I was 16 then......
It was a very hot day. In such days I usually regret that I am not a blondy, because when the sun starts to shine right onto my head, all I want is to just hide in any shadow and never be found. After smoking a half pack of cigarettes on the stairway and arguing which fitness club we have to join to become healthier, my friend Vichka and I finally came to a consensus and went to the one on Pushkina St. to sign up.
The club was approximately ten blocks away from our house but despite the weather we decided to take a walk. It is not that we wanted to put ourselves in extreme conditions, but all other means of the transportation where even less attractive. Since we did not have much money to take a cab, the only other transportation we could use was a bus. Though the trip on the bus wouldn't take long, even ten minutes in the bus with the number of people twice exceeding the number the bus was designed for fetched up a horror. No, there were no air conditioners in the buses. Only open windows that you could hardly get close to unless you are a boxer or a dogfighter. Ten minutes with the people who may not being taking a shower for a few days... All sweating, sticky, and stinky... Ten minutes being touched by someone's sweat bodies, smelling their breath and God knows what else... And then if you are so lucky that you managed to get off on the stop that you needed, you have to examine your clothes that it's still clean and there are no somebody's saliva, blood from somebody's nose or a spot left by strawberries that were eaten by a child who was sitting nearby... No, thanks. We better take a walk.
Should we smoke a little less, we would not have drops of sweat all over our faces. Our shirts looked as wet as if we would fell into a puddle that miraculously remained by the porch despite of the heat. So when we finally got to the fitness club, we felt like Marathon runners while crossing the finish line. Our eyes madly moved around in a search of a sip of cold water. Although our intention was to work out after we sign up, when the instructor asked us when we are going to start, we simultaneously answered, "tomorrow."
After taking a cigarette break on a bench outside, we slowly plodded back. The day was going extremely slow. It seemed that the sunset will never come and the sun will keep shining until it burns us to the ash. We came back and decided to go home for lunch and then meet again in the afternoon. This is what we usually did. No, I don't mean lunches or fitness clubs. I mean that we always were together. Thinking of it right now makes me wondering, how Vichka and I could always hang out together and never get tired from each other? We could talk, argue, fight (I mean really fight), or even sit in silence and never get tired from each other. I could say we were like sisters, but even sisters are usually not as close to each other as we were. And not just were, we are, even though we cannot gad about together all day long anymore...
So, I went home for lunch, not even a bit suspecting that it's going to be fateful and that only a few hours later it will play vital role in our lives. I came home and asked my grandma, "What to eat?" "Soup," she replied. "What kind?" You know, teenagers are very picky about the food... "Tasty!" said grandma. "You mean that it again contains some of your hair?" Grandma didn't reply. I mean she didn't reply out loud, but I knew that if I'd come closer to her room, I could hear the worst swearing words one could imagine. So I walked to the kitchen with a satisfied smile on my face - grandma is punished! Of course I did not punish her for cooking the soup. I was mad at her because there are no soup by the name "tasty." It was rather an adjective my grandma used to advertise me any soup she made in a hope that her stupid teenage granddaughter will finally eat something healthy. And in my turn, I was always angry that my grandma hides the name of the soup as a top secret, so there is no way to know if it is something I'm willing to eat unless I stick my nose into the pot.
I checked the pot and its content did not impress me at all. I sadly sighed looking at the empty shelves of the refrigerator. It is not that our family did not have money to buy enough food, it rather seemed that there are not enough food in the world to feed my family. No matter how often we made a grocery shopping and how much food was brought in, within a few hours there was nothing to eat again. I checked the freezer and found a box of pel'meni. Not that tasty, but still better than the soup. I fried them and ate without pleasure. They were dry and too spicy and I had to drink water after every single bite of this thing to be able to swallow it. For a moment I even had a crazy thought that the soup could be better, but when I imagined boiled carrots that I saw in there, the thought disappeared without a trace. What could taste worse than boiled carrots? Only molted butter. Brrrrr...
Vichka called me and offered to go to the downtown for a party that was hosted by some radio station. The radio station had "Mango-Mango" band invited to entertain the audience. Neither me, nor Vichka had a particular interest in the band, but since there was nothing else to do, we decided to go.
We often went to the parties like that. It was the perfect place for teenagers to hang out - the entrance is free, loud music and a lot of people around. The only thing that was wrong with such parties that there usually were no restrooms available. It seemed very strange because sooner or later people need to use it, especially when they drink beer. No diapers were available too. It was quiet hard to guess what should you do if you want to pee, so everyone struggled with this problem on his own or in the "same sex" groups. As a result, all gateways around were flooded by urine. Often when you were walking on a side street nervously looking around for a hidden place, you could get the direction from someone who already dealt with this problem. It sounded something like, "Girls to the right, boys to the left." And then, following the instruction, you could easily find the cherished place by the smell.
