Christmas Caroling Moscow Style

I know it's a bit early to be thinking of Christmas with all its holiday spirits, music playing everywhere and children caroling door-to-door, especially here in Moscow. Western Christmas is still a week away and as for Russian Christmas - it's not even in the works until next year. Nevertheless, I have just witnessed, even taken part in, what is probably an integral part of Moscow life and whose high season seems to coincide with all major holiday festivities - an ambitious street show put on by a team of free-lance performers aimed at relieving the spectator of spare cash and other valuables.

As I was walking happily from work along Tverskaya Street on my way home, thinking of a well deserved bubble bath, a scrawny computer-nerd-looking gentleman, who had just passed me in a hurry, accidentally dropped a wad of $100 bills folded neatly into a fat roll and held together by a rubber band inside a clear plastic zip-lock bag. The scrawny Nerd kept on walking, seemingly oblivious to his loss. My eyes connected briefly with the clouds above in a gesture of gratitude. "What a great stocking filler," I thought, imagining my new giant screen TV. "But wait! What if this Nerd is in fact some organizer of winter camps for kids?" I thought (the giant screen TV fading into background), "Do I really want to be a Grinch and steal Christmas from all those poor kids?" The choice was clear - "I must alert the Nerd of his clumsiness!"

"Hey Mister, you dropped your money!" - I was about to yell. (In Russian of course.) But it was not meant to be. Before I could open my mouth and score some points with the Guy Upstairs, in a mere blink of an eye, as if by magic, the dollar roll was suddenly transported from the snowed-in sidewalk and onto a fat, hairy hand that belonged to 'another passer-by', who'd just happened to be walking beside me.

"Did you see that?" - the owner of the hairy fat hand half-whispered in a conspiratory tone of voice, emphasizing his point with a gentle nudge of his elbow while at the same time displaying his find, skillfully turning it from side to side making sure its hefty dimensions did not escape my attention - "Do you think we should tell him?" He continued in his stifled voice.

"Yes, we should!" I echoed without hesitation thinking, "Halleluiah! There's still hope of sending all those kids to winter camp". But one look at the man's face extinguished all my enthusiasm in a snap. The expression on his face clearly indicated that my last comment was not in the script, and that it was in fact a very unfortunate uttering. Reinforcing this unsaid but understood message was his entire appearance, now that I've had a better chance to look at him: his slightly lower than usual forehead was more than compensated for by the lower part of his face that hung over his scarf, sort of like a pear shaped potato. Other than this Potato Head quality, he looked just like everyone else on Tverskaya Street that evening, only in a XXXL size.

"Look, we can split it 50-50. There must be at least ten grand in here," The Potato Head insisted, exhibiting the moneybag some more. I felt my adrenaline-producing gland kicking dutifully into higher gear. "Let's go into that alley and split the money," he pressed on motioning towards a dark and ominous looking arch nearby. This prompted me to pick up speed (we had kept marching on briskly during the whole altercation, and the running lights atop the Pyramid restaurant were clearly visible now). I wanted to put as much distance as possible between the aforementioned alley and myself. My mind was working overtime, making computations at a speed that would put all the Pentiums and Athalons of the world to shame: "Maybe Moscow isn't the place where it is customary for pedestrians to carry rolls of $100 bills, occasionally dropping them onto busy sidewalks after all," I was thinking. "No," I answered, "You can keep the money."
"Are you crazy!?" The Potato Head seemed visibly irritated now, "This is a lot of dough dude!"

"No, thanks." I stood ground, while my mouth was beginning to turn into the Sahara desert.

"Ok then, it's your loss," he suddenly decided to stop testing my integrity further, "But you never saw me! Understood?" He grunted.

"Yeah, ok," I managed to squeeze out not realizing switching back to English. "You didn't see me! Understood!?" - His second warning was already fading away into the shadows following its utterer. With a great sigh of relief my body began readjusting all its systems back to their previous happy state, and I continued on toward that well-deserved bubble bath. However, my relief was short lived.

