Russia's reckoning: Why Oleg and Lyuda finally lost faith in their leader

OLEG AND Lyuda usually watch a game show called Polye Chudes [Field of Wonder] on Friday nights. If they live very poorly themselves, my neighbours in Samotechny Lane can at least take pleasure in seeing other people win the jackpot.

But last night, after rumours swept Moscow that President Boris Yeltsin might be about to resign, Oleg, a carpenter, prevailed over his apolitical wife, who works as a cleaner, and switched to the channel where the Kremlin leader was scheduled to give an interview.

Rosa, one of their neighbours who goes out cleaning with Lyuda, joined them in the pine-panelled kitchen for the broadcast.

"I want to see to that Yeltsin," said Rosa. "He's always on holiday or resting at his dacha while the crisis in the country gets worse and worse. I'd have a thing or two to say to him if he were here tonight."

"Shhhh," hissed Oleg. "He's coming on now."

But hardly had Mr Yeltsin opened his mouth to say that he had no intention of leaving the political scene and would see out his term until 2000 than the women started booing. Oleg was soon joining in.

"He's like a second Brezhnev," he said with disgust.

"He can hardly string two words together. He should have retired months ago," said Lyuda.

"Yes, well he was hardly going to resign, was he?" said Rosa. "Nobody gives up power and privilege voluntarily."

There was a time when these respectable working- class people believed that President Yeltsin was going to change their lives.

"There was a little dawn of light when he first came to power," said Lyuda, "but now everything has gone dark again."

"The Communist period was bad but this has turned out to be no better for ordinary people. Now it is clear we are just going backwards," said Oleg.

"Our children will see nothing better," said Rosa, who admitted she had cried twice in the privacy of her own home earlier in the day, although Russian hospitality obliged her to put on a smile when I dropped in to visit.

The reason for her tears was the new spiral of inflation that has taken off since the rouble was devalued on 17 August.

"Everything is going up in price," she said. "As it was, we were nearly on the breadline."

Lyuda and Oleg, with two young boys, do at least face adversity together, sharing a joint income of just over 1,000 new roubles, which was worth about 200 US dollars before the devaluation.

They manage only because they own their own flat, which is cosy if simple, thanks to Oleg's skills as a handyman, and because they are able to grow vegetables on their allotment in the country.

But Rosa, bringing up a teenage son with little help from her former husband, earns only half as much as her neighbours.

Needless to say, they have no dollars and no savings either, if you don't count the five-dollar bill that Oleg keeps as a souvenir.

When they could, he and his wife have invested in consumer goods, including the electric kettle and microwave oven in the corner of the kitchen.

Yesterday, they had no money for any big purchases but Rosa decided to take some of her wages in advance and also borrow money from a friend. Altogether she had 500 roubles.

"I went to the market and bought a jacket and cheap trainers for my son, who is starting college this autumn.

"With our money turning into worthless paper, I thought it was best to invest in something concrete."