During my visit to Moscow I was, fortunately, in the company of businessmen, not tourists. As such, I was able to avoid the standard and slick Intourist group-tour treatment. I was lucky enough to meet a number of senior Soviet officials, as well as minor bureaucratic functionaries, and a few wives, secretaries and cab drivers.
As a writer, this gave me a rare opportunity to probe the Russian psyche just a little and occasionally ask what was going on beneath the stoic surface of socialism.
I generally found in those I conversed with a willingness to speak candidly. For the most part, these were frank exchanges. Some were even interspersed with biting humor.
I was often asked questions by these people. They were tough questions. I did not always have an answer. "Why do the Americans continue to support nearly every reactionary and oppressive regime around the globe - especially in Latin America?" "Why are there still so many economic and political injustices in your society?" "Why, with all of your money and technology, have you not stopped the drug traffic into your country from Central and South America?" "Will you permit Dan Quayle to someday be president of the United States?"
The Russians I met attempted to answer all of my questions, even if the answers were somewhat incredible at times.
I asked a tall, youthful-appearing gentleman from the Soviet Ministry of Foreign Affairs about the 19-year-old Matthias Rust, the West German boy who had flown unchallenged for more than 400 miles across Soviet territory in his light aircraft, and then landed it safely in Red Square.
"He will not stay in jail long. Rust presented Chairman Gorbachev what you call a `gift from heaven.' It gave him good reason to shake up Soviet Defense High Command. Many, many lost their jobs. But they had always been a problem to Gorbachev's reform policies. They will not be missed. Old Bolsheviks are not to be missed now days!"
I discovered that hundreds of car owners in Moscow supplement their meager incomes by driving passengers about the city for money. I believe such cab drivers in New York City are referred to as gypsy cabbies.
I have experienced aggressive and reckless cabbies before in Tokyo and Mexico City, but the Russian gypsy cab drivers are clearly contenders for the "Acceleranti Dementi Award" presently held by the Italian Cab Team from Rome.
One driver and vehicle I recall in particular. His cab, a relic from the October Revolution, had been re-upholstered with material that had the texture and aroma of an old horse blanket. The flooring had rusted out and the dashboard was nothing but gaping holes with an occasional wire appearing as though it were a snake's tongue. The gearshift was on the floor. It handled like a stick in thick mud and no gear went unground by the driver.
This Russian cabbie was an interesting study. He was short, with a hairline that resembled Bela Lugosi's. When he drove fast, he was very happy. A wry smile crept across his narrow face as the speed approached Mach I. If a traffic light turned red and he was forced to come to a complete stop, he became lugubrious and sullen.
Only once did he frown and accelerate at the same time. This occurred when I asked him to slow down. "I did not come to Moscow to die," I added. This seemed to humor him somewhat.
I assumed he understood a little English, from this reaction. I also assumed if we became friends he would prefer to not see me in traction, so I asked his name. "Vitaly." "And where are you from?" "The Ukraine." "Where did you learn English?" "In school. I taught young people English in school."
I did not know what the word "perestroika" meant, so I asked him. "I show you," he said. We drove up and down several boulevards. He seemed to be looking for an address. He turned into a side street and stopped directly in front of an old office building that was faced with steel pipe scaffolding. Workmen were in the process of completely refurbishing the old structure.
"This is perestroika, my friend. Taking something old and worn out and changing it for the better." He paused and then added. "But I will tell you something. Some buildings, they are too old and they collapsed in the process! The wry smile returned to his face.