MAGNITOGORSK, Russia — A loud bang startled Anna P. Timofeyeva awake. She reached for the light, but the electricity had gone out. In the dark, she and her husband quickly dressed their 2-year-old son and prepared to flee.
“We understood something was wrong,” she said. But when they opened the front door of their apartment they stopped short. From the doorstep of the family’s seventh-floor apartment, she said, they could look directly down on a heap of rubble far below, all that was left of 25 neighboring apartments.
The explosion that collapsed Mrs. Timofeyeva’s high-rise building on Monday in the city of Magnitogorsk in southern Russia killed 39 people and initially stirred fears of terrorism. But the authorities have since blamed an even greater danger to the average Russian: crumbling infrastructure, including Soviet-era apartment blocks.
For a decade or more, as oil revenues have swelled its coffers, the Kremlin has poured resources into its armed forces, developing new weapons, upgrading its nuclear stockpile and overhauling and professionalizing its army, navy and military intelligence agency.
The results — whether military interventions in Syria and Ukraine or meddling in politics in Europe or the United States — have buttressed President Vladimir V. Putin’s drive to restore Russia to major-power status.
Yet, the apartment collapse and an earlier, highly unpopular cut in state pensions serve as a reminder of the lingering hardships that ordinary Russians are asked to endure, particularly those who live in the country’s hinterlands.
In the case of the accident in Magnitogorsk, what was said to be a natural gas explosion sheared off a section of the building, flattening dozens of apartments but leaving Mrs. Timofeyeva’s unscathed. “We were lucky,” she said.
Others were not, and Friday was a day of funerals in Magnitogorsk, a sprawling industrial city built around a gigantic steel factory where housing, as in much of Russia, has long been a pressing problem.
Magnitogorsk — which means Magnetic Mountain and is named for nearby iron-ore deposits so massive they are said to distort compass readings — is a city whose very name has long been redolent of the hardships of Russia’s industrial backwaters.
It was conjured from the empty steppe by decree of Joseph Stalin and intended as a model communist city, populated by enthusiastic volunteers known as shock workers. Its roughly 415,000 residents today earn average monthly wages of 0.
“Magnitogorsk remained the quintessential emblem of the grand transformation,” the author Stephen Kotkin wrote in “Magnetic Mountain,” a history of the city. Here, building communism “became a reality one could participate in first hand.”
The Magnitogorsk Iron and Steel Works became the pride of the Soviet Union, while the workers lived in mud huts in the early years and scarce and shoddy housing ever since.
One park has a monument in the shape of a tent, commemorating a common early living arrangement. Inscribed into the pedestal are lines by a local poet, Boris Ruchyov: “We lived in tents with small windows, washed in the rain and dried in the sun.”
Another monument, called Rear to the Front, depicts a worker handing a sword to a soldier, illustrating the city’s role in supplying steel to the military industry. Russia today spends about 5 percent of its gross domestic product on the army, more than any other European nation.
But living space has always been tight in Magnitogorsk. In the 1930s, the average inhabitant got 1.9 square meters, or about 20 square feet, often either a corner of a room or space for a cot in an open-plan wooden barracks.
Today, most residents live in tenement-style concrete high-rises like the one that collapsed this week on Karl Marx Street. Built in 1973 and housing about 1,300 people, it was of a type of mass-produced, utilitarian housing seen throughout the former Eastern Bloc.
But even after Monday’s disaster, older residents still sang the praises of the chunky structure, having moved there from barracks or communal apartments. Far from demanding a new and safer building, many of them spent the week pleading with the authorities to let them stay in the part of it that remained standing.
“What’s not to like about this building?” said Klavdia G. Kiselyova, 78, who moved in when the high-rise opened. Standing on her stoop bundled in furs and watching dump trucks cart away debris, she mused aloud. “It’s an amazing house.”
Judging by a sign on an entryway near the collapse, it looked as if they were getting their way. “Dear Residents!” it read. “An inspection found residing in apartments in entryway 10 is allowed.” The collapse had occurred in entryway seven.
Yet, others were more skeptical about moving back in. Yulia V. Skalvysh, an accountant at the steel mill, said she was told she would have to return to her two-room apartment a few yards away from the collapse. The authorities were apparently unconcerned about a crack in the tiled wall of her kitchen that she said was growing longer each day.
