The train back

The trip was a trip in itself. I sat next to a plainclothes policeman, but I didn't know that. He continued the tradition I've seen of Russian cops, like soldiers, that they act much more like ordinary people, not like they have to maintain a puffed-up, aloof, postitive image like they do in the West. He had a guy in custody who was sitting several rows ahead, who he was taking to Moscow. When he found out I was American, he invited me to the dining car for a chat. (Leaving the prisoner behind. I guess he figured, where's he going to run away to on a train? Jump off?) In the dining car we sat with another guy, a cabinet maker from central Russia. The cop must have bought $50 worth of food and drink (or should I say drink and food?). He showed me his passport; it said something like "Buro Vnutrennykh Del" (=interior department). Later he took out his gun to show it to us. The other guy was motioning to him to put it away. Finally he was so drunk he put the gun down on the table and would have left it there forgotten, had the other guy not finally convinced him to put it away. I had to half carry him back to our seats. Then he took a nap. Finally, in Moscow, he collected the prisoner and went on his way.

St Petersburg, Russia -- September 1996