On the night when the participants of RBC's international business conference arrived in Stockholm it was nice and quiet: it drizzled softly, there was a cool breeze, and everything around was painted in warm gray colors. The participants were well at ease in anticipation of a promising time in the quiet kingdom of Sweden. But that was all in vain. Hardly had the next evening begun, when it all started to unravel…

In the morning, the sun was shining on the kingdom's capital city. By nine o'clock, when the participants were finished registering at the Chinese theater rented by RBC, the sunrays had already flooded the city and uncovered the colorfulness of the medieval towers, roofs and facades of Sweden's buildings, which all of a sudden turned playful after looking all prim and proper just a day ago. City-dwellers drew to the streets and quays, if one can tell Stockholm's streets from quays.

Meanwhile, in the theater abandoned by the Chinese, greetings from very important persons were being read to the participants of one of Russia's most reputable business conferences. And the city began to fill with what now could be referred to as somewhat muted sounds. By ten, when the Russian Foreign Ministry's Special Envoy Yury Isakov was relaying our position at the upcoming Group of Eight summit: "What is energy security? It means to maximally meet consumer needs with predictable prices, and at the same time, meet the needs of the sellers…," cautious laughter began to waft in from the outside. It was mostly disregarded by the audience at the Chinese Theater, who were hardly rattled until State Duma Deputy Sergei Glazyev took to the stand and began his presentation.

Whir-whir-whir-judder-judder-whirrrrr

No, it wasn't Glazyev's speech that made the audience quiver with terror. Although, the agenda for the first plenary meeting looked quite risqu?: State and Business: Common Market and National Priorities. The deputy did not say anything new or add to what many of the business representatives, state officials and the army of journalists listening in carefully already knew or had already experienced. What they did know was that dialogue between the expert community, business, and the state was just not happening yet. They were not surprised, either, by the conclusion that our economy had fragmented into three sectors: export-oriented raw-materials industries; natural, administrative, and criminal monopolies; and domestically-oriented industries operating at a 4-5 percent margin and with no access to loans. "The problem is gathering pace," said Mr. Glazyev, making the audience nervous. "The fragmentation of these sectors is escalating… The government is withdrawing funds, and for every ruble working in the economy there are four rubles taken out…" The audience remained calm, complacent, and languid. Who in Russia is not aware nowadays that all the talking circles around one and the same idea: the Stabilization Fund must be slashed into pieces at once, and I am the one who can do it in the most effective way!

At the same time, the strange noise outside the theater grew louder and louder. No sooner had Glazyev said the words: "Savings in the economy are far greater in volume than investment", paused, and swept his eyes over the audience as if looking over his troops, than it all started.

"Whir-whir-whir-judder-judder …" the streets resounded with the roar of several dozen engines. "Whir-judder-judder-wirrrrrrrrr!"

That was when the audience shuddered for the first time. This was not Moscow, after all, but Stockholm, so famous for its peace and quiet - a place where, in the words of the tour guides, the considerate hosts even surgically cut out their cats' vocal chords so they do not miaow loudly at night.

Anxiety hovered in the air below the arched Chinese roof. Sergei Glazyev left the stage unnoticed. Next up, probably to calm the Russians, Swedish Economy Minister Thomas Ostros took the floor. He was energetic, cheerful and professional. He said that everything in the kingdom was excellent, pensions were good, and so were cars, and that they were happy to cooperate with Russia. The street noise began to fade. The Russians calmed down again. The Swede, meanwhile, hurried to finish his speech and left the audience without delay, yielding the floor to the Right Forces Union bloc's political council chairman Nikita Belykh.

Buzz, buzz, buzzzzzzzzzzzzz

"Chechnya, the Baltics - the lack of democracy in our country is what predetermines the relations between Sweden and Russia," he flung his words into the air with emphasis. "The Swedes are trying painstakingly to comprehend the meaning of our campaign speeches - we campaign instead of analyzing, and we propagandize instead of making projections."

I push myself to wonder just how painstakingly the Swedes' are actually trying to understand the Russian soul. "You know, we say: everything's okay, let's make a deal, we have something to offer you, too. And your folk get carried away with telling us about how awful everything is, and about how the state is strangling entrepreneurship," a Stockholm City Administration official told me. "This is of course very interesting, but why do they have to do this in Sweden? I don't have an answer for this question, and no, I don't torture myself over it."

Sometimes this never-ending urge to trouble foreign audiences with their problems looks humorous. A couple of Russian public figures were engaged in a lively discussion about something to do with bureaucratic tyranny and the need to spend the Stabilization Fund with two sweet and very polite Swedish girls near the entrance of the Chinese Theater. After they listened to what they had to say patiently, they asked: "Anything for you to drink, Sir?" It turned out that they were waitresses.

