Бесплатный фрагмент - AwerHouse Discography

Publisher’s conventions

For the publisher:

Fonts:

Sitka Heading — Mondegreen

Franklin Gothic Medium — Stainless

Garamond — Another Time

Georgia — Through the darkest days

Bahnschrift SemiBold — Something to Share

Verdana — La Mélancolie

Mistral — Αποδυόψις

Bookman Old Style — Augenblick

Century Gothic — The Deadliest Pleasure

Gabriola — Bryansk

Notations for the reader

Songs highlighted separately:

— instrumental۞

— slow -☂

— heavy -☢

— universally recognized hits –ϟ

— where there is vocals by Victoria Chernova — ♀

— where the main vocal belongs to the guest artist Ϣ

— author’s favorite songs — ♥.

Composition of the AwerHouse group:

Anton Ornyshev Jr. is a lyricist (lyricist), vocalist, lead guitarist and keyboard player (with keyboards for now).

Victoria Chernova — rhythm guitarist, backing vocals

Ron is a bass player, very rarely and very liquid backing vocals.

The rest of the girls — and the following is a list of them — backing vocals and percussion in the form of clapping their hands.

Levyy is the drummer.

Stainless Collection from AwerHouse

STS

§2

Industrial Park

Gently

Defekt

Hopeless, Very

Please Yourself

Adrenaline

Shame

Crucifix

Heaven

Fire Thieves

7th Element

Always…

Why Should We Dream

When I Forget

STS☢04:41

And in the night I am a pentagram,

I build from bones;

I am sending a telegram to Satan:

«I love Eva more than my mother!»

I understand — I’m going down to Hell,

But there is no point in not going down!

I only enjoy Eve.

And if God could, then he is the Devil!

I’m finally losing my mind…

And will appear in the sky again

Giver and persecutor — God

And he will ask: «Like bread,

Do you feed on dreams, scum?»

I’ll say: «You know all the answers,

Why ask questions?

While she’s sad somewhere,

I’m tormented by your secret.

I know that I have incurred your wrath.

And you, being the Almighty, know:

She is my God, your lesson is stupid,

After all, I will lie down at her feet!»

«And you will lie down!» — God will say.

I will die, immediately struck by lightning.

And my corpse is Our Great God

He will place it at your feet.

IV

You are salty tears

Wash my cold body

And with a flash you will remember your dreams,

That they will drown like gardens in the sea.

You bite into a wormy apple

What she kept as a memory of me.

This is how you remember the loving wanderer,

Blasphemer and exile.

But in my chest — what a miracle!

From the tears of your faithful love.

Tulips and lilies will bloom

Timid, sun-loving.

You will breathe in their scent deeply,

In it, without sensing my decay.

And you will come to life in a new way,

You will even find laughter in my corpse!

But for now, as usual,

You’ll go to bed with me,

Denying clashes with God,

To Paradise to wait for your master key.

There’s no point in swimming like a fish with me,

And in the garden without a blue dress…

To be considered superfluous in your heart…

It’s easier to take the corpse and forget it!

And wake up refreshed!

A woman for another!

Joyful and burning to the point of pain!

There are no tears with their dead salt!

Your beauty can be seen a mile away

Someone is rushing — what if the future husband?

But you won’t become his fairy,

After all, overnight the flowers turned into two snakes.

And-then-when-the-teeth-cross-cut-all-your-skin-to-the-very-heart-you-will-see-yourself-into-oblivion—

and I’m here.

Everything is over.

And the souls of the dead will pass.

P.S.

And the snakes will intertwine themselves in a pattern that is beautiful —

God will call it a heart.

He forgave me, blessed me,

Once you nailed me to you.

Unnamed verse

The Mitchell Sisters, Pam and Lily, film

watched about love…

Their marriage, love, cry of the soul,

and no happiness..!

Summer is raving, autumn is somewhere, the forest is in the distance

and a tank is driving.

Fairy tale, sisters and Alice —

Wake up, Psychopunk!

The tank is preparing death for you, it is not

culinary specialist

Sisters take revenge on their husbands, love,

how are you.

In a daring, poetic form,

the twin is expelled.

His brother is himself, and you are

responsible creator.

The Mitchell sisters rob banks

contrary to their husbands.

Evil husband cums on his wife

shot of a gun.

You’re standing at a crossroads

own destiny.

And you don’t know what to think, you or

not you.

Same-sex love of robbers —

sisters.

With its heat, albeit sinful —

poured fire.

Mystery, nerves, joy of will,

robbery and shame.

Even the ardor, the impulse of the heart to

Vike did not cool down.

School, desks, Julia, tooth —

eleventh grade.

House, advertising, money, power —

captivating ecstasy.

The dream is terrible, glorifies greed and

paddle.

Yes, an oar, they hit it, the boats sink

board.

Olya smokes, you smoke, the smoke comes from

cigarettes.

Little things from Vika’s friend, with Vika yours

vow.

There is no point here (or not), there is

there will be a message?

From the tank, sinful Psychopunk,

the shot won’t miss!

§2☢♥♀04:02

Katya doesn’t care, she laughs.

— Luda, you don’t know how to shoot!

— What did you do? «The gun lowered, and Luda began to look at us like a mother looks at children who have misbehaved.» — Stupid question…

— That’s it! And pointing a gun at your sister is also stupid. My sister knows that it doesn’t shoot.

I sat down, as did Katya. It was already dark outside. There was a lamp in the next room, it gave a dim light into the bedroom, it was enough for me to see Luda. Quite pretty, but not like her sister, they are similar only in hair color — chestnut, that’s what it’s called, apparently — although, if you look more closely, even her hair is not similar, Luda has a darker shade. I could smell the smell of fried potatoes from the kitchen — there was still enough left in the frying pan, which Katya and I couldn’t find the lid for. There was still the smell of love, two hot bodies, fresh air brought in by Lyuda and oranges — I saw them in Lyudin’s transparent bag. While Lyuda was taking off her outerwear, Katya looked at me with curiosity, and I, remembering my dream, asked:

— How long have I been sleeping?

— No. It’s not ten yet. — Katya threw back the blanket and began to get dressed, I looked at her, I was sinful, like a businessman. Women may think that I have no right to such a view, but I will not agree with them.

— Why did you come today? — Katya asked, walking up to her sister in only her underwear.

— Check the house. The service is a pity! There was a memory, but now only this is from memory. — Luda pointed to the gun. I would call it a sawn-off shotgun with decorative gold carvings — now it lay between the washed plates and a jar of mushrooms. «If I had known that they were checking the house, I wouldn’t have come.»

— These are not somersaults, we are adults. This,“ Katya pointed to me, „is a charming Bezhita poet, lieutenant and marauder. He also has a group. By the way, he dedicated poems to me.

— They buy your girlfriend cars, but they only buy you poems? — Luda stood in front of the frying pan, as if before a test, and all her words sank into a golden brown crust. — Are the poems any good?

«He didn’t have time to read them out.»

— Clear. «Luda looked at the potatoes so much that I, watching everything from around the corner, drew delicious saliva on her lip.

«Yes, eat, we, as we knew, left it for you,» said Katya.

— Yeah, so that I weigh eighty again?

«One time won’t make it eighty.»

«It all starts at once… No… No…» Self-hypnosis, Lyuda went into the bedroom. I, completely naked, felt shy under the blanket.

