"What are they giving out?" It's an echo of the Soviet era of endless shortages, when passersby stopped to ask crowds gathered at storefronts if rarities such as oranges or good shoes were being sold. Now, when you hear the question in Moscow, people are swapping intelligence about which banks are giving out money, any money at all, even the increasingly worthless rouble.

As the economy stumbles towards collapse, Russians themselves have so far shown extraordinary patience, perhaps because they've been through this before. They survived the deprivations of the communist command economy and over the six years of free-market reform, have seen hyperinflation wash away savings, banks fold and governments come and go like the seasons.

Survival, people say, is what matters. From President Boris Yelstin to the old women who line highways selling potatoes, nearly every layer of Russia is now consumed by its own fight for self-preservation.

But hanging on isn't the same as fixing things. Already, the economic crisis has so battered Russia's credibility that most foreign investors will probably steer clear of the country for the next two or three years.

Further, Yeltsin's decision to restore Victor Chernomyrdin to the prime minister's post after firing him five months ago underscores the sense that Russia is returning to the past, not heading forward. Chernomyrdin has been criticised for fostering a crony capitalism that has led to this latest crisis. With Chernomyrdin gaining power and an opposition-led parliament now emboldened against Yeltsin, "market reforms" may soon become dirty words in Russia.

"This will be a government that tries to definitively freeze reforms . . . and do things as they've always done," Alexander Budberg wrote in the daily Moskovsky Komsomolets, ". . . and it will continue that way until the next, even more awful crisis doesn't change the situation."

For Yeltsin, at least, it's hard to imagine a more awful crisis. When Bill Clinton arrives here on Tuesday morning for a two-day summit with Yeltsin, he can take some comfort, however cold, that Russia's president is in even deeper trouble than he is. There are certainly startling parallels between the two men.

On the same day, August 17th, both admitted they had been playing fast-and-loose with the truth. In Yeltsin's case, he'd told Russians firmly three days prior that the rouble wouldn't be devalued.

Both presidents, weakened by scandal, face hostile legislatures. Even before the economic crisis began, Russia's powerful lower house of parliament, the Duma, had already established a sub-committee to look into impeaching Yeltsin.

But the rebellion that threatens the Russian president most may be within his own body. Over the past months, he has appeared more infirm, his behavior more erratic. The Russian media and western diplomats report that until recently, he could work only three hours a day, and he is rarely in the Kremlin.

When he addressed the nation on Monday to explain the Chernomyrdin appointment, it was through a tape heavily edited to allow him to complete his sentences. And as the economic and political crises hit a screaming pitch this week, Yeltsin disappeared from public view, without explanation.

Pressure for him to resign is mounting, not only within opposition strongholds like the Duma but also among old allies such as Russia's business elite.

Yeltsin's lingering absence after his announcement on Monday of the cabinet dismissal has fuelled a prolific rumour mill in Moscow this week. The US television networks reported on Thursday and Friday that he had prepared a letter of resignation which he has yet to sign.

Presidential spokesman Sergei Yastrzhembsky called the reports "absolutely groundless idle inventions." The Kremlin press service issued a statement appealing to the media with an urgent request not to spread inaccurate information.

To stifle the rumours, at least for the moment, Yeltsin appeared on television yesterday morning as he hosted a visit of the Bulgarian president. He looked fairly sound, though he moved somewhat stiffly. Although he spoke intelligibly and gestured in his usually forceful style, he managed nonetheless to avoid commenting on the troubles buffeting the country.

Early retirement would seem remote if not for steps that Yeltsin has already taken to protect himself in such a scenario. Given Russia's history of doing away with former leaders, Yelstin spokesman and deputy chiefof-staff Sergei Yazstrezhembsky met with Duma deputy and Communist Party chief Gennady Zyuganov this week to discuss legislation that would ensure Yeltsin and his family's safety and immunity for prosecution upon his leaving office.

