eight.
And you?
Sorry.
Are you...?
What?
- How do you vote?
- Meaning?
You said you change your mind.
What are you changing it to?
One second.
Pardon me, but do you recall
how I voted the last time?
Ah, when you...?
You voted guilty.
Thank you very much.
Yes, I definitely change my mind.
And vote that the accused
is not guilty.
You won't change again?
I can write...?
What do you mean?
It's my final decision.
Based on principle.
Thanks to principles like that
we'll wake up one day
surrounded by green berets
restoring order,
and foreign speech.
I don't understand why
you're insulting me.
You changed your mind
just like I did.
No, pal, not like you did.
He just described a very clear plan,
and how it works.
It's one criminal scheme.
It's not just one.
The scheme is everywhere.
What scheme?
When the big fish don't
give a thought to the little people,
who have to get by
however they can.
By their own rules.
It's like that everywhere.
In construction, in hospitals,
and in cemeteries.
What do cemeteries
have to do with it?
Have you ever buried anyone?
Me?
Yes, I have.
Two years ago.
In London. Matilda.
Who was she?
A Rottweiler.
That's not a name.
It's a breed of dog.
I don't know how they bury dogs
in London,
but I do know how we see people off
on their final journey.
I've been a cemetery director for 8 years.
Now, imagine this.
You're burying a loved one.
A funeral service, the usual.
You go to the graveyard.
- Like this.
- What are you...? What grave?
- That's mom.
- Sorry.
My mom's there.
- Well, it's...
- My mom.
The final farewell, relatives.
And some old lady standing nearby.
She looks into the grave
and says "Oh God, that poor man".
They say "What is it?"
They look, the grave's flooded.
How can that be?
What can they do? You can't
put your loved one in a swamp.
And the old granny whispers advice.
They go to the head gravedigger,
who's there.
They say: "Sir, there's water in there.
Please do something".
He gives them some line
about ground water
and he shovels the liquid
out of the grave.
But it runs back in. They're in shock.
The old lady tugs at someone's sleeve
and shows them another grave nearby,
that's completely dry.
And pristine.
Now here's the interesting part.
The relatives ask the digger,
"Listen is there any way
we can change places?"
"Are you crazy?"
They're burying someone there
in 15 minutes.
No way. All the paperwork's done"
They get on their knees, in tears;,
"Sir, please help us. We'll pay.
Just tell us how much".
The rest is easy.
He looks at their clothes.
For you, 2000 bucks.
For someone else, 500. If they're poor
he won't even look at them.
They swap stones.
The dead guy gets a dry grave
The family leaves.
The old lady gets 500 rubles
They pull out the plastic sheet from
under the grave
and in 15 minutes it's dry.
And the diggers are ready
to rig up another wet grave.
That's it.
I'm glad we cremated
my mother in law.
Very interesting.
Why are you looking at me?
Is it different where you work?
Everyone's in on it. Everyone.
In their own way.
Right, friend?
Rolex?
Yeah.
Expensive.
Well, yeah.
On your cemetery pay?
Yes...
...on my cemetery pay. I won't lie
But I also used that cemetery pay
to restore the chapel.
And I feed the bums who
hang around the cemetery.
They have to eat somewhere.
And I built a school in the town
where I was born, 830 km from Moscow.
It has a gym... come visit,
you'll see.
And we don't have monstrosities,
like that pipe.
My pipes are underground,
where they should be.
There's a computer lab with
LCD screens.
Local teachers, all with
good salaries.
We have a bus to bring kids
from farther away.
And take them home, of course.
So they don't have time
to sniff glue.
And if you ask
the people in the village:
"Where'd the money to build this
school come from?"
They couldn't care less where
the money came from,
as long as the