— Can you dance, poet? — Luda asked me.

I was taken aback, but answered:

— I can’t if I’m dealing with a professional dancer.

Luda looked at Katya in surprise. She was already eating potatoes at the table.

— Have you already told him?

«No,» Katya answered with her mouth full. — He is a soothsayer.

Katya ate with gusto, I was already hungry. A piece of potato fell onto her dark pink panties.

— What did I prophesy? Are you a dancer?

«Yes,» answered Luda, «I lead a dance group.»

She sat down on the edge of the bed. She wanted to say something, but a note caught her eye. Katya and I forgot to think about her. She took it in her hands as if it were some kind of evidence, read it and asked me:

— Are these role-playing games?

— No, we wanted to ask you what it is. Really, Katya?

— What? A! A note? Yes. We found it in the closet. By the way, there was no ring. You know nothing?

«No,» Luda said in fear, peering at the note, looking for additional clues in it. — Maybe the robbers left it?

— Yes, we thought about that too.

But Katya and I were careless about the note. She alarmed Luda as if this note was supposed to lead to something. Whatever it was, we had nothing to say about the note, we knew nothing about it. Of course, I had the ring in my jacket pocket — but I decided not to say anything about it, because I realized that the sisters had nothing to say about the ring. If it were their ring or their grandfather’s ring, they would have mentioned it, but if not, it means that the ring was brought into this house by someone else — and not necessarily a robber.

Katya finished with the potatoes and sat down on the bed next to Luda. They started tricking me into writing poems. I read only one, what is called «Night Road», which I dedicated to Katya. The girls liked the verse, especially, which surprised me, Lyuda. They tried to persuade me to read more, I agreed, in exchange for a dance with Lyuda. Luda was pleased — as I understood, she was initially eager to demonstrate her talents. While I was thinking about reading, Katya lay on my shoulder. Her warm, beautiful, ancient Greek body, this marble creation, as if with traces of a mirage, which I preferred to see in it, pushed the poem about Lisa out of my depths. I didn’t mention Lisa’s name, and it wasn’t even in the poem — it sounded as if the poem was dedicated to a beautiful stranger who had melted the ice in the protagonist’s heart, and this stranger could have been any girl. The daughters of thunder liked this verse too, and after the third, about love and jealousy, I was able to fully enjoy their impetuosity. Katya turned off the radio and began to sing a cheerful and unfamiliar song about an eagle and a wonderful cave in which great secrets are hidden. Luda dug up an old umbrella somewhere and began dancing with it, as if in some cabaret. Her movements were truly fabulous, only the old, holey umbrella, which looked more like a staff, brought me back to reality and did not allow me to completely get rid of it.

Dancing on a wooden floor.

Grace, precision, like from the gods.

The excitement of the incompetent is alien at the ball

Experienced feelings and school years.

But in contrast to the poems I had just composed, I jumped out of bed and, naked, without embarrassment, began to dance with Lyuda as best I could. Katya immediately joined us, and until midnight the three of us did God knows what. Then the girls went to bed — they had to get up early tomorrow. Luda had to go to work, but Katya had a day off, but she often took part-time jobs because she didn’t have enough money. I, a free artist, was in no hurry. I brushed my teeth with the local ancient paste and the local brush — and let the cleanliness burn in hell with their hygiene — naively peeled the orange, forgetting that citrus fruits are bitter in combination with the paste, and remembering this only between the second and third slice. Then, thinking about the lost pistol, Lyandinis’ ring and coins in equal proportions, I lay down in bed, in the hollow between Katya and Lyuda, and tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t fall asleep. I looked at Luda’s large breasts in front of my nose — fortunately, they were the only ones left from her excess weight. I tried to bite her with my teeth, but Luda sleepily pushed away my head, which was striving for her nipples. I got some pleasure from this, I played with her breasts for some time — Luda didn’t think of turning over to the other side. I buried my nose in its pulp in the hope of finding my sleep there, but to no avail. I got out of bed, put the kettle on the stove, wandered around the room while it was boiling, then made coffee, put on my underpants, leather jacket and Katya’s slippers, and in that alone left the house.

10

— A loser meets himself on the street, gets to know him and realizes how successful his other self is, so in the end he decides to get rid of himself. True, from which «himself» he does not yet know.

— Is Chandler still throwing a key in response to oooh?

— Yes, it’s all from a movie about the Mitchell sisters.

— I won’t watch it with pleasure.

As I walked, all sorts of rubbish from the past popped up in my memory like logs. I can’t say if this happens to you, but sometimes it happens to me — you seem to have something to think about, something urgent or something more important, distant, but you think about all sorts of nonsense.

— Vernier caliper group.

— Last name is Nemilaya.

— Just look at them… Without their friends they are nothing.

— It’s a pity, there is no word franic in English. There is a similar frantic — frantic…

— What do you mean?

Ron picked up his guitar and sang briefly:

— She is a franc. It’s you.

He looked at me. I smiled and asked Masha:

— Did I tell you a joke about a schizophrenic who paid for two people on the bus?

— No.

— And I won’t tell.

— Why do we need guitars? We will play with our mouths and modify sounds on the computer.

— Let’s name the group after the garage. It reminds me of a warehouse. Therefore, we will name the group accordingly. Warehouse.

Julia said «fie», Ron said «no».

— I want to get to know you better.

— I like women who take on impossible tasks.

— Everyone who met me later got married. If you want to get married, but not to me, then just spend the night with me.

— Where it’s thin, it’s thick.

I decided to think about Julia’s hair — it’s more pleasant than the above nonsense. Soft, silky — cotton, linen and molasses. Figurative foliage on a tree. Which one? Well, the most feminine tree that I know is the willow, but I had no such associations with Julia. She is more likely a willow. And her hair is like spring buds. She also has hair like the wool of a sheep. I am sure that if I had not broken up with her, such a comparison would not have arisen in my head.

I don’t know — probably, parting with Julia, despite my peace of mind, still crashed like a bomb into my memory water, and that’s why dead fish appeared on its surface in the form of dialogue from the jumble above. That’s right — dead, their time has passed, and I look at them and think about how they swam. And the life of each fish is mixed with the life of another, contradicts that reality, and also contradicts eternal logic.

But still, I decided, I need to give them some meaning. All these memories are united by one place — the garage. This means that in order to justify my memory and give meaning to her fornication, I must go to the garage. There’s nothing to do there, Ron has city drinking sessions on Odin’s days, so he’s unlikely to show up there, and I have nothing to talk about with Lev, and with Julia everything is clear, but whatever, I decided and realized that I was already heading to the garage. Walking around doing nothing is better than sitting doing nothing.

Got there. And I immediately realized that I did not have a lascivious memory, but an excellent memory, the best in the world. This is probably some kind of sign from above, anything is possible. In general, at the garage I saw a mirage, that is, Katerina. Yes. Something irrational led me to her. God chose a strange road for revelation.

«I was waiting for you,» Katerina said after waving her hand. She was wearing the same coat as yesterday. — I wanted to know if Lev Stanislavovich received the poems.

— Received. He didn’t like them at all. I hope I won’t offend you if I say that he doesn’t understand poetry?

«You won’t offend me,» she laughed. — And let’s put it first, I’m not a grandmother.

