full to overcrowded but he was surprised to see a clear area further towards the back. Slowly and methodically he worked his way along the carriage until he reached the end, where a large grey husky type dog lay stretched out on the seat with an area around it completely devoid of people. He watched as an elderly man moved to sit behind the dog on an empty seat, but a low deep throated growl sent him scurrying back into the crowd – this dog was not prepared to share.
Mikhail was fascinated and wondered just who amongst his fellow passengers was the owner of this cosseted pet, but when he arrived at Chekovskaya Station, the dog leapt up and scampered off alone up the stairs and out of sight.
On the platform Mikhail found himself confronted by an immense image of Lenin surrounded by powerful images of the people's revolution sprawling along the tiled walls of the platform. However, in these enlightened days of Glasnost and Perestroika, he thought, somewhat profanely, such images were now regarded more as a sad reflection of the country's bitter past than as an inspiration for the future.
He climbed up to ground level and took his bearings; he knew that the restaurant was just a few blocks away on a smart wide boulevard. It was the kind of place which he and Natalya would have been able to frequent back in the good old days, but now would be completely out of his price bracket. The stern lady in the suit behind the counter, her jet black hair tied back into a severe bun, looked him up and down as he entered, he was clearly not the type of person she would expect to have a reservation here, but when he asked to speak to the manager, Dmitry Orlov, she relaxed a little and pressed a button concealed beneath the counter.
Dmitri was his diametric opposite: while Mikhail was slim to the point of scrawny, with greying hair and a poor, ill-fitting suit, Dmitri was the product of decades of rich and comfortable lifestyle, perfectly manicured and wearing a suit which would, even in the good old days, have cost Mikhail close on a year's wages.
It was clear that Dmitri was not enamoured with him from the word go, but a favour was owed to Grigory and that favour would be fulfilled . . . until he could find an opportunity to withdraw from it, of course.
A smart uniform came with the job and Mikhail felt very much the part as he began to feel himself into the vagaries of waitering. The job was fast and furious, with long hours on his feet, but Mikhail was not afraid of hard work and the people skills he had developed in his previous life eased his interactions with the wealthy customers, as a result of which he was pleasantly surprised at the generosity he received from some, but he was equally appalled at the meanness of others. However, on balance he was delighted with the substantial gratuities which nestled in his pocket when the end of the day finally arrived and it was time to head for home.
The elegant front doors were reserved for customers alone and Mikhail was directed through the kitchens, out of a rear door and into a narrow alleyway. With only the light from the street lamps in the roadway ahead he had to tread carefully to avoid the dark shapes which loomed up before him. He pulled out a cigarette and lit a match. As the flame briefly flared, the light reflected off two yellow eyes down beside a large metal rubbish bin. There was a low deep throated growl and he backed away to the opposite wall. The sound was familiar, but it took him a few moments to remember exactly where he had heard it before. On the Metro – the dog who wanted the seat all to himself. He had to pass this territorial animal to leave the alleyway and reach the station beyond, but he was fully aware of the size of the brute and he had no intentions of passing too close.
Watching carefully for any sudden movement he backed up to the kitchen door where he rummaged about in the food waste bins and managed to find a few scraps, which he tossed ahead of him, hopefully close enough to keep the beast safely beneath its bin. It was too dark to see if he had been accurate, but the sounds of scrabbling and snorting gave him the confidence to try once more to leave. With his back to the opposite wall he shuffled crabwise past until he was certain he was clear and with undue haste he fled into the light beyond.
While he walked he kept looking behind him, but he was not being followed and the Metro station soon came into view. However, as he started to descend the steps a silent blur flashed past him and he realised that the dog was racing down the staircase into the station ahead of him. He hurried in, curious to see where it was going this time and was amazed to see the grey husky sitting patiently on the platform. When the train pulled in the doors opened directly in front of the dog and it leapt inside, claiming the same long bench seat for its own. As Mikhail climbed aboard the dog watched him with a fierce intensity as he moved to his seat further down the carriage before it appeared to lose interest, yawned and closed its eyes.
Twelve stops down the line Mikhail rose as the train slowed for the station. The doors opened. The dog opened its eyes, sniffed the air and leapt up, racing past Mikhail and up the stairs. It seemed to know exactly where it was; like every other commuter on the train, he was home.
The next day Mikhail looked out for the dog at the station, but it was nowhere to be seen. He was a little disappointed as the presence of the animal had brightened up the otherwise dull journey. He reached the restaurant and worked through another arduous, but quite profitable, day. When it was time to leave he cast his eye along the alleyway before he stepped out. By the light from the open doorway he could just make out the twin flashes of yellow from beneath the rubbish bin. This time he made a point of rummaging around in the waste first for a handful of tasty morsels, which he once again tossed in the direction of the dog. At the reassuring sound of the food being ripped apart, he slipped past and headed for the station. Once more he looked behind himself regularly and was not surprised when the dog came padding up behind him and disappeared down the station steps.
