exotic disease of the mysterious West. There arenтt enough private cars in
Krasnoy to bring about a gridlock even if they knew what it was. There are
cars, and a lot of wheezing, idealistic buses, but all there is enough of to stop
the flow of traffic in Krasnoy is people. It is a kind of equation, proved by
experiments conducted over many years, perhaps not in a wholly scientific or
objective spirit but nonetheless presenting a well-documented result confirmed
by repetition: There are not enough people in this city to stop a tank. Even in
much larger cities, it has been authoritatively demonstrated as recently as last
spring that there are not enough people to stop a tank But there are enough
people in this city to stop a bus, and they are doing so. Not by throwing
themselves in front of it, waving banners or singing songs about Libertyтs
eternal day, but merely by being of the g in the street, getting in the way bus,
on the supposition that the bus driver has not been trained in either homicide
or suicide, and on the same supposition-upon which all cities stand or fall-that
they are also getting in the way of all the other buses and all the cars and in
one anotherтs way, too, so that nobody is going much of anywhere, in a
physical sense.
"Weтre going to have to walk from here," Stefana said, and her mother
clutched her imitation-leather handbag
"Oh, but we canтt, Fana. Look at that crowd! What are theyўAre
theyў"
"Itтs Thursday, maтam," said a large, red-faced, smiling man just
behind them in the aisle. Everybody was getting off the bus, pushing and
talking.
"Yesterday, I got four blocks closer than this," a woman said crossly.
And the red-faced man said, "Ah, but this is Thursday."
"Fifteen thousand last time," said somebody.
And somebody else said, "Fifty, fifty thousand today!"
"We can never get near the Square. I donтt think we should try,"
Bruna told her daughter as they squeezed into the crowd outside the bus door.
"You stay with me, donтt let go and donтt worry," said the student of
Early Romantic Poetry, a tall, resolute young woman, and she took her
motherтs hand in a firm grasp. "It doesnтt really matter where we get, but it
would be fun if you could see the Square. Letтs try. Letтs go round behind the
post office."
Everybody was trying to go in the same direction. Stefana and Bruna
got across one street by dodging and stopping and pushing gently, then
turning against the flow, they trotted down a nearly empty alley, cut across
the cobbled court in back of the Central Post Office and rejoined an even
thicker crowd moving slowly down a wide street and out from between the
buildings. "There, thereтs the palace, see!" said Stefana, who could see it,
being taller. "This is as far as weтll get except by osmosis." They practiced
