The only regular means of transport seemed to be the trams — and at each stopping place the waiting crowds swarmed upon these like a flight of locusts; there seemed no limit to the number they were allowed to carry, and people who could not force their way inside hung from the rails and platforms at the back and front. One thing that astonished Simon was the extraordinary number of people in the streets — they all seemed to be hurrying somewhere, and he thought that some sort of national holiday must be in progress, but when he suggested this to the Duke, De Richleau shook his head.
“No, my friend — it is only the effect of the five-day week! There are no more Sundays in Russia, or Saturday half-holidays. Everybody works at something, in a series of perpetual shifts, so that from year’s end to year’s end there is no cessation of industry. The factories are never idle, but each individual has every fifth day free — therefore, one-fifth of the entire population of this city is on holiday each day.”
“So that is why there are so many people about — I’m surprised at the queues, though; I thought all that was done away with.”
“While there is no system of delivery there must be queues.” De Richleau shrugged his shoulders. “A great part of everybody’s free time is spent in queueing up for necessities; besides, there is never enough of anything; if you apply for a hat or a pair of new boots, your co-operative society notifies you when they receive a consignment. If you need your boots badly, you must run to be early in the queue, or else there will be none left to fit you, or perhaps no more at all. If you live in Russia now, you must even go out to fetch the milk in the morning — that is, provided you are entitled to a milk ration. Nine-tenths of the milk supply is turned into butter in order that it may be dumped in England, and more machinery bought for the new factories with the money. That’s all part of the Five Year Plan!”
“God-forsaken place! Glad I’m not a Russian,” said Simon, feelingly; “but what about the private shops? Why do the people go to the co-ops and queue up, when they can buy the stuff elsewhere?”
“It is a question of money; everything in the private shops costs from four to five times as much as in the State Stores. The great majority of the people cannot possibly afford to buy from them.”
For some time they had been walking through less crowded streets, and at last they arrived in a small square of what must have been, at one time, respectable private houses. Most of them were now in a sad state of dilapidation.
De Richleau stopped outside one of the least disreputable, which bore the arms, painted in colour on a metal shield above the front door, of one of the lesser South American republics. The word “Legation” was also written up, both in Russian and Roman capitals. He gave a quick glance round — the little square was practically deserted — then he stepped up, not to the front door but to a smaller entrance a few paces farther on, and rang the bell sharply, twice.
The door was opened almost immediately, and, without speaking to the little dark man who held it open, the Duke pushed Simon inside, slipping in himself directly after.
“Is Señor Rosas in?” he asked. “I come from Señor Zavala.”