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Walking the Line in the USSR
| Article
# : |
11317 |
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Section : |
LIFE
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| Issue
Date : |
5 / 1986 |
2,827 Words |
| Author
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Barry Farber
Barry Farber is the host of a radio talk show for WMCA in New
York and has done extensive writing for national magazines and
newspapers. |
It was the back alleys of summertime Leningrad.
The one who called himself Sasha and spoke English was telling us what he was willing to pay for each item in our laundry bag full of bright neckties, cigarette lighters, ordinary shirts, belts, sunglasses, red socks, ball-point pens, and especially American cigarettes. They paid astronomical prices for any little "consumer" item from the West.
The redheaded Russian, the one who'd spotted us on the street that afternoon as soon as we arrived by Swedish ship, was busy sorting the merchandise into separate piles and cutting out our towers of rubles. He'd told us that afternoon to go back to the ship, load up on everything we had from home, meet him in front of a certain building at seven that evening, say nothing, and follow him to the "safe" area where we were doing some business.
"Not bad for our first day in the Soviet Union," I thought as I stuffed my rubles into my pocket. "It'll make a great story: 'White Nights and Black Market'!"
The next evening I was bragging to Irving R. Levine, NBC's Moscow correspondent, about our quick and easy linkup with the Leningrad black market, "We walked right into it!" But the seasoned Levine said, "I doubt it was the Leningrad black market. It sounds a lot more like the KGB."
"The KGB!" I exclaimed. "How could they possibly be the KGB? I was breaking the law. They were right there with me. If they were the KGB why didn't they grab me on the spot and arrest me?"
When a massive dose of sophistication enters your system it produces a happy high. Irving R. Levine's next sentence provided that injection.
"They don't care about your black market trading," he explained. "They knew you were Americans. They knew you were part of the first crop of so-called free-lance writers to enter the Soviet Union. They wanted to lure you into a situation you would think was the black market just to see if you were interested in anything else; contacting an anti-Soviet underground, recruiting agents, or the like. You weren't. You didn't. So they gave you a nice thrill and a stack of rubles and let you go!"
Since that time I've tried to collect more sophistication about
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