“They say, ‘It’s safe, you can return,’ but I don’t want to,” she said. “I want to live in safety.”
For some, the close call reinforced their belief in God. Vera D. Saravarova, 59, who lived next door to an apartment that collapsed into the void, attributed her survival to having remained in church the day before for the entire two-hour sermon, even though she had wanted to duck out.
Russian Orthodox churches have no pews, she said, and her feet were beginning to hurt. But a friend told her, “You have to stay” until the priests wrap it up, and she did. “It was a miracle,” she said. “We were protected by God.”
Several residents praised Mr. Putin for visiting within a day of the catastrophe, and they directed their anger at the local authorities.
Vladimir Y. Vorontsov, 71, a retired steelworker whose son died, showed up seething for a meeting with the Chelyabinsk region governor. “My son was crushed to death, and these clowns are still sitting here,” he said of the bureaucrats. “They receive money and do nothing.”
The authorities are to pay compensation of one million rubles, or about ,800, to the families of those who died. Renters who lost apartments will get 50,000 rubles, or about 0, to compensate for personal items.
By week’s end, heartbroken families and friends had begun to lay loved ones to rest in Magnitogorsk’s Left Bank Cemetery, where the headstones were heaped in snow.
Beside three fresh graves cut into the frozen earth, an undertaker opened a folding table and poured vodka into plastic cups for a farewell toast. A hearse arrived carrying the Kramarenko family — husband, wife and 1-year-old daughter — on their final journey.
Crows flapped about in the frost-covered birch trees. Gripped by grief, relatives placed their hands on the coffins — the child’s draped in pink cloth — as a funeral director, Nadezhda Monzhorova, recited a farewell.
“How can we say they are not with us?” she said. “They remain in their relatives, in their friends, in their deeds and in our hearts.”B:
天仙网93tx手机开奖记录【埃】【尔】【曼】【德】【最】【后】【的】【宣】【言】【是】【全】【球】【广】【播】，【应】【该】【是】【星】【球】【之】【主】【的】【一】【项】【能】【力】，【所】【有】【人】【都】【听】【到】【了】。 【谢】【雨】【霏】【目】【睹】【了】【全】【过】【程】，【她】【的】【脸】【色】【有】【些】【难】【看】，【当】【她】【看】【到】【埃】【尔】【曼】【德】【化】【作】【流】【星】【钻】【进】【时】【空】【之】【门】【的】【时】【候】，【紧】【张】【地】【问】：“【抓】【住】【了】【吗】？” 【她】【知】【道】，【所】【有】【的】【时】【空】【之】【门】【都】【由】【王】【衍】【控】【制】，【他】【可】【以】【让】【时】【空】【之】【门】【对】【接】【众】【神】【星】，【也】【可】【以】【让】【时】【空】【之】【门】【直】【接】【接】【入】【他】【的】