— Let’s. Why were you waiting for me? Here? I don’t come here often, and the time of my arrival is always different.

— I live nearby. I rent an apartment in that five-story building. — Katerina pointed her hand at a five-story building about a hundred meters from us, but it’s unlikely that she landed her finger on the apartment she was renting. — I came here at the same time as yesterday, and, as you can see, it was not in vain.

I nodded my feverishly working head. Lyandinis, coins, «circle», toilet. This was also connected to the pistol that was stolen from me. It all mixed together into a mess, like those memories of the garage. I have to figure this all out. Fate sent Katerina for a reason. Fate has pushed me towards something important more than once, and now it’s pushing me.

«Katerina… Katya…» I began, scratching in thought not my head, but my nose, «what do you know about Lev Lindyanis?» «Wow,» Katya also thought about it, but didn’t scratch anything, «not so much.» I only know him because Laura sees him. She is a teacher at his school. Laura is my brother’s wife, Vanya. Ex. I don’t communicate with Vanya, but I do communicate with Laura. It happens.

At the mention of Larisa, something sank in my chest, a proud feeling.

— Are you Matveeva too? — I asked incredulously, thinking that there were a suspiciously large number of women with that last name around.

— Oh, God forbid! — Katya said, as if I had asked: «Are you Pupkina too?» — I, thank God, am still Vedeyeva. «Matveeva» remained with Larisa from her first marriage. Her maiden name is Pavlova.

— How long has Larisa been with Lyandinis? — I asked and added:

— If it’s not too personal.

— Not too much. As soon as she got a job as a teacher at school. About a year. He, Leo, had already proposed to her, but she decided to hold off for now. She had no luck with the first two, which is understandable. I don’t know what kind of Belarusian Syrian he was, but my Vanya was definitely not a gift.

«Why am I asking this,» I decided to explain. — The fact is that I didn’t have any special relationship with Lindyanis. When I was studying, he was not even a director, and, in my opinion, he did not work at school at all. But I knew his son, may the kingdom of heaven be his, better. He and I studied at the same time and, I must say, we didn’t get along — we didn’t get along like children, nothing serious. And so, his son is killed, and he gives me the task of writing a poem. You saw yesterday that this surprised us. He could have found out what I was writing from Steiniček, yes — but I’m not the only one writing in Bryansk. He could have entrusted the poetry writing to someone else. And he instructed me. This is not clear to me.

I lied — maybe I didn’t fully understand, but it was understandable. I think that Lindyanis just wanted to see me, because he did not exclude the possibility that it was I who killed his son. And poetry is just an excuse, skillfully sucked out of thin air. I spoke about my ignorance to Katya in order to encourage her to engage in an active dialogue in order to collect as much information as possible about Lyandinis, but since she, in her words, does not know much about him, then at least information about Larisa or others who know Lindyanis and through which I can get closer to Lyandinis himself.

The longer I was next to Katya, the more dense her mirage became, turning into a person, with his vices and weaknesses, but I tried to keep her unsolved until the very end. On her tall body I left the charm of a mirage with a headband. I remember that I wanted to know her completely, that is, to kill the riddle in her, but it turns out that I did not completely deprive the riddle of air, but left her, like a vestal virgin, one small gap in a dark cave. And if the riddle does not suffocate, then everything will be fine.

I invited Katya to sit in the garage. She came in and sat down in my chair, as if she was here not for the second time, but for the twenty-second. I correlated her with my musical woman — Katya definitely has a chance to be her. But she has not yet done anything decisive about this. She, which is also important, told me the backstory of her first appearance here. I will combine her disparate monologue into one whole and, for the convenience of your perception, I will remove unnecessary nuances, such as a discussion of the March weather or the «working appearance» of my leather jacket not dressed for the weather.

— I will only tell you what I know. On a moonlit day in the evening, Laura came up to me and told me that Lev’s son had been killed. A terrible story — they stabbed to death in the school toilet. And strange, because Sasha was twenty-two years old, he should already be studying at the institute, as I know, he was studying, but what was he doing that day at school? Lev told the investigator that his son came to visit him. Why exactly to school, what the urgency is — it’s unclear. It is clear that Lev himself came under suspicion, but he had no motive for the murder, and it seems to me stupid to cut his son in the toilet. What a horror, if you think about it! They called the students, all of them, who asked to leave during that lesson — they either left at a different time, or one of them lied. They searched briefcases and combed the school grounds. No knife was found anywhere. The investigator is sure that he was stabbed with a knife. That’s all Laura told me on a moonlit day.

— Yes.

— On the day of Mars, in the morning, Laura came to me again. She said that she was surprised at Lev’s calmness. He holds himself straight like a stone, like a lion, as if his parents knew WHO they called by that name. After hearing this, I respected Leo even more. Then Laura asked me to do something. — Then Katya looked at me meaningfully. — She called your name, asked you to find, ask — a tautology! (Katya, having said this, burst into tears, which did not fit with her serious tone) — she wanted to ask you to write a poem herself, but she needed to see Lev’s daughter, give her something, belated, of course, on March 8th…

Then something clicked in my head.

— Daughter? Does Lindyanis have a daughter?

— Yes. Her name is Ilse. Laura didn’t talk much about her, she only said that she was strange and had some kind of defect. I realized that although Laura was trying to build bridges with her, she still didn’t like her.

«Daughter…» I repeated, clutching the upholstery of the sofa. I imagined myself at that moment from the outside — probably it might have seemed to Katya that I desired this daughter, but no, although who knows?

— She is either a year or two younger than Sasha. Laura went to BSU to give her a box of chocolates while I was with you.

— Does she study at BSU? — I asked joyfully; After all, Katya threw me another clue!

Katya winked mysteriously.

— You’ve perked up, I see. But, probably, in vain — Laura made it clear that she was strange and not beautiful.

Industrial Park☢07:04

The Patriarch Without a Robe wipes his forehead with a handkerchief. There is a coat of arms on the chiffon scarf. The executioner knows that the Sobrichs never positioned themselves as descendants of any significant Serbo-Croatian family, so he thinks that this is just a coat of arms, without history or meaning. Maybe with both, but certainly without the trail of pragmatic genes of the King of the Machines.

They are going to the forest. The strip bar remains fifteen turns behind their jacket-clad backs. Lifet and her graceful legs in red heels too. The villain likes her, but Snacker doesn’t like her very much. The visit to the strip bar was short — all in dust or holiness, the Founder Without Briefcase’s desire to find a Home tempered his thirst for fake breasts. The executioner also feels the teeth of this desire, but does not understand the reason for their digging into him. It turns out that he doesn’t want to find Home — and he wants to find it. Perhaps, the villain thinks, the desire of the Patriarch Without the Mantle wears the same clothes as his, which is what he asks Gnacker about.

— Don’t you think that someone or something is dictating to you against your will to look for this House? — asks the Executioner and falls, tripping over the root of a young oak tree.

The Briefcase-less Founder waits for the Tormentor to rise to his feet, brushes the dirt off his trousers and tries unsuccessfully to wipe away the green paint left on his knees by the grass. And while he is waiting, and the Executioner is arguing with the oak tree, just like with his wife, the old Navigator approaches them from behind. In his youth he was a powerful, broad-shouldered worker, this is evidenced by the current old age of his body. White sleeveless tank top. Tanned working hands. A white cap with a barely visible shade of blue, inflated with forest air. One silver tooth shines in Sturman’s mouth. The rest are yellow, like military uniforms from a sepia photo. A boil shining in the sun near the left brow ridge, the bald brow ridge, this bony excess just asks to fly off from under the forehead and, touching the sweaty cheekbones, fall onto the ground crushed by the Torturer’s knees. The old man says:

— Are you fellows opportunists among us?