On the platform the husky sat in exactly the same place as the day before and when the train stopped the door once again opened directly in front of it. The dog leapt aboard and onto its usual seat, scattering the existing passengers with a little snarl and a whole lot of attitude. Again, it watched Mikhail as he climbed aboard, appearing to lose interest when he reached his seat. Again it waited until the train had stopped and the doors opened before leaping up and racing though and up the steps. This time Mikhail determined to follow it; he hurried up, taking the stairs two at a time, but at the top he could only catch a brief glimpse of the bushy tail as it disappeared down Vavilova.
He walked the few blocks to his apartment deep in thought. This little hitch hiker was using the Metro like a commuter, but why? What did he do in the city? Where did he call home? He resolved to solve the mystery and answer his own questions. The next day he left home half an hour earlier and waited on the platform watching train after train arrive, fill with passengers and go until, a few minutes before his own train was due to arrive, he heard the sound of sharp claws on the concrete behind him and the grey husky padded past to sit by the platform edge. As it passed his seat the dog fixed him with an intent look, which worried Mikhail somewhat, before he realised that the dog appeared to be recognising him rather than threatening him.
At Chekovskana he ran after the husky as it fled the station and watched thoughtfully as it disappeared into the alleyways of the restaurant district. Surely it was not commuting from the safety of the suburbs where it slept into the easy pickings of the city? But that seemed the only logical explanation for the dog's bizarre behaviour.
The next few days slipped into a familiar pattern – he would travel into work with the husky and at night he would toss whatever he could find at the rubbish bin and slip quietly past while the dog was eating. Before he reached the station every night it would pass him, but after a few days the dog would slow as it caught up with him, almost walking beside him down to the platform and onto the train. There was an unspoken camaraderie between the man and the canine as they travelled home together each night.
On the Saturday evening he was in a happy mood as he left the restaurant, because Sunday was his first day off and he was looking forward to a quiet day at home. He opened the kitchen door, located a handful of titbits and tossed them towards the bin. The alleyway was silent. There was no noisy snuffling at the food. He felt an overwhelming sense of loss as he made his way down the alleyway towards the light and as he passed the rubbish bin he looked down at the small scattered pile of food. Beneath the bin two feral eyes silently watched him. Mikhail stopped and crouched down. He had no fear now of the dog, he stared into the yellow eyes and suddenly was deeply concerned – not for himself but for the dog. He reached out his hand, expecting at any moment that the dog might snap – he was prepared to pull back when it did – but the dog did not even growl, it passively permitted his hand to stroke its head, to fondle its ears.
Slowly and painfully the dog crawled out from beneath the bin and Mikhail was horrified to see the state it was in. It had obviously been in a fight and was bleeding from cuts all over its muzzle and head. One paw was lacerated almost beyond recognition; the dog was in a really bad way. He tried to coax it into eating a few morsels, but it simply regarded the food with disinterest. He did not know what to do. He could not just go home and leave the poor animal here, he had to do something.
He looked into the husky's eyes and spoke softly, words of comfort, and after a few moments the dog wearily lifted his head and a rough tongue rasped down his hand. Mikhail made his decision – instantly and without any thought as to the consequences – he slipped his hands beneath the dog and gently lifted him up. He had expected the dog to be heavy, but it was as light as a feather – all fur and no muscle. Despite this, however, he was feeling the strain as he reached the Metro station. At the gate the guard told him that pets were not allowed on the train, but from some deep reserve the husky managed a snarl sufficiently realistic that the guard backed off and Mikhail carried the dog down the stairs and onto the train.
They spent the day together in his back yard. He treated the dog's many wounds with care and named it Chekov after the Metro station where they had first become acquainted. On the Monday morning he had go to work and he left the dog sleeping. All day he worried about what he would find when he got home. He was certain that during the day Chekov would recover sufficiently to make his way off back to his old routine once more. On the journey home alone that night he was feeling quite sad at the loss of his new found friend and it was with a heavy heart that he plodded the half mile to his home from the station. As he turned the last corner he stopped in amazement as a large shaggy dog stumbled unsteadily across the grass towards him. He stopped and threw his arms around Chekov.
'No more hitch hiking for you, my boy,' he said.
Foot-note:
There are about 35,000 homeless dogs in Russia's capital. Most of them are feral and eschew contact with people. But about 500 or so have done what many homeless people have done, and become semi-permanent denizens of the subways — in this case, the Moscow Metro. The advantages are more than just a roof and associated shelter from the weather. The dogs can cozy up to riders in hopes of getting food tossed their way, or, if opportunity knocks, scare an unsuspecting train-goer into dropping his or her snack. Either way, this newfound meal is critical to the hungry subway-living dog.
For about two dozen or so dogs, though, the bark-and-eat gambit is merely a start. These advanced dogs have taken the subway game to the next level: they have become commuters. Areas with office buildings are crowded during the day but sparsely populated during the mornings and evenings; meanwhile, the opposite pattern is seen in residential neighbourhoods. And therefore, it behoves a panhandler, canine and human alike, to be near the offices at lunch time and near people's homes at night. So, some Metro pups do exactly that — as reported by both ABC News and the Sun, 'The dogs have figured out how to navigate the train network in hopes of optimizing their locations throughout the day.'