'SO NOW what's the matter?' Sergei Gordeev, master wizard, sits impatiently behind a candle-lit desk in his pitch-black office. Two businessmen shuffle nervously in front of him. They have a problem. A small fortune in cash had been stolen from the safe of their flourishing new business. Instead of going to the police, they announced to office staff that they were off to consult Gordeev and rushed round to his office in the State Centre for Culture, a large, grey stone building in the heart of Moscow, to ask him where the money was.
The next morning the frightened thieves returned all the cash before Gordeev could begin to weave his magic spells.
That was a week ago. Now the men are back to establish the identity of the culprits.
'I can't see you now,' snaps Gordeev. 'I'm booked up all day.' A long queue of dejected-looking Russians line the corridor, awaiting their turn with the sorcerer. Finally he agrees to make a home visit for 210 greeni - Russian slang for American dollars - cash in advance.
The fee might seem steep for a consultation with a wizard but the thousands of witches, sorcerers and enchantresses swamping the new Russia can ask almost any price from their credulous countrymen.
After 75 years of scientific materialism, Russians remain deeply superstitious. At times of national crisis, they have always turned to the occult. The mystic Rasputin, who gained almost unlimited influence over the Tsarina after appearing to heal her son of haemophilia, ended up ruling Russia in Tsar Nicholas II's absence during World War I. More recently, Leonid Brezhnev kept a sorcerer in his entourage.