THE VOTERS' MANY VOICES: HARDLY ANY HAPPY CHOICES

Mar

ia Sukhavei has lived most of her 61 years in Zakharova, a village 29 miles outside Moscow. Like many in the Russian countryside, she has never seen a McDonald's (there are seven in Moscow), has yet to taste a Coke, watch cable television or own a telephone. She must trek miles to the nearest store for bread and milk. "There used to be order," she says. "Today there is no one to complain to in the village when something goes wrong or when we have questions. Of course I will vote for Zyuganov." Her monthly pension is 200,000 rubles (U.S.$40), and that buys almost nothing. "It's not only that," she says, pointing to brick mansions rising on the edge of the village. "That's the 'New Russians.' I can't afford to buy bricks, and they are building expensive saunas and swimming pools. Before, we had order, and we could have it again. But the only way I see it is with Zyuganov."

Edik Kovolev, 28, is an art student who lives in Krasnodar, a midsize agricultural town in southern Russia. Each summer he goes to Moscow to earn money to pay for his education by drawing caricatures of people who stroll past his tiny fold-up chair tucked next to the sidewalk in the capital's busy Arbat Street. "I'm not going to vote," he declares, voicing an attitude that seems to be shared by many of Russia's young people. "Yeltsin will win anyway, so I don't think my vote would make a big difference." Also, like some other young Russians, Kovolev seems to have little in the way of optimism for the future. "It will be about 50 or 100 years before any differences can be made in this country. I should vote to help the motherland, but I just don't have confidence in the country or the leadership. If I were forced to vote," he concedes, "I guess it would be for Yeltsin, since he's winning anyway."

Two years ago, Andrei Mansky, and a friend pooled $100 to buy materials for a label-design company they started at a truck depot. Today his firm, Vidus, employs 40 people who design and sell labels for products from all over Russia. Revenues exceed $4.5 million a year, which makes Mansky, 28, one of Russia's new rich: he zips around St. Petersburg in a slick red Mazda and vacations with his wife in France and Spain. "If the Communists come to power--well, if that happens, it happens," he says with a shrug. "I am not stashing money or getting ready to flee. Of course I will vote, but there is not much choice. No matter what one might think of Yeltsin, he's the only one, because there is no one else."

Valeri Matashenko used to be a waiter at a state-owned restaurant in Moscow. Now he sells ice cream and loads delivery trucks on the streets of the capital. Matashenko, 38, concedes that his present occupation may lack prestige, but it enables him to earn enough for his family. It has also instilled in him a fundamental respect for free enterprise, reflected in his choice of candidates. "I'm for Yavlinsky," he declares. "He is more radical, and I think he can do what he says about the economy. Yeltsin has a reputation that's not good; he's at fault for a lot of the crime going on. The communists never brought us any good. If Yavlinsky loses, and in the second round it's between Yeltsin and Zyuganov, I'd have to vote for Yeltsin, since he would mean stability." His mother, Matashenko adds, is "an old communist" who will undoubtedly vote for Zyuganov.