— Who are you? — Gobbler asks rudely.

— You won’t see Home, like we won’t see wealth…

— You should get out of here, old man.

— Damned lice, they sold the country piece by piece!

«You can’t sell it entirely,» the King of Spades intervenes.

— And the young people too, the traders here! Fuck you, godless advertisers! Speculators are fidgety, dogs are slobbering! You will sell your own mother, yes, I suppose you have already sold it!

— Are you a deceived shareholder, or what?

— Yes, we tore him to pieces, didn’t we, old man?

— They sell and share! Sell and share!

— Let’s go forward. Don’t listen to crazy old people.

— That’s for sure.

They are moving forward. A cow’s umbrella flies into the sky in the distance.

Wind. He walks for a long time near the thirteenth floor of the most elite skyscraper in the city, then boldly and without invitation flies into the open window of the office. He is bored in the evening lights, and he sits down on a leather chair, puts his feet on the table, yawns… A single sheet without a signature flies off the table. The grinder, she is a secretary, is sitting at the table near the office door and will not see this until tomorrow morning. The leaf ends up in a bucket filled with clerical death. Covers it with a crumpled piece of notebook paper. It was crumpled with the letters facing outwards, the villain made a snowball out of it without thinking. The crumpled words «I will kill» are clearly visible if you look at the trash can with a keen eye while sitting on a guest chair. He, the chair that remembers all the meanness, stands opposite the table overlooking the lights that are boring to the Wind. The rest of the words of the paper ball are covered by a single sheet without a signature. A plain sheet without a signature. The Element descends on him and becomes a Mystery.

(city)

I decided to go home not the short way, but the circuitous one. To make it easier to imagine, let’s agree that the hostel where I live is Alaska, and the house where Lisa’s sleep, I hope, will be sweet, is Chukotka. And so I decided today to get from Chukotka to Alaska not through the Bering Strait, but through the Far East, Siberia, the Urals, the Central part of Russia, Europe, Atlantis and America. I’m a half-Columbian. It was getting dark faster; like the rotation of a coin thrown edgewise onto the floor, accelerating and merging into one thin background until it completely subsides. I decided to go through the parking lot. Wet March snow fell on her in circles. Car tracks have worn the snow down to dirt, just as skin is sometimes torn off until it bleeds. Autumn mud and winter puddles mixed under my feet, and to my right, near the metal fence with bald spots, a gift for any car thief, quite December snowdrifts towered. Bald willows at a distance could not hide the nakedness of their trunk with their leafless and thin branches. To my left was a grove. She, just like the willows, could not at this time of year hide the carbon-copy high-rise buildings that rose in the distance. To my right was a bakery. His building was, as if on purpose, the color of a loaf of bread. A good, fresh, warm loaf with an easily crushable and tasty-smelling crumb. I was hungry. I would have bought myself a sausage roll, but not a single food stall was open at that time. I turned left into a grove, actually the same forest belt that I crossed today with Lisa, but I just took a different path, walked, walked and, fortunately for myself, was convinced that there was a more or less flat path ahead without any obstacles in the form, for example, of low (for tall me) tree branches. Why fortunately?

Because I started looking at the sky. I tried to find stars in it. But I saw only the sky. The color of it was reminiscent of bad coffee, the gray color that happens when there is too much boiling water per spoon of coffee. Ink clouds floated under the coffee sky. The cheese moon was shining, small, full, in a light haze. As a child, it seemed as if a man and a woman were sitting on the moon and talking to each other about something. I tried to imagine myself in this lunar man, and in the place of the lunar woman I wanted to see Julia. Did not work out. I tried to imagine Lisa in her place — no, not her either, but Lisa was still more suitable for the role of that lunar stranger who sipped the sky with me. This image was also complemented by the snow under my feet, melting sugar playing a rhythmic melody. I walked and remembered the meditativeness I had almost achieved in the shower while I was cleaning my jacket. Then they interfered with me, but now such obstacles could not arise, so we can safely say that I was currently successful in the meditativeness I was looking for. I felt good, I didn’t feel tired from the long walk… I looked around. The forest belt was ending. Ahead is a stop, at the turn, and five-story buildings with their shops on the first floors. The rare nine-story buildings in my area looked with contempt at the lower buildings with the eyes of an overgrown younger brother. In my area there was more mud on the road than snow. For this reason, I chose to turn again to the sky. The moon was in the same part of the sky as in Liza’s area. But now I couldn’t see the man (myself) and the woman (stranger).

There were less than three hundred meters left to my hostel, and I, at the behest of my brain, which demanded to draw some conclusions, remembered today. How I accompanied dear Lisa to her house. Then I thought about my empty worries. If we accept as true that life is a good thing, then the nature of these very empty worries becomes clear. When they pass, life becomes a little better.

Well, here I am at home. I remember everything I wanted to remember and sit down to write poetry.

Chapter two

On the sensor there is a triangle and a crescent with a dark moon — stylized as the letter A. All this is on a square of dark blue sky with two, three or four stars. Just below the night square is a white triangle looking to the right, and even lower are the numbers — 4:57 in the left corner and 6:22 in the right. When the soft pad of the finger lands on the triangle, it will turn into two standing rectangles, a half-second echo of the earth being thrown from a shovel will be heard, and the melody of the chorus will immediately sound, but without words. Hate yourself and made you bit…

Gently☢05:17

This is Antigone’s second purpose — to listen to the same songs endlessly. The first is to love your Avenger husband. Destinations cannot be destructive for those for whom they are intended, Alice thinks, and, knowing the endless incest of neurons in the head and respecting them for this, she considers her optimism about destinations stupid.

Wind. He flies through the open window in the kitchen. The princess closes the window. He sits on the sofa and thinks. Richardson tries to get back into the saddle, but the horse, having breathed freedom, leaves him. The song Six Feet Under comes to an end, and is replaced by a crossfade by song 69, one of the few on the album sung by rhythm guitarist Victoria Chernova. Alisa always dreamed of attending an AwerHouse concert, but the trouble is that her soloist, immediately after returning from the Netherlands, hanged himself on the balcony of a St. Petersburg apartment back in 1996. Russian reality was so alien to him that his escapism, as it turned out, lay not only in the English-language repertoire of the group he created. Alisa realizes that AwerHouse’s second place in the list of her favorite performers is unshakable, and only now she begins to understand that she is no longer able to think the same about the first place of Nails of Success. And while she is thinking about all this, Picture’s husband’s promise to kill her swirls around her chest like an uncomfortable float.

The Silver Daughter could not even imagine that the husband of the Golden Lady and her husband were united by enmity. Long-standing enmity. Work, professional — it is sometimes stronger than personal. Grievances can be forgotten sooner than your calling changes. Her husband and Picture’s husband are in no danger of either. Their professional enmity, as the Princess understood from the Adjutant’s promise to «destroy this villain,» also became personal. Teasing arms are making me cry…

A few hours earlier, in the kitchen, the Avenger told the Princess and the Guardian in detail about the husband of the Golden Lady. His last name is Ornyshev Jr., and in response to his father’s reasonable question as to who Ornyshev Sr. was, the Jack of Hearts only shrugged. But he suggested that the villain’s father probably worked in the same place where his son now works, since the son’s surname is inextricably followed by the prefix «junior».