Poor-poor people who happened to live in downtown... The funniest thing that they were not poor at all. In fact, they were pretty rich to be able to afford an apartment in such location. When I think of them, I imagine a man walking out of his apartment in the morning. He is holding his breath to avoid vomiting. He is stepping on a stair that has little half-dried puddles of urine and even his fancy Prado shoes crinkle with the disgust. To avoid slipping, he reaches the railings and walks down helplessly swearing. And somewhere between fifth and sixth stair he feels something greasy in his hand. What do you think it could be? Correct, it is someone's spit that contains snot, saliva and some other body liquids. Probably some kid had two urgencies at the same time - to pee and to spit. And now, already swearing out loud, the poor-rich man desperately plucks the leaves from a tree outside trying to wipe his hand. And at this moment some hundred-years-old grandma that is living in the same building since World War I, has insomnia and is already sitting by her window for the fifth hour in a hope to see something interesting, starts to scream, "Vandal! Molester! Leave the tree alone or I will call the cops right now!.." Poor-poor rich downtown residents...
Vichka came to my place and we started to call our friends to invite them to go with us. For some reason we couldn't get a hold of most of them. Even those who were home for one or another reason refused to go. Our boyfriends were not available too. Vichka's boyfriend was at work and neither of mine could go with us as well.
So I dressed up and we started to walk toward the subway station. On the way to the station we met our friend Luana. Of course her name wasn't Luana. In 1980s, when she was born there were no Mexican soap operas on the TV and therefore children were named after Soviet heroes instead. So her "earthly" name was Lena. That was me who gave her the new name because she reminded me a heroine from a soap opera. And from that time on everybody started to call her Luana. We took her with us. I say "took" because people like Luana can only be "taken." They walk up and down the streets and most of the time pointlessly. They don't care where to go and what to do. They never get happy or sad and it seems that they always maintain some "neutral" mood. There were only two things that interested Luana - food and sex. And since going to a party implied the possibility of both of the interests to be satisfied, she easily switched her direction and went with us.
We came to the subway station and I purchased the tickets for all of us. It was not that nobody else had money or I was assigned to sponsor the girls. Money were always a conjoint thing among us. We never counted who owes to whom or how much one brought. Whoever had the proper bill or was staying closer to the sales person paid. If one of us ran out of money it was absolutely normal if she asked another one to buy her cigarettes or something else.
So we took the train to Nemiga station and in ten minutes got right to the party. The band was already playing something and there were a few thousands of people staying around the stage. Most of them were teenagers, just like us. They were pushing each other, laughing, and trying to attract the opposite sex.
We looked at the crowd trying to estimate how long it will take to get to the first row, the closest to the stage. Though for most of the people it seemed impossible, Vichka and I had our own strategy of getting there. Usually it did not take any effort to overcome the first half of the way. People who were staying in the back rows were satisfied by only listening to the show and did not want to expose themselves to the risk of being trampled. And as it was getting closer to the stage, the rows were getting tighter and tighter. It seemed impossible to even stick a finger between the bodies in the first twenty-thirty rows. And here our strategy was coming into play. One of us was getting behind another and when nobody was looking pushed the other one toward the stage. At the time when angry people who were bumped by this maneuver were turning back to look what it was, we also turned back cursing imaginable someone, who allegedly pushed us. That way nobody was mad at us. And when one of us who advanced ahead asked the crowd with the nicest voice if they could please let her friend pass to her, people obligingly moved out of the way, probably feeling sorry for the girls who were so ruthlessly stroked from behind. Following this strategy we always got to the first rows at all of such events. And once we were getting there we could fully enjoy the show by staying a few feet away from the singer and having a lot of empty space in front of us. However, the front row also had its minuses. Once you got there – there is no way back. Of course there is one, but after getting there with such an effort, you don’t want to leave for some stupid reason like to go to the restroom or to buy something. Therefore, none of us drunk beer at such places. And I don’t mean only our group, most of the teenagers didn’t drink it as well. Although later on media often referred to that party as a beer fest, I’d say that proportion of beer drinkers was approximately one out of twenty.
So we looked at the crowd and concluded that we will need fifteen minutes to get to the front. The sun was shining, the band was playing some fast rhythms, so everything was like usually. We already made a few steps toward the stage and at this moment my body decided to punish me for feeding it poorly. I became thirsty. Not thirsty in the way that you can ignore it, but in the way that I felt that if I don’t drink anything right now, my body will dry like an old tree and I will fall down with a creek crashing into little pieces. Instantly my complaisant brain joined the conspiracy with the stomach and showed me the picture of pel’meni and the world darkened in my eyes. I saw a kiosk on the right side and with a single word, “drink!” turned the girls in that direction.
We built into the end of the long line. Vichka looked at me condemning and said, “The party will be over before you get to the window!” I replied that if I don’t drink something right now, I will die before the next song. Vichka sighed and lit a cigarette. Luana remained quiet, trying to search out for something edible in the kiosk showcase. The line was not moving at all. Presumably the overheated brain of the lady in the kiosk refused to process simple algebraic computations and she had a hard time calculating the change she had to give. The cash registers that were a requirement for any kiosk were used only for the purpose of printing a receipt. They added the prices of the items and counted the total leaving the task of counting change to the cashier. Although every cashier had a calculator handy, it was very common that the money and the receipts were not balanced by the end of the day. Nevertheless, everyone was laughing at the myth of stupid Americans who enter the amount received, so the register can count the change.