A rather gentle tapping on my shoulder accompanied by a horse-like breathing down my neck stopped me in my tracks. Looking back and realized that instead of a conclusion to my little incident this was where the plot was about to thicken - panting heavily there stood the money dropping 'Nerd'. At his side there now was another member of 'the cast'- a youngish and quite attractive looking woman with shoulder length blond hair, wearing a parka. Her role was to play a 'concerned passer by' as I soon discovered. A short distance away there appeared to be yet another participant in this show, who although keeping apart from our little group, somehow seemed to belong. She was an older, not-so-good looking but well bread (oversized) 'Mumma'. What a surprise she had in store for me…

"Excuse me, but were you the one who picked up the money I accidentally dropped a few minutes ago? This kind lady here had pointed you out." The Nerd asked panting. The 'pedestrian' lady was nodding fervently in agreement. "There was another one with him with a big face," she chimed in tracing a large circle in the air with her hands to reinforce her point.

"Yes, that's right, he took your money and went in the opposite direction," I agreed readily, welcoming the opportunity to ditch responsibility.

"But you were there with him," insisted the Nerd, "I had $13,000 in that bag and I would recognize my money too, because there was a leaky pen in the bag as well, and the money is all marked with ink… So, why don't you just show me your wallet so I can be assured that you don't have any of MY money in it," came his punch line. At the same moment I sensed a suspicious movement behind me. A quick glance back revealed none other than the Big Mumma crouching down on one knee, doing the 'look, I'm tying my shoe lace' impression, less than a foot behind me. At that point it dawned on me that the grand finale of our little impromptu street play had just been set, in which I (helped by a friendly push of the Nerd) was to exit 'the stage' with a spectacular back flip salto-mortale over the Big Mumma's back while my wallet was changing owners.

"Not today!" I thought bravely, stepping away from the Big Mumma and starting toward the subway station again. A firm tag on my coat sleeve informed me that I was not finished with yet. "Where do you think your going? You're gonna have to show us your wallet! This young lady here can be the witness. Don't make me call the police!" - The Nerd threatened.

"Police? What a great idea!" I retorted reaching for my cell-phone. And for the second time that evening I saw no appreciation for my ad-libbing in the eyes of my 'play-mate'. My last line was definitely not in the script. But I like improvising, so my fingers were doing the 911 routine before I even thought of it.

"Wait," he interjected in an attempt to fix the apparent setback, "It's no use calling the police, it will take them forever to come. We can just walk up to that security guard and he will sort this out," he motioned toward the previously mentioned sinister looking arch. I followed his gesture with my eyes and, sure enough, there was a 'guard' leaning against the arch wall. I didn't need a second glance to realize that he looked exactly like the Potato Head. "How did he manage to change so quickly?" I wondered silently, but no explanation was forthcoming, "May be it's his double," I mused. The busy signal in my phone meant that the 911 people were busy saving someone else's life, and that I should take a number… "No biggie," I thought, "as long as I keep up my bluff. The Nerd and Co. don't have to know that 911 is busy."

"Hello, Police please," I inquired (in Russian of course), "I have an emergency here…" I continued, as I set off walking again. The entrance to the station was very reachable now.

I don't know whether my bluff looked authentic enough or if it was the proximity to the station, but the money dropping Nerd decided not to pursue the matter any further. However, to make their retreat look more graceful, he left with a few farewell threats like: 'we will find you' and 'there's nowhere to hide'. By the time his last words of the street wisdom were reaching my left ear (my right one still glued to the phone, listening to the still busy 911 department) I was on the steps leading down to the station hurrying toward the, now even more deserved bubble bath.

On my subway ride replaying the events of the evening I concluded that all in all the gig had been done quite professionally, although I thought it would have looked even more convincing if the Big Mamma character had actually had any laces on her boots to work with.

Prologue

My bubble bath dream was shattered into pieces the minute I came home and saw the tub filled with my dirty laundry I had left soaking in the morning. I didn't feel like washing it, so I wrote this story instead.

George Killan