And the Tormentor works in the design department of the Stone City and not only works, but is the main one in this department — that is, he is responsible for all the dull new buildings, squinting with double-glazed windows on the bloodless residents of the city. New buildings and anti-advertising, which the Avenger is engaged in, seemed to have little in common with each other, but this is not so. Between the windows, on each side of each window — to put it more simply, the Prince then corrected himself, there are advertising banners on all the walls of the new houses. And since the immediate responsibilities of the Adjutant include the destruction of any useless advertising — they simply don’t stick others on houses — then the conflict of interest here appears most direct. Alice, of course, knows that almost all of her husband’s professional juices are spent fighting the advertising that houses have become, but the fact that his opponent in this noble cause has long been the husband of the Picture, who wrote her five unforgettable words, seems to Alice not to be a coincidence coincidence. Alice is scared. Even her husband’s promises and his reverent care cannot calm her excitement. Antigone sometimes thinks about the nature of this fear, that maybe the fear is in vain, feigned, irrational, it is excessively strong, yes, maybe, but suddenly it is simply useless, suddenly you just need to try not to think about it so that it goes away by itself — after all, sometimes strong worries lead to nothing, and suddenly this is just that very case — but no, something told Alice that her fear was bound to lead to something, but this is what — the Almighty gave the Princess no hints on this matter gave.

(road)

It was not yet five in the evening, it was getting dark now after seven, but the onset of darkness was already felt in the damp air. Yellow and lifeless-looking grass appeared here and there from under the snow. New snowflakes swirled in the air, just like the old ones, and it was easy to mistake them for old ones; along the same trajectories, snowflakes fell onto the broken road, showering with their unsalted patterns a mishmash of dirt and melted snow, also new, a mishmash that is, but also seeming familiar, but not a pleasant acquaintance, unlike snowflakes, but a familiar neighbor, who does not understand what, but should. White untouched snow and gray mixed with mud embraced my walk by the rails. I looked at the different snows and thought — did any of them not have time to leave? Or did someone come too late? He looked at the snow — after all, the sky that was in His womb was promised to His land. Truly, there are no better plans for the Lord’s boundless generosity! He gave me the tool to see beauty even in the gloomy city of factories and railroads with its impurities, external and internal. And the feeling of this strange beauty; and the knowledge that there are cities somewhere that are more joyful, more understandable and strong in their beauty and more majestic in their history; and the hope that you can be in one of these cities with your beloved woman — these three things can truly lift your spirits. By the way, they did not raise anything for me, but only exalted me in their own eyes. Or raised slightly and straightened.

The railway was almost straight, slightly leaning to the left. Rare lanterns were not lit, it was still early, but something was still reflected in them, probably because everything in this world is reflected and, one way or another, has its own shadow. The metaphysics of the aimless road sharpened my hearing and vision. I even heard distant birds, which is considered hope for an industrial area, I saw the silhouettes of other people’s houses, white in the fog of the distance. I paid sensitive attention to the distance and did not immediately realize that I was already at the station. I understood this more likely from the green bridge than from the turquoise station building with its white circle in the shape of an eye. Passing under the bridge, I stopped. The green paint seemed damp and not cracked, but rather cracked. The bridge over the railway was perceived by me as a childhood sign: when I was little and walked across the bridge with my parents, I often imagined myself jumping from it into an empty freight train carriage or even onto an orange oil tank, which is more absurd: I really wanted to be a hero.

Defekt☢06:21

The land of disappeared things… Our ticket is circling over a pile of great something, perhaps, but something else, alien to me. Our ticket is where the synthesizer is. And Lena has a gun. Tomorrow I will throw stones at her.

This is inequality. This is sensual fascism. Vika should be like everyone else. I change, people change. But hypocrites change too. Is the context different? It’s interesting to develop this idea, but for now, in me — hello! — a conflict of different impulses, and one for now — for now! — dominates, and the other does not dominate.

Fine.

Context is context. Combination. Change. Biopsychic hypocrisy.

There is no need to lump everyone with the same brush.

She. Outside. Time.

Now I’m writing a poem…

PS: And in more than an hour I will find the ticket tightly sandwiched between the last pages of the book. The numbers on it were 000783 and 000784. Just as we are one whole, so are two tickets, the ticket and the ticket holder, as one whole… I wish I could kiss you, and the world is not enough for me! Male 3 and female 4, teenage romance of a smart romantic. Uneven, with red letters and black numbers, a ticket, a symbol, and under it for inspiration the lines:

And suddenly it is written again

The next first snowstorm

I’m getting drunk from the melted air,

Lying in the sun in a green bed…

Alice, at the whim of Eternity, has to go to work early. Eternity leaves today outside the city, into the wild forest, to film naked among the fallen trees. But while there is time, there is another order — studio shooting in a swimsuit on a green background. Instead of a green background, the exciting figure of the Golden Lady should then be accompanied by a Dominican beach with an impeccably azure sea and a lonely crab that forgot something on the beach, and therefore Eternity, and the Princess too, does not understand why it is necessary to go to the forest to photograph the forest, if only a green background is enough to photograph the Dominican Republic. But contractual obligations are contractual obligations, and therefore Alice sees with what reluctance the Picture gets to work — the anticipation of filming in the wild with its hordes of mosquitoes and midges slightly distorts her face in the photographs, but this distortion is enough for Alice to once again ask for Eternity repeat your pose.

«It’s starting,» says the Picture every time, and each new photo of it turns out to be worse than the previous one.

Antigone patiently films. She knows what the studio needs. This is not the first time she has endured Eternity’s bad mood — but in recent weeks, this patience has been supplemented by the excitement of realizing the fact that the man who promised to kill her, Alice, has become Picture’s husband.

— How now? — asks the Golden Lady, and the Princess discerns a usually well-hidden provincial accent in her voice. It’s not that she doesn’t love the province — but the figure of the Golden Lady…

«Okay,» answers the Silver Daughter, although the photo is frankly unsuccessful. — Let’s have three more to consolidate it.

Eternity takes a heavy breath and acquires mechanical passion — her mouth is slightly open, her eyes are burning (studio lighting, but not the internal fire), her breasts are barely held in her bra, and this time the areola catches Antigone’s eyes. Alice tells the model to adjust her swimsuit. A picture with a dissatisfied aspiration makes it — dissatisfied, because for a nude photo you can get more money, and the Duchess has repeatedly proven that legally, even a microscopically visible hint of a nipple can be interpreted as «nude». Alice, as promised, takes three photographs, and the last one, Alice thinks with relief, unlike all the previous ones, corresponds to the studio order.

Another half hour of filming and three hundred photographs, nine of which can be considered successful — and that’s it, the photo shoot on the beach can be considered over. With the haste of the oppressed rank and file, the assistants, one of whom was a young man in a cap, remove the green background, roll it into a tube and turn off the spotlights, twisting the electrical wires into solid hoops. The Duchess goes to the shower to wash off the aromatic oil from her chest, stomach and legs. The princess goes after her. The picture only notices Alice’s short figure in black, with a camera slung around her neck, when her left breast stops being oily and becomes just wet.