I lit a cigarette too and started to look around. A girl that stayed nearby was trying to fix her excessive makeup that was sliding down forced by the drops of sweat. I smirked. Another girl who was staying in the line a couple feet ahead was wearing a very little piece of fabrics that with the big stretch could be named shorts. “Mosquito’s dinner,” said I and the girls giggled following my glance. A group of three guys slowly separated from the fence on the side of the road and moved toward the group of three girls that were passing by. I watched them pondering whether they chose the girls by the look or by the number. A nice cooling breeze blew into my face. The nature probably decided to take a pity on us and extend the lives of her children for another day.
We stood at the line for good fifteen minutes and barely made it through one third. The band announced its next song and the crowd hooted. I felt Vichka’s hate by all my skin, but didn’t really care. I wanted to drink. We moved a little closer to the window and a bottle of Fanta winked to me from the showcase. I imagined cold Fanta leaking through my throat… Luana got money out of her pocket and started to count them reconciling with the prices of sandwiches. The breeze blew again and gradually turned into a wind. Darkened. I looked up and saw a black cloud right above our heads. A fat drop landed on my forehead. I took another cigarette and before I reached a lighter the rain gushed and soaked the cigarette by the filter. I threw it away. People rushed to the roof of the subway station to hide. “Let’s go,” said Vichka and tried to pull me out of the line. “The rain is not gonna kill you,” said I looking at the people leaving the line with a satisfaction. The bottle of Fanta looked at me with a wide smile. A few more people and it will be mine!..
The rain became stronger. More and more people went toward the subway station and those who were more water-fearing ran. Five people between us and the cherished window. Four people. I’ve got the money out of the pocket and at this moment small pieces of hail started painfully beat my body. Within a few seconds hail rose into the size of a pea and the pain of its hits became very sensible. “Alright, let’s go,” said I. We merged into the crowd running to the station. “Let’s run,” said Vichka. “No way,” said I, “I better get wet than brake my legs!” Five inches heels platform shoes. Many girls can’t even imagine walking on those. I can. Actually, I could even run on those, but not on that sidewalk. Today all of the sidewalks in Minsk paved with nice flat tiles even in the peripheral areas. Ten years ago the sidewalks in the downtown were full of chuckholes and cracks…
We walked toward the roof. The band stopped playing and the rest of the people who heroically listened to it despite of the hail streamed to shelters. We approached the entrance to the station and started to walk downstairs. There were two sets of stairs. Each of them contained approximately fifteen stairs. We passed the first set and approached the second. A guy behind us said, “Let’s push the girls,” trying to get our attention. I turned back to tell him something mean, but changed my mind and only gave him the look that made him shut up. The roof was close. It began above the middle of the second set of the stairs and we were only a few steps away from it. There were symmetrical sets of stairs on the opposite side and ten feetpassage covered by the roof between them. There was another staircase from the passage toward the hall leading to the subway station Nemiga.
We made our first steps under the roof and at this moment something incomprehensible happened. I felt someone pushing me and assumed that the stupid guy decided to realize his joke. I tried to turn back to punch him into the face, but my hands were already clamped between people in the front and back of me. I stayed on the ridge of a stair, tilted 45 degrees forward and was not falling. I turned my head to Vichka to ask her what the hell is going on, but couldn’t utter a word. I couldn’t see Luana because she was on my other side and there was no way to turn the head anymore. I greedily opened my mouth trying to breathe, but it didn’t work. The last thing I remember was Vichka’s face distorted by a mad grimace, probably the same as mine.
Neither I saw a light, nor fragments from my past life. The entire world became a picture on the bottom of a pool that seems moving by the waves on the top. My parting consciousness caught words “back up” that was yelled by a few people at first and then picked up by everybody else, who was still able to yell. I passed out.
I opened my eyes hardly understanding what’s going on. Vichka and Luana where saying, “Get up!” and dragged my hands trying to raise me. I was laying on the wet stairs and not fully dressed people were walking up the stairs covering their bodies with the hands. There was blood on the stairs near me. I stood up and we carefully walked up around the people who were still getting up. One of my shoes was missing too, but we decided to wait until everyone leaves the stairs to search for it. On my question what happened, Luana said that when everybody started to yell “back up” the crowd behind moved backward causing everyone in the front to fall back. Some guy helped Luana to get up, she helped Vichka and then they both came to get me.