Yeltsin's appointment of Chernomyrdin may have been his clearest attempt at self-preservation. Should Yeltsin step down before the next elections in 2000, the prime minister would take over and call new elections in three months. Unlike his young predecessor Sergei Kiryenko, Chernomyrdin has enough support from Russia's governors, business leaders and even some within the Duma opposition to shield Yeltsin from harm and to keep himself in power at least through the interregnum. Chernomyrdin's nomination will be considered by Russia's lower house of parliament, the Duma, on Monday. The Duma can vote on a nomination up to three times.

In Yeltsin's continued absence, Chernomyrdin has already taken on tasks usually left to the head-of-state. This week, for example, he met to discuss the crisis with the Ukrainian and Belarussian presidents and with the head of the International Monetary Fund, Michel Camdessus.

Chernomyrdin's growing stature has heartened many of Russia's so-called oligarchs, the dozen or so magnates who own the country's largest companies. They also happen to own Russia's top banks, nearly all of which are about to be toppled by the devaluation of the rouble.

"Big capital, of course, supports the appointment of Victor Chernomyrdin," said Boris Berezovsky, an oil and media baron who is widely believed to have lobbied Yeltsin for the government changes. Bankers and businessmen such as Berezovsky, became oligarchs on Chernomyrdin's watch last time around.

They gained control of the oil, minerals and metals giants that would bring them enormous wealth and influence through sweetheart privatisation deals engineered by the Chernomyrdin administration. They evaded taxes with impunity. Partly as a result, the Russian government borrowed heavily to finance its budget by issuing treasury bills. Tax collection remained so low and expenditures, including interest payments, grew so steeply that Russia essentially defaulted on much of its short-term debts this week.

The outgoing Kiryenko government had been putting the squeeze on Russia's oligarchs, forcing them to pay taxes and threatening to shut down banks that couldn't serve their customers anymore.

"We tried to change the system that led to the current crisis," former Russian deputy prime minister Boris Nemtsov told the Russian press. "We managed to do a bit, and there was a lot we didn't do. I think that the Chernomyrdin government won't do any work on this front."

Russian banks scrambled this week to protect themselves, pushing the rouble ever downwards. Russia's Central Bank had returned to them several billion roubles in reserve requirements, "hoping that they would use it to settle accounts among themselves or to pay despositors. Instead, they put it all towards buying dollars," said Central Bank spokeswoman Irina Yasina.

The bank's own panic drove the exchange rate to about 14 roubles to $US1 from about 7.9 on Wednesday before the Central Bank cancelled trading. Banks also announced a series of mergers, essentially in a bid to make themselves too big for the Central Bank not to bail them out.

"It's an act of sheer desperation," says Rory MacFarquahar of the Russian European Centre for Economic Policy. "But three bankrupt balance sheets are not going to come together and create one big solvent bank."

The fading of the rouble has compelled many Muscovites to learn about economics and financial markets as a matter of survival. People ask each other in the street what the results of official foreign exchange trading were for the day. They compare notes about the best exchange rates for buying dollars. They discuss strategies of what to do with their deposits trapped in banks teetering on the brink of insolvency. People tell each other about stores and businesses all over the city which are closing temporarily to set new prices.

Under a cold light rain on Thursday morning, about 60 people crammed together in front of the doors of a branch of SBS Agro in central Moscow, each with the faint of hope getting his money. Some had been coming for a week. Others had arrived at 7 a.m. to get a place at the front of the line. The bank wouldn't release dollars from dollar accounts, but it would give clients up to 5,000 roubles a day (about $635US).

Though most people admitted they were crankier than a week ago, few said there was cause for panic, despite the fact that they ran the risk of losing their life savings if the wobbly SBS failed completely. Still, Russians seemed to be buckling down for a deja vu of the mayhem of the early 1990s.

Many people survive because they have garden plots out in the country, and so manage to feed themselves. Others have two or three jobs to make ends meet. Mostly, people have become inured to what their leaders can do to them.

"In Russia, we have the hope that tomorrow will be a better day, a tiny hope, but no real faith in it," says Margarita Fyodorova, a 50-year-old electrical engineer. "We have centuries of experience in dealing with the bad times. I don't believe in anything or anyone, except my son, my husband and myself."

Neela Banerjee is an American freelance journalist based in Moscow writing for the Wall Street Journal, US News and World Report and the Sydney Morning Herald.