«You don’t need to wash,» Eternity remarks somewhat arrogantly, looking Antigone from head to toe.

«I didn’t come to wash,» Alice says confidently. — I came to talk about your husband.

The Duchess freezes for a split second and then begins to wash the oil from her right breast.

— Is that so? — she says coldly. «Did he get you into bed too?»

«I tried,» answers the Silver Daughter. «And when I refused him, he promised to kill me.»

The Golden Lady turns to face the Princess — then looks over her shoulder at her buttocks in the mirror. It also cleanses these delights of oil. Alice looks at the butterfly in the mirror — no bra bands can hide it today. A black butterfly, even a moth, Alice would say. Autumn wind with summer frost.

«You lost a lot when you refused my husband,» says Eternity. «He knows how to please a woman.»

Antigone shows Picture the ring on her ring finger, just like she showed the Inquisitor. Alice shows the ring to some extent reflexively, because she understands that for This family her sincere loyalty looks archaic — Eternity doesn’t even have a ring on her finger. Although this, if desired, can be explained by the professional lack of rings for most women photographed naked, the Princess understands that the ring finger on the right hand of the Golden Lady is not constrained by any traditions even outside the walls of the photo studio.

«Once we locked ourselves in this very room,» continues the Duchess, «and with his pressure, full of fire, he drove my whole body, right up to the point of pain, into the cold tiles on the wall and, such an infection, broke the stiletto heel on my favorite shoes.»

The picture seems to be inspired by its own words — so much so that it stops washing its body, although the oil glistens defiantly on its long legs. Added to this brilliance by contrast is the invisible light on her face — the memory of the past illuminates her face with something heavenly, even making it less artificial.

«I remember yelling at him, although, I must admit, at that moment I wanted him more than on the first date.

Alice begins to think that the reflection of Eternity has moistened her usually dry nature, but this turns out not to be the case. Inspiration immediately dissolves in the clean air of the shower, and the Duchess’s face becomes as cold as always.

«You shouldn’t have refused him,» says the Duchess. -You’ve lost a lot…

— Don’t judge me by myself, I really don’t…

-...and if he promised to kill…

And here Alice stumbles over her unspoken words, as if drowning in a shallow pool.

— ...then know that my husband keeps all his promises.

Hopeless, Very☢♥05:58

The Executioner knew about this, and now, standing in the shadows, chuckling and not seeing Gobbler with his wives, the Executioner wonders why the King of Laughter did not make Atida his fifth wife. But he doesn’t think about it as long as it might seem. He thinks more about the taste of a new murder that suddenly appeared in his private morgue. He only now understands that it is not just anyone who needs to be killed in order for it to be tasty, no, no, he should kill the anti-advertising man himself, the Adjutant, he dealt the first blow, Alice in the sky with headphones on, all that remains is to deliver the final blow, and then his advertising will not have a single pitiful, honest, kind — ugh! — the anti-advertiser will not interfere. The prince will die, the ship will lose its captain, small fish will be thrown onto the dry sandy shore of all-consuming advertising. And the tit itself will be thrown into the river.

The same half hour passes. How does the villain understand this? It’s easy — the shadow he outlined disappears, and the villain sees a bed with Nibbler and a Woman who looks like a «shabby blonde,» as Nibbler himself put it, but this time she really was his late wife, alive as never before. She was the Queen.

— Let me have one more, will you? — Patriarch Without Briefcase begs the villain. The Queen at this time disappears from the embrace of the King of Laughter. Abstract Woman disappears from bed for the first time in the villain’s memory.

The villain laughs, and Thaddeus laughs too.

— Maybe we can stop this večer of unanswered questions? — Tadeusz asks and falls out of bed. Glutton. It seems to the inquisitor that in these half an hour the King of Laughter has gained about forty kilograms, and he is perplexed how it is possible, in such a short period of time, to try all the food, apparently all, in the refrigerator, and all his wives. He wants to ask Zuboskal about this, but he understands that he is unlikely to get an answer, because he himself, the villain, never answered Zuboskal’s last question.

But still, the Executioner asks, however, not about the magical gluttony of the King of Laughter, but about something else, more on that below, after the colon.

:

— Did you like it in my House?

In response, the King of Laughter, of course, laughs, so loudly and inevitably for a long time, with pieces of fried exotic flying out of his mouth and with pieces of meat stuck in his teeth, visible because the mouth of the Patriarch Without a Briefcase is open wide, wide, like a blue tunnel, but a disgusting, blue, old, laughing, greedy, laughing mercilessly to himself tunnel. Why mercilessly? From seeing the anti-spectacle, the villain vomits on the Dark Side of the House, on the floor, of course. But mercilessly to himself, not because the Tormentor vomits, but because the King of Laughter suddenly falls over on the empty bed and falls silent. Doesn’t move. He most likely falls asleep from laughter and pleasure. Or he dies. The executioner carefully, but without emotion, looks at the Patriarch Without a Briefcase. The hand, wrinkled and fat in every sense of the word, freezes near the heart. Dies, that is. The executioner comes closer to Zuboskal. He doesn’t hear his breathing. The devil pulls the villain to look into the Dark Side of the House, and he does. In addition to the new corpses, which are discussed below, Thaddeusz is hanging in the noose. And gates from many chins… His regular customer. Hanging in a noose, noose around the neck. Lying lifeless on the bed. He died, that is. The Inquisitor is funny, he wants to laugh out loud, but he restrains himself, he understands that the King of Laughter died of laughter, and therefore it is not a fact that he himself, after barely restrained laughter, will remain alive if the laughter cannot be restrained. He remembers something sad so as not to laugh. I still want to laugh. Clear. The villain looks into the Dark Side of the House. There are now more hanging bodies. For some reason, the feces smell and are under the traps. Strange. Either the feces got into the traps, or the traps were set on the feces. This is very illogical, the villain thinks, looks at the floor of the Dark Side and does not see his vomit. It looks like magic, and magic, which the villain has no doubt about, does not exist. The Tormentor approaches the cabinet on the Light Side and sees scratched inscriptions that were not there before. He reads the inscriptions out loud:

— I will die young and poor. Centuries later my name will become famous. And nameless rich people will buy my work.

The executioner understands that these words were spoken by the Prince, and realizes how much he wants to kill him. He says, it’s unclear why, really, because the target won’t hear him:

«You will only be immortal until you die.»

And he adds, thoughtfully:

«In this case, I am also immortal.»

Two lines of cocaine appear on the floor. They form a cross. The villain crushes him with his foot. On the refrigerator, most likely empty because of the King of Laughter, the Executioner looks at the new inscriptions. They weren’t here, where did they come from… Ornyshev Jr. is scared. He remembers the Silver Daughter and automatically looks back at the bed. There is no one on the bed. He needs to finish off the Adjutant at all costs, and while savoring this dream, she appears on the bed, right in the same place where the King of Laughter died, a black bride, alive, not like a wife with an eternal nude, the Princess appears. So alive that it’s as if she’s not hanging in a noose right now. Warrior, Spring, Harlot, Queen of Spades, Shepherd’s Daughter, Margarita, Ingenue, Saint, Lima and another Warrior, Navigator, for some reason Ratko hangs here, Cloud Head, King of Laughter, Silver Daughter — she is between the Astrologer and the Founder Without a Robe. Antigone, like the famous cat, is alive and dead at the same time. The torturer seems to feel better, and he decides to read the inscriptions on the refrigerator. This is correspondence, and the villain does not dare to read it out loud, reads it silently:

Masha, hello, this is Zhenya. I was at yours with Ian

wedding, maybe you remember this one? Well, of course,

remember, I will answer for you. I am writing about Anya, not

I can reach her, she’s not on the phone

replies, she hasn’t been online for a long time either. Maybe,

She changed her number and do you have her new one?