We went to the fence by the road and I got the pack of cigarettes out. Most of the cigarettes were broken, but I found a couple unbroken for Vichka and myself. Luana was a non-smoker. The only one in her big family with the exception of her eight-years-old sister. The storm was over, but the sky remained dark. No music was played anymore. Nobody was giggling. The only sounds that were breaking through the silence were names of people screamed by the groups of their friends desperately trying to locate them. The stairs cleared and Vichka and Luana went to search for my shoe. The group of the girls near me were calling their friend that was missing. A couple minutes later another girl approached them and said with a shaking voice, “She is there… All blue…” The girls started to cry. Vichka and Luana came back. Their faces were pale and for a while they stayed quietly. Then Vichka said, “We can’t get your shoe. The cops roped the area… They are looking for the documents of the dead…” Luana started to cry. The huge grass field around the entrance to the station was filled with horror. Some people continued to call their friends and the hope in their voices gradually faded away. Others were crying. Not many of them were brave enough to approach the stairs and check whether their friend is down there. A group of the guys started to bring the bodies up. I turned away. I didn’t cry and didn’t panic. My emotions were covered with a white shroud. I stared at the road and smoked. And suddenly I realized that the party was hosted by the radio station and by this time the entire city is aware of what happened and our families are probably scared to death.
I shared this thought with the girls and they agreed. There were no paid phones around and we decided that we will get home sooner than find one. We walked for a few blocks. The roads near the station were closed because of the party. We finally saw some traffic and stopped by the road with our hands up, making a sign to the drivers that we need a ride. Nobody wanted to stop. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t stop neither. We looked like monsters. I was staying in one shoe and my jeans were covered with the wet dust. Vichka had her make up all over the face and was refusing to fix it saying that she doesn’t care. Luana was in dirty jeans as myself and was hysterically crying. That was probably the only time when I saw her with an emotion other than neutral.
Finally a van pulled over. There were two guys and two girls that were on their way for camping. They agreed to take us but asked us to give them money in advance. We probably didn’t look like people who could possibly have any. I found a couple wet dollars in my pocket and gave them. They asked me why are they wet and we told them of what happened. They started to make jokes presumably decided that we are drug-addicted under hallucinations. I asked them to turn on the radio and they did. The radio played some fancy music and the host invited people to join a radio game. Nothing was told about the incident… They exchanged glances and the rest of the way everybody remained silent.
We got of by our house and the girls helped me to walk home or actually jump on one foot. My uncle was drinking coffee on the kitchen and when he saw me through the window announced to the rest of the family, “She is coming… In one shoe… Probably drunk…” I came home and told my family of what happened. They exchanged glances and I realized that they don’t believe me too. I learned from them that there was no rain in our neighborhood which made it even harder to believe in what I was saying. They called Vichka’s parents to check what she told them. Vichka’s mom confirmed the same story. Together they concluded that probably this time we did drugs instead of drinking because nothing that could support our story was broadcasted neither by TV, nor by radio. We called all our friends but it had the same result. Everybody thought that we either got mad or are making up a story to fool them.
Not until 6am next morning anyone believed us. The first call we received was from the US, then from Israel, then from Minsk and again from the US. People kept calling us from the entire globe to make sure that I’m alive. Our phone was smoking because of the calls. Soon I got tired of answering it and turned the TV on. The picture on the screen was showing Nemiga station interchanging with the phone number of the hot line. Fifty three people dead… A couple hundred in the hospital… How did we get out of this mess?..
Later on some priests were added to the picture. They said that they warned the party hosts that the 30th of May was Trinity Day (the orthodox holyday). In the priests’ opinion, no party alike could be held on that day, especially in the spot between the three largest churches in the city. Is it true? I don’t know what exactly started that unbelievable hail, the nature or the heaven. But the fact is that Nemiga was the only place in the entire Minsk where it happened. In the rest of the city the sun was continuing to shine and not a drop of rain fall on the ground.
The entire city was filled out by the stories of people who was injured or died during the incident. It seemed that everyone knew at least one victim. Many went to see Nemiga station just out of their curiosity. I never did. I was told that there were bloody hands’ traces on the ceiling, a couple steps away from where we stood. How high is the ceiling? Ten feet? Fifteen?.. All the walls were covered by the inscriptions addressed to the dead. Vichka’s boyfriend constantly repeated that she should pray for my insistence for the rest of her life. What if we went a 30 seconds earlier?.. A minute?.. A few?..
Ten years passed since then, but that day imprinted in my memory so deeply, that I can still remember all of the details. I did not acquire any crowd phobia and still get to the front rows on the concerts. I think that if I’m meant to die, there is no way to hide from it by sitting at home in a helmet.
I’ve heard many variations of what happened that day. Often by people who wasn’t even there, but heard about it from their friend, who in his turn heard the story from someone else. They were telling some fables and I tried to argue at first, but quickly gave up. What is the point to argue?
Almost nobody was drunk over there and it happened rather by the accident. People did not realize what they were doing, and not because of the alcohol. It was the inconceivable hail that forced people to the unweighted panic rush. And though the prosecutor’s office was diligently trying to find out who is guilty of that, there was no one to blame. But even if there were, what difference would it make? The dead will remain dead and those who survived will always remember that day, May 30th, 1999.
http://www.tvr.by/lib/news.video?id=11889
http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%A2%D1%80%D0%B0%D0%B3%D0%B5%D0%B4%D0%B8%D1%8F_%D0%BD%D0%B0_%D0%9D%D0%B5%D0%BC%D0%B8%D0%B3%D0%B5
http://web.bryant.edu/~ehu/cld/projects/nemiga/Nemiga.htm
It was a very hot day. In such days I usually regret that I am not a blondy, because when the sun starts to shine right onto my head, all I want is to just hide in any shadow and never be found. After smoking a half pack of cigarettes on the stairway and arguing which fitness club we have to join to become healthier, my friend Vichka and I finally came to a consensus and went to the one on Pushkina St. to sign up.