【头】【领】【跪】【了】【下】【来】，【众】【匪】【跟】【着】【跪】【下】，“【我】【等】【拜】【服】。” 【那】【大】【汉】【也】【挣】【扎】【着】【要】【跪】【下】，【苏】【正】【忙】【扶】【住】，“【来】【人】，【送】【这】【位】【壮】【士】【去】【好】【好】【休】【息】。” 【解】【决】【了】【这】【一】【大】【难】【题】，【苏】【正】【马】【上】【将】【他】【们】【重】【新】【编】【号】，【进】【行】【训】【练】。 【而】【且】【用】【人】【不】【疑】，【很】【多】【安】【排】【了】【很】【重】【要】【的】【岗】【位】，【同】【时】【让】【他】【们】【吃】【饱】【喝】【足】，【还】【承】【诺】【会】【有】【晌】【银】【发】【放】。 【几】【天】【下】【来】，【这】【帮】【子】【土】【匪】
【没】【有】【理】【会】【发】【型】【师】【给】【她】【介】【绍】【的】【最】【近】【流】【行】【的】【发】【色】。 “【给】【我】【把】【烫】【染】【过】【的】【头】【发】【都】【剪】【了】【吧】，【怎】【么】【剪】，【你】【看】【着】【办】。” 【见】【顾】【非】【非】【坚】【持】【己】【见】，【发】【型】【师】【只】【能】【卡】【擦】【卡】【擦】【动】【剪】【刀】。 【经】【过】【洗】【剪】【吹】，【顾】【非】【非】【看】【到】【最】【后】【的】【成】【品】，【怎】【么】【说】【呢】，【真】【是】【久】【违】【了】。 【自】【她】【有】【了】【对】【自】【己】【头】【发】【的】【自】【主】【权】，【就】【没】【有】【留】【过】【黑】【发】。 【头】【发】【到】【锁】【骨】【的】【位】【置】，【额】
【佟】【远】【城】【结】【束】【手】【里】【的】【工】【作】，【走】【到】【休】【息】【室】，【看】【见】【了】【低】【着】【头】【的】【顾】【挽】【风】。 【他】【慢】【慢】【蹲】【下】【来】，【看】【见】【她】【眼】【睛】【红】【肿】，【似】【乎】【才】【刚】【哭】【过】，【刚】【想】【伸】【出】【手】【替】【她】【擦】【干】【眼】【泪】，【她】【忽】【然】【抬】【起】【头】【来】，【眼】【睛】【死】【死】【地】【盯】【着】【他】，【里】【面】【甚】【至】【带】【着】【几】【分】【仇】【恨】。 【佟】【远】【城】【的】【手】【僵】【在】【半】【空】【中】，【不】【动】【声】【色】【地】【缩】【回】。 “【有】【什】【么】【事】【快】【说】【吧】，【我】【还】【有】【其】【他】【事】【要】【忙】。” 【顾】天仙网93tx手机开奖记录【周】【星】【驰】【在】【上】【个】【世】【纪】【的】90【年】【代】，【出】【演】【了】【众】【多】【的】【作】【品】，【与】【他】【搭】【戏】【的】【演】【员】【也】【众】【多】，【从】1988【年】【开】【始】，【星】【爷】【将】【重】【心】【放】【在】【影】【坛】，【在】28【岁】【的】【时】【候】，【凭】【借】《【一】【本】【漫】【画】【闯】【天】【涯】》【这】【部】【作】【品】，【奠】【定】【了】【他】【在】【影】【坛】【上】【的】“【无】【厘】【头】”【搞】【笑】【的】【地】【位】！
【洛】【九】【早】【就】【已】【经】【忘】【记】【自】【己】【以】【前】【叫】【什】【么】【名】【字】【了】，【也】【不】【愿】【意】【想】【起】。 【以】【前】【的】【她】，【早】【就】**【的】【时】【候】【就】【已】【经】【死】【了】。 【是】【洛】【水】【心】【给】【了】【她】【新】【的】【生】【命】，【从】【那】【个】【时】【候】【开】【始】，【她】【就】【已】【经】【发】【誓】，【今】【生】【今】【世】【只】【为】【洛】【姑】【娘】，【就】【算】【付】【出】【生】【命】【也】【在】【所】【不】【惜】。 【可】【是】【她】【没】【想】【到】，【生】【命】【中】【会】【出】【现】【一】【个】【殷】【仁】【青】。 【堂】【堂】【北】【殷】【六】【皇】【子】，【高】【高】【在】【上】，【她】【这】【残】【破】
“【就】【你】【们】【仨】【了】【吧】。” “【行】。” “【你】【们】【仨】【个】，【从】【你】【开】【始】，【向】【我】【展】【现】【一】【下】【你】【的】【歌】【喉】。” 【舒】【晓】【峰】【点】【了】【点】【头】，【旋】【即】【对】【着】【那】【名】【靠】【前】【的】【男】【艺】【人】【开】【口】【道】。 “【好】，【少】【主】。” 【那】【名】【男】【艺】【人】【深】【吸】【了】【一】【口】【气】，【清】【了】【清】【嗓】【子】，【旋】【即】【方】【才】【开】【始】【清】【唱】。 【他】【唱】【的】【是】【一】【首】【情】【歌】。 【表】【情】【丰】【富】，【情】【到】【深】【处】，【更】【是】【落】【下】【了】【一】【滴】【眼】【泪】。 “【不】【错】，【是】【条】