Hello. Of course I remember. There is no Anya’s number, I got it myself

I haven’t seen you for a long time. I don’t think she changed it.

I wanted to meet her, even for no reason, just

like with a person who was kind to me. She’s the same

you invited me to your wedding, although I didn’t come to you

sew on the sleeve, I have no concerns. But

I must admit, you had fun and not without drama,

everything is as it should be.

Maybe she and Roma went to the village, I don’t know. Although

There are no problems with communication there. Sorry, but I don’t know.

Ian is great for putting Tanya in her place. I do not like

men, especially someone’s husbands, but he is impressed

created such a quiet person who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but

here — on you: essentially presented to Tanya and claimed

justified his position. Even to me, a stranger, Tanya immediately

didn’t seem like a very nice person, though

good luck to her and happiness, of course, although on the other hand

Ian also seemed quiet to me… okay, sorry, that’s not

my business, I digress. Thanks for the answer!

My pleasure.

You probably don’t know, but Ian is no longer alive.

He was hit by a car in August.

I didn’t know it was like this… It’s a pity… I can only

sympathize and wish you not to think about it

at all. Nothing can be changed. And the inevitable

turn torment into something good, unique.

Unexpected advice… I don’t even know what to write…

We are all the same, our torments are not unique, and

«unique good» is not unique either.

Well, how can I say… there is no good in counting

your pain is similar to the pain of others. Just pass

past the pain of loss, as people pass by

sleeping alcoholics on the bench.

However, the advice is useless. Decide for yourself and to hell

all advice. If you like to suffer, then suffer

you have the right to do so. But from the inertia of suffering, this

the body’s vile habit of clinging to any

the condition, even disgusting, is impossible to get rid of

false. A day or two — and don’t stop yourself from taking something

new, and this new, by the way, in no way affected

there is no memory of Yana, who (for her own sake, firstly

queue) can be preserved without any admixture

ill-fated car, it’s nice to keep

suspended in the air.

Knowing that all suffering is alike does not give

no unity with other sufferers

people, with his mother or sister, for example.

In the decency of those suffering, there is some kind of joint egoism

it still exists. And you think not about the general, but about yourself, but about

I don’t think about the emotions from the gifts that he

gave it to you.

An artificial rose, Ulyana, his sister, brought him

from a social shelter in Volodarskoye, standing now

in vaze on kitchen.Rose costs without water And will aliveAnd

if desired, will be alive much longer than living

howling man, but Ian, lifeless, is now lying in

earth. And not like a seed from which a rose will grow or

something else, but like the earth itself, from which never

nothing will grow! And see the rose and not think about it

I can’t do this.

Gifts are needed in order to think about who

gave them, so think about it, but the possible pain from these

Use «doom» for some important matter, since

unable to kill this pain without the help of time. But

but pleasant memories that anyone

the gift certainly evokes, exaggerate,

exaggerate, in general, from this benefit in the past

give yourself life-giving consolation in the present.

That’s all I mean.

Please Yourself☢06:26

«Yes,» I confirmed, getting closer. — Me too.

I aimed at her skin, red from frost or embarrassment, then turned around and kissed her on the lips, trying to stick my tongue into her mouth, which opened in surprise. I swallowed her candy breath: we kissed under the Gestapo gaze of her friend.

I saw — I had never noticed before — that the whole world consists of layers, thin and dense at the bottom and larger and lighter at the top. Yes, the higher, the larger and easier it is. My favorite dream of the brain, the blue musical woman, disappeared — it was as if I was inside her and was going up to the higher layers of this world through a blue tunnel. There were five layers. Perhaps more, but on the fifth I felt my limit.

At the first level, the thinnest and most dense, were my teeth. With them I accidentally tore off a thin film from her lips. She didn’t show any displeasure, but I was embarrassed. It’s not easy to present yourself as the first man in the reserve and be embarrassed at the same time. My lips seemed to me something rough, salty, ridiculous and bloody — how could a woman tolerate this? This male cannibalism called love? A kiss, after all, embodies the primary desire to devour another. But these vile shades were pepper, a pinch of it, in an exquisite and delicate dish, which can best be appreciated not by me, but by a Gourmet from the world of his own and universal feelings.

On the second level Katya’s lips were on fire. They became the enemies of our kiss, our blue tunnel. Red mixed with blue. I don’t want to tear Katya’s lips out of my memory, but they are not appropriate here, but they exist as a comparison, a recent experience, confirmation of the diversity of the world, the women of this world, their lips, their feelings, their intimacy, with different shades for each.

At the third level was unity. The delights of unity have been tested from above, here is the desired pleasure and nothing else. All sorts of incidents like film and salty lips, melting snowflakes dissolved in saliva, a friend unfairly offended by our togetherness, were on the lower levels. Our tunnel, flickering, fiery, because the true color of fire is blue, was only expanding here. No wetness and nothing slippery — this layer was dry as in heaven.

At the fourth level we need to stop. Here space has gone, spilled milk in the form of stars and nebulae that never shine over Bryansk. Imagination and thought began, like the blessing of cold space given to our kiss. The absence of the world around, the snow at my feet, the scratch in my side — this reality was the same as in the books — that is, I can imagine how it feels, but I cannot fully feel it. Reality with all its horrors was replaced by a New Reality — and in it the Old Reality seemed like a distant and stupid fiction that could be kicked like an earthly ball.

At the fifth level, awareness came. I felt with all of me the blue musical woman. The music came — the one I like. Woman as mother, lover, stranger, witch, goddess, she-devil, angel, seraph, siren, executioner, slave, artist, mistress, man, child, image, hallucination, fire, earth, air and water, amoeba, matter, fabric, sun, spring, war, autumn, winter, wife, life, death, memory, the agony of falling in love, the sweetness of falling in love, falling in love itself… I fell in love. But, more importantly, the whole story of a woman flashed through me at the fifth level, divine and deepest, most vital and most defining. But after the fifth level, our blue tunnel, a deep river, or rather its mouth, flows not into the sea, but into its own source. I believe that I won’t see the sea just today, and I feel that God is comforting me — yes, it’s only today.

I looked into the distance. The enemies hid behind the annex.

«Thank you,» I pulled away from the girl.

— Hey, hey, wait, what’s your name? — asked my love.

— And you? — I asked.

The summer sun disappears behind the horizon, and the dense shadow of tall trees now seems impenetrable. The Robeless Patriarch wipes his brow. On a chiffon handkerchief there is a coat of arms, yellowed from sweat. The green dirt on his knees angers the Executioner, but he remains silent. In the presence of the Founder Without a Portfolio, and in the presence of any persons above his rank, the villain always seems calm.

«It’s already dark,» says the Inquisitor. — Let’s put it off until tomorrow?