The club was approximately ten blocks away from our house but despite the weather we decided to take a walk. It is not that we wanted to put ourselves in extreme conditions, but all other means of the transportation where even less attractive. Since we did not have much money to take a cab, the only other transportation we could use was a bus. Though the trip on the bus wouldn't take long, even ten minutes in the bus with the number of people twice exceeding the number the bus was designed for fetched up a horror. No, there were no air conditioners in the buses. Only open windows that you could hardly get close to unless you are a boxer or a dogfighter. Ten minutes with the people who may not being taking a shower for a few days... All sweating, sticky, and stinky... Ten minutes being touched by someone's sweat bodies, smelling their breath and God knows what else... And then if you are so lucky that you managed to get off on the stop that you needed, you have to examine your clothes that it's still clean and there are no somebody's saliva, blood from somebody's nose or a spot left by strawberries that were eaten by a child who was sitting nearby... No, thanks. We better take a walk.
Should we smoke a little less, we would not have drops of sweat all over our faces. Our shirts looked as wet as if we would fell into a puddle that miraculously remained by the porch despite of the heat. So when we finally got to the fitness club, we felt like Marathon runners while crossing the finish line. Our eyes madly moved around in a search of a sip of cold water. Although our intention was to work out after we sign up, when the instructor asked us when we are going to start, we simultaneously answered, "tomorrow."
After taking a cigarette break on a bench outside, we slowly plodded back. The day was going extremely slow. It seemed that the sunset will never come and the sun will keep shining until it burns us to the ash. We came back and decided to go home for lunch and then meet again in the afternoon. This is what we usually did. No, I don't mean lunches or fitness clubs. I mean that we always were together. Thinking of it right now makes me wondering, how Vichka and I could always hang out together and never get tired from each other? We could talk, argue, fight (I mean really fight), or even sit in silence and never get tired from each other. I could say we were like sisters, but even sisters are usually not as close to each other as we were. And not just were, we are, even though we cannot gad about together all day long anymore...
So, I went home for lunch, not even a bit suspecting that it's going to be fateful and that only a few hours later it will play vital role in our lives. I came home and asked my grandma, "What to eat?" "Soup," she replied. "What kind?" You know, teenagers are very picky about the food... "Tasty!" said grandma. "You mean that it again contains some of your hair?" Grandma didn't reply. I mean she didn't reply out loud, but I knew that if I'd come closer to her room, I could hear the worst swearing words one could imagine. So I walked to the kitchen with a satisfied smile on my face - grandma is punished! Of course I did not punish her for cooking the soup. I was mad at her because there are no soup by the name "tasty." It was rather an adjective my grandma used to advertise me any soup she made in a hope that her stupid teenage granddaughter will finally eat something healthy. And in my turn, I was always angry that my grandma hides the name of the soup as a top secret, so there is no way to know if it is something I'm willing to eat unless I stick my nose into the pot.
I checked the pot and its content did not impress me at all. I sadly sighed looking at the empty shelves of the refrigerator. It is not that our family did not have money to buy enough food, it rather seemed that there are not enough food in the world to feed my family. No matter how often we made a grocery shopping and how much food was brought in, within a few hours there was nothing to eat again. I checked the freezer and found a box of pel'meni. Not that tasty, but still better than the soup. I fried them and ate without pleasure. They were dry and too spicy and I had to drink water after every single bite of this thing to be able to swallow it. For a moment I even had a crazy thought that the soup could be better, but when I imagined boiled carrots that I saw in there, the thought disappeared without a trace. What could taste worse than boiled carrots? Only molted butter. Brrrrr...
Vichka called me and offered to go to the downtown for a party that was hosted by some radio station. The radio station had "Mango-Mango" band invited to entertain the audience. Neither me, nor Vichka had a particular interest in the band, but since there was nothing else to do, we decided to go.
We often went to the parties like that. It was the perfect place for teenagers to hang out - the entrance is free, loud music and a lot of people around. The only thing that was wrong with such parties that there usually were no restrooms available. It seemed very strange because sooner or later people need to use it, especially when they drink beer. No diapers were available too. It was quiet hard to guess what should you do if you want to pee, so everyone struggled with this problem on his own or in the "same sex" groups. As a result, all gateways around were flooded by urine. Often when you were walking on a side street nervously looking around for a hidden place, you could get the direction from someone who already dealt with this problem. It sounded something like, "Girls to the right, boys to the left." And then, following the instruction, you could easily find the cherished place by the smell.
