Trip to the market.

• Author: Young, Cathy

"Well, you can see for yourself how we live," several people tell me during my April visit to Moscow. The trouble is, they're not all saying the same thing: Some mean that things obviously aren't so bad; others, that anyone can plainly see how awful things are.

"Just imagine--I work two jobs now, and my husband works and gets his pension benefits, and my daughter works, and it's just enough for us to buy food!" says Faina Goncharova, the mother of my old classmate Inna, laughing almost merrily at the absurdity of it all. Goncharova, who has worked for years as a shop manager at a state-owned paper-products factory, doesn't like Yeltsin and regrets the breakup of the Soviet Union. But she wishes Russia had gone capitalist much sooner: "If only this had started when I was 20 years younger, I'd have started my own business. All the things I could have done!" Her second job is with a new company (owned by a really nice couple") that makes construction materials.

Younger people in particular are defecting in droves to the private sector. Yuri, a 28-year-old trained as a physicist, makes 40,000 rubles a month ("Well, it's only $50," he concedes impatiently) as vice president of a furniture manufacturing business run by his older brother. They recently started working on an order from a French customer, their first from the West.

One of the main complaints about private business in Russia has been that "they don't produce anything, they just buy and sell"--partly a reflection of the old Soviet prejudice against "speculation," partly a legitimate criticism. But while many biznesmeni are essentially get-rich-quick artists with no goals beyond making a fortune playing rubles and dollars off against each other, a growing number have made enough money in trade to start investing in production. The other complaint, that the lines between the private sector and the criminal underworld are often bluffed, remains a valid one: A day does not pass without new business-related shootings, car bombings, arson, or at least an unexploded grenade found near a store.

Still, there are signs of progress, such as shops with colorful signs--Western-sounding ("Exodus"), proudly Slavic ("Yaroslavna," named for a legendary 11th-century princess), or descriptive ("Udachnoye Priobreteniye": "Lucky Buy")--that are definitely a cut above traditional Soviet names like "Ovoshchi" ("Vegetables") or "Obuv" ("Shoes"). The vending stalls with their chaotic assortment of almost...