F I V E - C O R N E R S

Perfectly Chivalrous Police

By Charles Digges

A NUMBER of articles published by this paper recently, many of them written by me, have presented some rather damning evidence of police power abuses.

As such, I thought it would be appropriate to take a look at the other side of the St. Petersburg police by examining those officers it would like to present as its public face - the snazzy, red-hatted and harmless gorodoviye.

Seen walking an elegant beat on Nevsky Prospect, Palace Square, Moscow Train Station, and other ports of tourist call, these strapping young throwbacks to tsarist-era constables have been touted as multi-lingual, well-dressed, mobile-phone carrying Virgils for lost foreigners in need of directions and protection.

I set out one rainy Tuesday with a quiver of bizarre requests to see just where the gorodoviye would draw the line.

Tying shoes

How often has it happened that you've been cruising down Nevsky Prospect only to have your pace broken by an errant shoelace coming untied? If you're like me, probably more than once. Though you can probably navigate the under-the-bridge-and-make-the-bow intricacies of retying the shoe yourself, you'll be happy to know the gorodoviye can do it for you as well.

Feigning a back pain that prevented me from bending over, I approached two red hats at Gostiny Dvor metro station and asked them - in English - to tie my boot lace, which I had specially untied before approaching them. Though it took a little miming and considered stares on their behalf, one of them finally exploded triumphantly:

"Back hurt you! Can't close shoe!"

He bent down to tie it for me while his partner said pridurok - idiot - but whether to me or to his buddy I'm not sure, because asking would have blown my cover as a tourist. He supplied me with a solid double knot that I haven't been able to untie since and sent me on my way with a smile.

Crossing guards

Walking further up Nevsky Prospect toward the Admiralty, I ran across two more gorodoviye. I tried to explain to them in English that my mother doesn't let me cross the street alone in Columbia, Missouri, and that the speeding cars here were even scarier. So could they please escort me across the street and hold my hand?

They were incredulous and asked me to point to the words I was saying in the Berlitz phrase book every gorodoviye carries in a special holster. "Street" and "cross" were easily found but "my mama usually holds my hand" was nowhere to be found so I decided to ask them in the rustiest Russian I could manage.

"You must be joking," said one. I assured him I was not.

"Public intoxication is something we can take you in for, you know," said the other. But as my breath attested, I had not been drinking.

"You really want us to help you across your street and ... hold your hand? Pridurok."

The latter part of the request was naturally the issue, but they did agree to march me on the next green light by holding my elbows. Reaching the other side, they asked me to show them my documents. They saw I was born in Missouri - a place not unlike Siberia's Novosibirsk Oblast, I explained.

"So you really don't see many cars then," said one. "Pridurok!" said the other, and they continued on their beat.

Shave and a Haircut

Actually, I have to admit, I don't know how good the gorodoviye are at shaving, but you can't blame me for trying. Approaching two more of the red hats at Moscow Train Station, I tried to convince them to give me a shave. I had brought the shaving cream and a razor with me. All they had to do was clear the whiskers.

I lathered up and held out the razor.

"Pridurok!" exclaimed one. (Pri du rok was the common muttered insult that cropped up again and again, although there were others, of course: durak, or fool, svoloch, or jerk, and so on).

"You want us to do what?" asked the other.

They too, asked to see my documents and started talking about hauling me in. I apologized for creating a scene and made up a story about how the cops in America would shave you if you asked - and at that they almost reconsidered.

But eventually squeamishness prevailed. "We just can't shave people," said one, and I said I understood.

"Pridurok," said the other and they went on their way.