Poor-poor people who happened to live in downtown... The funniest thing that they were not poor at all. In fact, they were pretty rich to be able to afford an apartment in such location. When I think of them, I imagine a man walking out of his apartment in the morning. He is holding his breath to avoid vomiting. He is stepping on a stair that has little half-dried puddles of urine and even his fancy Prado shoes crinkle with the disgust. To avoid slipping, he reaches the railings and walks down helplessly swearing. And somewhere between fifth and sixth stair he feels something greasy in his hand. What do you think it could be? Correct, it is someone's spit that contains snot, saliva and some other body liquids. Probably some kid had two urgencies at the same time - to pee and to spit. And now, already swearing out loud, the poor-rich man desperately plucks the leaves from a tree outside trying to wipe his hand. And at this moment some hundred-years-old grandma that is living in the same building since World War I, has insomnia and is already sitting by her window for the fifth hour in a hope to see something interesting, starts to scream, "Vandal! Molester! Leave the tree alone or I will call the cops right now!.." Poor-poor rich downtown residents...
Vichka came to my place and we started to call our friends to invite them to go with us. For some reason we couldn't get a hold of most of them. Even those who were home for one or another reason refused to go. Our boyfriends were not available too. Vichka's boyfriend was at work and neither of mine could go with us as well.
So I dressed up and we started to walk toward the subway station. On the way to the station we met our friend Luana. Of course her name wasn't Luana. In 1980s, when she was born there were no Mexican soap operas on the TV and therefore children were named after Soviet heroes instead. So her "earthly" name was Lena. That was me who gave her the new name because she reminded me a heroine from a soap opera. And from that time on everybody started to call her Luana. We took her with us. I say "took" because people like Luana can only be "taken." They walk up and down the streets and most of the time pointlessly. They don't care where to go and what to do. They never get happy or sad and it seems that they always maintain some "neutral" mood. There were only two things that interested Luana - food and sex. And since going to a party implied the possibility of both of the interests to be satisfied, she easily switched her direction and went with us.
We came to the subway station and I purchased the tickets for all of us. It was not that nobody else had money or I was assigned to sponsor the girls. Money were always a conjoint thing among us. We never counted who owes to whom or how much one brought. Whoever had the proper bill or was staying closer to the sales person paid. If one of us ran out of money it was absolutely normal if she asked another one to buy her cigarettes or something else.
So we took the train to Nemiga station and in ten minutes got right to the party. The band was already playing something and there were a few thousands of people staying around the stage. Most of them were teenagers, just like us. They were pushing each other, laughing, and trying to attract the opposite sex.
We looked at the crowd trying to estimate how long it will take to get to the first row, the closest to the stage. Though for most of the people it seemed impossible, Vichka and I had our own strategy of getting there. Usually it did not take any effort to overcome the first half of the way. People who were staying in the back rows were satisfied by only listening to the show and did not want to expose themselves to the risk of being trampled. And as it was getting closer to the stage, the rows were getting tighter and tighter. It seemed impossible to even stick a finger between the bodies in the first twenty-thirty rows. And here our strategy was coming into play. One of us was getting behind another and when nobody was looking pushed the other one toward the stage. At the time when angry people who were bumped by this maneuver were turning back to look what it was, we also turned back cursing imaginable someone, who allegedly pushed us. That way nobody was mad at us. And when one of us who advanced ahead asked the crowd with the nicest voice if they could please let her friend pass to her, people obligingly moved out of the way, probably feeling sorry for the girls who were so ruthlessly stroked from behind. Following this strategy we always got to the first rows at all of such events. And once we were getting there we could fully enjoy the show by staying a few feet away from the singer and having a lot of empty space in front of us. However, the front row also had its minuses. Once you got there – there is no way back. Of course there is one, but after getting there with such an effort, you don’t want to leave for some stupid reason like to go to the restroom or to buy something. Therefore, none of us drunk beer at such places. And I don’t mean only our group, most of the teenagers didn’t drink it as well. Although later on media often referred to that party as a beer fest, I’d say that proportion of beer drinkers was approximately one out of twenty.
So we looked at the crowd and concluded that we will need fifteen minutes to get to the front. The sun was shining, the band was playing some fast rhythms, so everything was like usually. We already made a few steps toward the stage and at this moment my body decided to punish me for feeding it poorly. I became thirsty. Not thirsty in the way that you can ignore it, but in the way that I felt that if I don’t drink anything right now, my body will dry like an old tree and I will fall down with a creek crashing into little pieces. Instantly my complaisant brain joined the conspiracy with the stomach and showed me the picture of pel’meni and the world darkened in my eyes. I saw a kiosk on the right side and with a single word, “drink!” turned the girls in that direction.
We built into the end of the long line. Vichka looked at me condemning and said, “The party will be over before you get to the window!” I replied that if I don’t drink something right now, I will die before the next song. Vichka sighed and lit a cigarette. Luana remained quiet, trying to search out for something edible in the kiosk showcase. The line was not moving at all. Presumably the overheated brain of the lady in the kiosk refused to process simple algebraic computations and she had a hard time calculating the change she had to give. The cash registers that were a requirement for any kiosk were used only for the purpose of printing a receipt. They added the prices of the items and counted the total leaving the task of counting change to the cashier. Although every cashier had a calculator handy, it was very common that the money and the receipts were not balanced by the end of the day. Nevertheless, everyone was laughing at the myth of stupid Americans who enter the amount received, so the register can count the change.
