What a Ride!

                         

I’ve come to that time in life when I find myself walking through the amusement area of a park with my grandson, his tiny warm hand clasped in mine. It has somehow crept up on me. Suddenly I’m old. It seems like only yesterday my late mother was leading me along these same paths, past these same attractions. And now it's my turn to watch over the next generation.

My grandson is little; he’s just over two years old. He can't talk yet. Sometimes he just makes soft sounds while gazing at the Ferris wheel, the merry-go-round, or the swings. He's too young for the rides. He'll have to grow a bit first.

We pass a merry-go-round with horses arranged in a large circle. There's one just like it in Zarechye, at the playground near the Church of St. Sergius of Radonezh. That merry-go-round runs in the evening and—miracle of miracles in our suddenly capitalist times—lets children ride for free.

Everything in this park costs, of course, and prices are high. Parents who bring their children here know what they're in for and have prepared themselves both mentally and financially for their visit.

After walking past various rides in operation, my grandson and I stop near the horses, which aren’t moving. It's a weekday, there aren't many visitors, and the attraction doesn't have enough children to start.

We stand behind the fence, watching.

"We can't go in there," I tell my grandson. "You're too little. Besides, we don't have a ticket."

"What are you looking at? Come on in!" a woman's voice calls from the operator's booth.

"We don't have tickets," I say.

"Come ahead," the voice repeats.

We step over the barrier.

"Must be some kind-hearted grandmother who decided to give us a free ride," I think to myself.

A young woman of robust build emerges from the booth.

"Tickets, please!"

I fumble.

"Eh... you see, we don't have a ticket."

"How did you get in here without tickets?"

"Uh... I thought..."

"There’s nothing to think about. The ticket booth is over there," the young woman says, pointing toward an alleyway where the ticket office sits among kiosks selling ice cream, drinks, and cotton candy.

We leave. Shame washes over me as if I'd tried to steal something and been caught in petty theft. What disgrace has fallen upon my gray head! How bitter and mortifying it is... In all my life, I've never taken anything that wasn't mine (that’s how my mother taught me). I’ve never liked getting things for free. Always paid my way. Yet here I am, caught like some freeloader, a handout-seeker...

I ponder the situation as I walk. What drove me to do that?

I think back... 

I was somewhere in the middle of my working life at a shady trading company that eventually went belly-up. Its CEO — who was once a welcome guest at both local and regional social gatherings — ended up behind bars.

It was on a magical Indian summer day in September. During my lunch break (I had brought a small container of potatoes with shredded onions and some bread from home, all I could afford), I stepped out of the office into the park just across the street. This park wasn’t very big. It had some rides, but not many. Among them was a roller coaster, the pride and joy of Boris Pykhtin, our metallurgical plant's CEO. When he took over the plant, he promised to restore the factory’s abandoned park and install this foreign attraction. That promise he kept.

So there I was, sitting on a bench, basking in the sunlight and soaking up the last of the season’s warmth. A man in a rather informal-looking uniform approached. He seemed to be a park employee.

"Care for a ride?" he asked, gesturing toward the roller coaster.

“I don’t think so,” I replied.

"How come?" he inquired.

"No desire to. No money either."

"I'll give you a ride for free. There's no one else here anyway."

I hesitated.

"Come on, come on! Don't be shy!" the park worker said, switching to the Russian familiar form of address. "You'll love it. Let's go!"

I followed him.

He led me to the attraction, sat me in a car, and fastened the safety restraints.

“Okay, hold on tight, buddy!" he said and headed to the control booth.

I clutched the handrails.

The car jerked slightly and... we were off...

He spun me around and around — me, a guy with a mortal fear of heights — whirling between heaven and earth at a cosmic speed. Each time we soared above the neighborhood, I screamed and shrieked so loudly that my colleagues back at the office must have heard me... Those few minutes of flight felt like an eternity... When the car finally came to a halt and the operator unlatched the safety restraints, I staggered out onto solid ground on wobbly legs.

"So? How was it?" he asked.

"I loved it," I lied.

"Better check if you wet your pants," the operator suggested.

“I think they're dry," I assured him.

"Come back tomorrow and I'll give you another spin."

"I'll think about it," I mumbled and headed back to the office...

You really do find kind-hearted ride operators in the park sometimes! 

That's what flashed through my mind at the merry-go-round, and why I stepped over that barrier. That's why later, when that sturdily built young woman pointed me toward the ticket booth, I walked away with my grandson, calling myself every kind of fool and laughing at myself all the while.

 

Translated by James McVay