Meanwhile, Belykh was far from being amused during his speech. A dismal roar of five to ten motorcycle engines without mufflers blew in from the street: buzz, buzz, buzzzzzzzz, and then once again judder-judder-whirrrrrrrr, followed by the bloodcurdling drumming of a bass drum, like the one that cannibals use in preparation for a feast. The audience became awfully quiet again.

Clink-clank!

The sound seemed to have faded. The right-forces leader yielded the floor to Oleg Vyugin, the chief of Russia's Federal Financial Markets Service. He looked distressed, if not frightened.

"The household savings standard is low in Russia. With only 5 percent on deposit accounts and 3-4 percent in borrowings, it amounts to 1-2 percent, which is very little by global standards," Vyugin brooded. The Swedes were no longer even trying to decipher the Russian psyche. They left all hope of getting lucrative commercial offers and were simply taking notes, just in case. "The problem is with the macroeconomic policy. The ruble rate is fixed at a level that has nothing to do with reality. Alternatively, we could switch to a real estimation of the ruble. In this case, exports-oriented sectors will lose, because nowadays they receive a "premium" from the Central Bank in the form of the variance between the nominal and the real rates. But on the other hand, the doors would be wide open for investment. Maybe the Stabilization Fund shouldn't even exist at all. It emerged out of the macroeconomic policy we have today…"

The Swedes had ceased trying to understand anything by now. And just about then a recess was called. Everyone went outside, and it became clear why the Chinese had abandoned their theater for these few days when everyone saw the revelry in this ancient city's streets producing all this noise and hullabaloo.

It was because the sun had begun to shine warmly, which is a rare occurrence for Sweden. City dwellers dropped all their chores and ran out onto the lawns to roll in the grass, drink beer and smoke, to spite state officials who had forbidden smoking in all public buildings, which is undoubtedly torturous in this northern city. After the first two hours of the conference, Stockholm had turned into Hurghada. People riding bicycles swarmed the streets, terrifying car drivers who tried their best to keep at a distance from them in compliance with the traffic regulations. It should be mentioned, in addition, that every fifth bicycle rider was a pregnant woman. Black-leather-clad bikers swooshed by in stacks. At least here in Sweden they have not yet turned into gangs of rapists like in the Hollywood movies. But they still made plenty of noise. It also became clear where the buzzing noise, which scared Nikita Belykh off the stage, was coming from. And hardly had the conference participants begun to pour themselves a cup of free, but quite good, coffee, than the realization came about where the drumming and the whir-and-judder was coming from. Something huge and noisy, smelling strongly like some type of alcoholic beverage, Riesling wine maybe, swept by. Several forum participants' cups fell out of their trembling hands - clink-clank. It took them a couple of minutes to come to their senses after being in the eye of this tornado - the motorcycles, bicycles, half-undressed Swedes in clouds of tobacco smoke and sweaty fully-dressed racers without gas masks - to understand what had just happened and how to live on after it.

Key to the mystery

Much to the city's woe, the sun's appearance coincided with the local school students' graduation festivities. This means that they cram themselves onto open-top trucks in groups according to their school year, crank up the music they've set up there, and still manage to sing along at the top of their lungs, louder than the loudspeakers, whose volume would suffice to hold a parade on Red Square. So these trucks and their passengers produced these especially hideous loud sounds petrifying the coffee drinkers. By noon the city had fully submitted and given in to the graduate rampage. By five o'clock they were stubbornly trying to find their way home in twos and threes, though by then they were having trouble even trying to stand up. Though the kingdom's law practically prohibits drinking, students are allowed to be served beer and champagne during graduation celebrations. Even the British, so keen on shocking the Estonians and other northern folk in their big rabbit ears or as sexy drunken bunnies with their noisy drunken brawls, were intimidated by these schoolboys and girls, and sat soul beaten next to the Russians loading up on coffee. But the Russians were having an even more difficult time. They had to return to the audience to talk more about when to disburse the Stabilization Fund, and to urge the Swedes to understand just how hard it was to stand up for freedom, but that they were not giving up on the idea. And despite everything, the RBC conference continued. Russian Financial Corporation chief Andrei Nechayev's pessimism over taxation issues was balanced out by Euroset President Yevgeny Chichvarkin's spirited optimism, as he was able to convince the Swedes that everything was top-notch in Russia, all the conditions for business development were in place, and that the gradual movement toward democracy was continuing. They looked at him with thankfulness and sympathy, like at their drunken children, and even applauded him.

The noise subsided in Stockholm just as the conference participants were getting ready to leave.