I lit a cigarette too and started to look around. A girl that stayed nearby was trying to fix her excessive makeup that was sliding down forced by the drops of sweat. I smirked. Another girl who was staying in the line a couple feet ahead was wearing a very little piece of fabrics that with the big stretch could be named shorts. “Mosquito’s dinner,” said I and the girls giggled following my glance. A group of three guys slowly separated from the fence on the side of the road and moved toward the group of three girls that were passing by. I watched them pondering whether they chose the girls by the look or by the number. A nice cooling breeze blew into my face. The nature probably decided to take a pity on us and extend the lives of her children for another day.
We stood at the line for good fifteen minutes and barely made it through one third. The band announced its next song and the crowd hooted. I felt Vichka’s hate by all my skin, but didn’t really care. I wanted to drink. We moved a little closer to the window and a bottle of Fanta winked to me from the showcase. I imagined cold Fanta leaking through my throat… Luana got money out of her pocket and started to count them reconciling with the prices of sandwiches. The breeze blew again and gradually turned into a wind. Darkened. I looked up and saw a black cloud right above our heads. A fat drop landed on my forehead. I took another cigarette and before I reached a lighter the rain gushed and soaked the cigarette by the filter. I threw it away. People rushed to the roof of the subway station to hide. “Let’s go,” said Vichka and tried to pull me out of the line. “The rain is not gonna kill you,” said I looking at the people leaving the line with a satisfaction. The bottle of Fanta looked at me with a wide smile. A few more people and it will be mine!..
The rain became stronger. More and more people went toward the subway station and those who were more water-fearing ran. Five people between us and the cherished window. Four people. I’ve got the money out of the pocket and at this moment small pieces of hail started painfully beat my body. Within a few seconds hail rose into the size of a pea and the pain of its hits became very sensible. “Alright, let’s go,” said I. We merged into the crowd running to the station. “Let’s run,” said Vichka. “No way,” said I, “I better get wet than brake my legs!” Five inches heels platform shoes. Many girls can’t even imagine walking on those. I can. Actually, I could even run on those, but not on that sidewalk. Today all of the sidewalks in Minsk paved with nice flat tiles even in the peripheral areas. Ten years ago the sidewalks in the downtown were full of chuckholes and cracks…
We walked toward the roof. The band stopped playing and the rest of the people who heroically listened to it despite of the hail streamed to shelters. We approached the entrance to the station and started to walk downstairs. There were two sets of stairs. Each of them contained approximately fifteen stairs. We passed the first set and approached the second. A guy behind us said, “Let’s push the girls,” trying to get our attention. I turned back to tell him something mean, but changed my mind and only gave him the look that made him shut up. The roof was close. It began above the middle of the second set of the stairs and we were only a few steps away from it. There were symmetrical sets of stairs on the opposite side and ten feetpassage covered by the roof between them. There was another staircase from the passage toward the hall leading to the subway station Nemiga.
We made our first steps under the roof and at this moment something incomprehensible happened. I felt someone pushing me and assumed that the stupid guy decided to realize his joke. I tried to turn back to punch him into the face, but my hands were already clamped between people in the front and back of me. I stayed on the ridge of a stair, tilted 45 degrees forward and was not falling. I turned my head to Vichka to ask her what the hell is going on, but couldn’t utter a word. I couldn’t see Luana because she was on my other side and there was no way to turn the head anymore. I greedily opened my mouth trying to breathe, but it didn’t work. The last thing I remember was Vichka’s face distorted by a mad grimace, probably the same as mine.
Neither I saw a light, nor fragments from my past life. The entire world became a picture on the bottom of a pool that seems moving by the waves on the top. My parting consciousness caught words “back up” that was yelled by a few people at first and then picked up by everybody else, who was still able to yell. I passed out.
I opened my eyes hardly understanding what’s going on. Vichka and Luana where saying, “Get up!” and dragged my hands trying to raise me. I was laying on the wet stairs and not fully dressed people were walking up the stairs covering their bodies with the hands. There was blood on the stairs near me. I stood up and we carefully walked up around the people who were still getting up. One of my shoes was missing too, but we decided to wait until everyone leaves the stairs to search for it. On my question what happened, Luana said that when everybody started to yell “back up” the crowd behind moved backward causing everyone in the front to fall back. Some guy helped Luana to get up, she helped Vichka and then they both came to get me.
We went to the fence by the road and I got the pack of cigarettes out. Most of the cigarettes were broken, but I found a couple unbroken for Vichka and myself. Luana was a non-smoker. The only one in her big family with the exception of her eight-years-old sister. The storm was over, but the sky remained dark. No music was played anymore. Nobody was giggling. The only sounds that were breaking through the silence were names of people screamed by the groups of their friends desperately trying to locate them. The stairs cleared and Vichka and Luana went to search for my shoe. The group of the girls near me were calling their friend that was missing. A couple minutes later another girl approached them and said with a shaking voice, “She is there… All blue…” The girls started to cry. Vichka and Luana came back. Their faces were pale and for a while they stayed quietly. Then Vichka said, “We can’t get your shoe. The cops roped the area… They are looking for the documents of the dead…” Luana started to cry. The huge grass field around the entrance to the station was filled with horror. Some people continued to call their friends and the hope in their voices gradually faded away. Others were crying. Not many of them were brave enough to approach the stairs and check whether their friend is down there. A group of the guys started to bring the bodies up. I turned away. I didn’t cry and didn’t panic. My emotions were covered with a white shroud. I stared at the road and smoked. And suddenly I realized that the party was hosted by the radio station and by this time the entire city is aware of what happened and our families are probably scared to death.
I shared this thought with the girls and they agreed. There were no paid phones around and we decided that we will get home sooner than find one. We walked for a few blocks. The roads near the station were closed because of the party. We finally saw some traffic and stopped by the road with our hands up, making a sign to the drivers that we need a ride. Nobody wanted to stop. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t stop neither. We looked like monsters. I was staying in one shoe and my jeans were covered with the wet dust. Vichka had her make up all over the face and was refusing to fix it saying that she doesn’t care. Luana was in dirty jeans as myself and was hysterically crying. That was probably the only time when I saw her with an emotion other than neutral.
Finally a van pulled over. There were two guys and two girls that were on their way for camping. They agreed to take us but asked us to give them money in advance. We probably didn’t look like people who could possibly have any. I found a couple wet dollars in my pocket and gave them. They asked me why are they wet and we told them of what happened. They started to make jokes presumably decided that we are drug-addicted under hallucinations. I asked them to turn on the radio and they did. The radio played some fancy music and the host invited people to join a radio game. Nothing was told about the incident… They exchanged glances and the rest of the way everybody remained silent.
We got of by our house and the girls helped me to walk home or actually jump on one foot. My uncle was drinking coffee on the kitchen and when he saw me through the window announced to the rest of the family, “She is coming… In one shoe… Probably drunk…” I came home and told my family of what happened. They exchanged glances and I realized that they don’t believe me too. I learned from them that there was no rain in our neighborhood which made it even harder to believe in what I was saying. They called Vichka’s parents to check what she told them. Vichka’s mom confirmed the same story. Together they concluded that probably this time we did drugs instead of drinking because nothing that could support our story was broadcasted neither by TV, nor by radio. We called all our friends but it had the same result. Everybody thought that we either got mad or are making up a story to fool them.
Not until 6am next morning anyone believed us. The first call we received was from the US, then from Israel, then from Minsk and again from the US. People kept calling us from the entire globe to make sure that I’m alive. Our phone was smoking because of the calls. Soon I got tired of answering it and turned the TV on. The picture on the screen was showing Nemiga station interchanging with the phone number of the hot line. Fifty three people dead… A couple hundred in the hospital… How did we get out of this mess?..
Later on some priests were added to the picture. They said that they warned the party hosts that the 30th of May was Trinity Day (the orthodox holyday). In the priests’ opinion, no party alike could be held on that day, especially in the spot between the three largest churches in the city. Is it true? I don’t know what exactly started that unbelievable hail, the nature or the heaven. But the fact is that Nemiga was the only place in the entire Minsk where it happened. In the rest of the city the sun was continuing to shine and not a drop of rain fall on the ground.
The entire city was filled out by the stories of people who was injured or died during the incident. It seemed that everyone knew at least one victim. Many went to see Nemiga station just out of their curiosity. I never did. I was told that there were bloody hands’ traces on the ceiling, a couple steps away from where we stood. How high is the ceiling? Ten feet? Fifteen?.. All the walls were covered by the inscriptions addressed to the dead. Vichka’s boyfriend constantly repeated that she should pray for my insistence for the rest of her life. What if we went a 30 seconds earlier?.. A minute?.. A few?..
Ten years passed since then, but that day imprinted in my memory so deeply, that I can still remember all of the details. I did not acquire any crowd phobia and still get to the front rows on the concerts. I think that if I’m meant to die, there is no way to hide from it by sitting at home in a helmet.
I’ve heard many variations of what happened that day. Often by people who wasn’t even there, but heard about it from their friend, who in his turn heard the story from someone else. They were telling some fables and I tried to argue at first, but quickly gave up. What is the point to argue?
Almost nobody was drunk over there and it happened rather by the accident. People did not realize what they were doing, and not because of the alcohol. It was the inconceivable hail that forced people to the unweighted panic rush. And though the prosecutor’s office was diligently trying to find out who is guilty of that, there was no one to blame. But even if there were, what difference would it make? The dead will remain dead and those who survived will always remember that day, May 30th, 1999.
http://www.tvr.by/lib/news.video?id=11889
http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%A2%D1%80%D0%B0%D0%B3%D0%B5%D0%B4%D0%B8%D1%8F_%D0%BD%D0%B0_%D0%9D%D0%B5%D0%BC%D0%B8%D0%B3%D0%B5
http://web.bryant.edu/~ehu/cld/projects/nemiga/Nemiga.htm
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