— So that someone else can find him?! — Zuboskal suddenly gets angry.

— What if there is no House?

The Machine King stops. Breathing heavily. It seems that he will raise his voice again.

«You don’t believe what you’re saying,» Thaddeus says tiredly and calmly. — Mrze mosquitoes! — it grinds in addition.

Crickets play a previously rehearsed melody. The villain remembers the song Nevermore. It is followed, on the album Something to Share, by the rather long Wizard.

«You’re right,» says the Executioner, trusting a strange feeling. — I am convinced that there is a House.

The Machine King turns on the flashlight. His sweaty face falls into the circle of light. Its red color, almost a summer afternoon, is visible even in dim light.

«There is a house, so let’s go look for it further,» says the Patriarch Without a Robe, sighing heavily. He still can’t catch his breath, and for some reason the King of Spades gloats about it. The executioner walks forward, the Gobbler is just starting to walk. You can hear the hoarseness in his heavy breathing. The villain is amazed at himself, because he discovers that he feels some sympathy for the single-mindedness of the Founder Without a Portfolio and for his reluctance to pay attention to the hoarse man.

«We need to call my wife,» says the Executioner and stops.

— Try, but the connection in the forest, you know, is not very good.

— Have you warned your people?

— For what?

The torturer decides to change the subject.

— When I said that there is no Home, I simply expressed myself incorrectly. I wanted to say that suddenly, perhaps, by God’s plan or because of the devil’s games, we will not be able to find Home? For some people, yes, but not for us. Suddenly we were forbidden to find him?

A mosquito slides off the sweaty forehead of the Patriarch Without the Robe.

— What do you mean?

— Mmm. — The executioner is shy. — Because we are villains for this world. For its majority. And probably for the God of the majority too.

The Patriarch Without a Robe shows a cynical smile familiar to the villain, to which nothing needs to be added.

«We must tear from this world everything that it gives,» the King of Machines still adds. — And if this world does not want to give something, then we must take it away from the world by force. The whole world is built on violence, and you know it.

«I agree with you,» says the Inquisitor. — But how will this truth help us in our search for Home?

The gobbler either grunts or says something. He moves on. The grass and all nature are crushed under heavy feet in expensive shoes.

Adrenaline☢04:17

connected into absurdity

news from the news release, communication between the First and

World War II, right mind with absolutely

left heart, witticisms over endless films

Mami, kicks in the butts of the classics of literature,

artsy obscenities into something cute, kisses in front of

separation, the eternal whim of the intellectual

die in someone else’s war, music with alcohol

marijuana, conceit in front of those you hate

people, «another and forever» victory of the devil,

fight of horoscopes in the third house, tired spitting in

a melting puddle, prejudices crushing everyone

paths, as if satiated glances at bare thighs,

global flood in Indonesia, sad politicians

like office plankton, God comes to you and

leaving you in a sine wave, sweetly stupid

luxury, identical faces of equally ugly

perfectly proportioned women, anger that gives power and

strength, sickle and hammer like Islam and Christianity,

French dominant in Germanic English,

the over-salted soup of kind Lisa with a tail on the back of her head…

How, taking all this into oneself in a single stream, in which

rum each of fifty, or even more parts,

connected with the other forty-nine, or even more,

you can think about yourself or your experiences,

albeit biologically and psychologically

justified? We are nothing, you and me. We have

the opportunity to draw on the experience of centuries, like manna

heavenly, and not to use it, not to unite your

neural impulses become more and more bizarre

connections and be content with rudiments

of your raw experiences, and most importantly, not to recognize,

and like an animal, tumble around one and

the same bowl of food — this is the most shameful thing

crime, of all possible now.

«Leaning against the stream of life,

Shut up the inner paranoid for a while…»

Great, only you understand — I’m sure yes,

because even I understand that even such

words are just your short-term inspiration,

the illusion of a door in the place where the boards are made of

habits, all the windows are boarded up. It’s impossible even

look at the imaginary variety — the boards that

you could mean less boards, and more

all lies and which to me only mean one thing

any habits, not even doors, interfere with

which are simply impossible to enter, and the windows in

which are not easy to see.

A window is like a door, but it is not a door. We, I’m sorry,

got caught up in metaphors, when metaphors are everything

only Words, and any Word is a thing in itself, and

any combination of Words are also things in themselves,

like monuments that can be of any size

beautiful in any way, but which have nothing to do with life

not at all. Any successful metaphor is just a joy

to oneself, any statement or even

the work was not created for support, but only as a prize

it is necessary to preserve oneself in the form in which it was

created. Of course, we are hostages of words, because

nothing useful except weaving into their combinations

contexts we need, we have nothing better

came up with it — and if so, then spit on any

selfish combinations of words, if you like, and

be amazed, like a child, at the diversity of life,

be surprised all the time, and you don’t want it, you

you have to do this, it’s also your responsibility,

as much as the duty to breathe is the same indeed

a duty not invented as a burden for convenience

self-justification, but vital.

This is impossible. Yesterday in my dream I dyed my hair

red color, I and this, according to your conclusions,

should you be surprised?

They’re here, all three of them. Husband, his brother and father. As one, worry about Alice’s future, sitting as one, in white hospital gowns with blue shoe covers

boots, sitting on a white bench along the wall, time

from time to time they glance at the frightening inscription

«Resuscitation» hanging above the door of the ward, on which

they glance constantly, not occasionally.

They rarely speak. The Avenger, of course, in addition to grief,

who appeared from the moment the villain called, feels hope

— she, a saving friend, makes grief less, therefore

it cannot be said that the Avenger was disillusioned with the world — about

such disappointment could be said while leaving

Adjutant from the photo studio, now there is grief and hope in him,

and the unit of time for these qualities is expectation,

making with its long minutes that grief and that hope

more unbearable. The keeper is also worried, it’s obvious

by the sad eyes and almost humble ones — not for the situation with

Antigone, but to life itself — complete and kind

face. One Artist is different from everyone, especially from

twin brother, with his cold calm. From the outside

it might look like disdain, but the Prince and

Guardians know that this is what the Swordsman experience looks like,

although it goes without saying that the three of them had such strong experiences

today hasn’t happened yet.

«This is a cruel joke, nothing less,» the Beekeeper once said.

«The creation of God is the same as the creation of the impressionists,»

The Artist answered him to this. And everyone understood this in their own way.

From silent waiting, rare remarks and even rarer

minutes of dialogue add up, and from these minutes hours are added up,

they draw the nymph Arethusa, who is waiting for the lover, in the form of a river.

— Do you feel bad too?.. Sorry for the question, you don’t have to suffer…

«…but I suffer,» the Self-Tormentor picks up his father’s words, «because

that I love Alice too. But I would have suffered even more if she

actually died, as my brother thought in the morning when he received a call from

this Neanderthal. But the words «suffering», «bad» — in my opinion,

gross generalization. But generalizations, one way or another, do not carry

the truth in the way in which it, the truth, is expressed. Explanation,

use, transformation — these three words, please consider

for one thing — long theses, complex sentences, contradictory

and incompatible, but existing side by side objects or phenomena

into something short, more understandable to the interlocutor or expected

by the majority, distorts the truth, allows it to be distorted and complicated

her according to the word, and so always, even if this reduction is inevitable,

necessary and made with the best intentions.

Shame☢♥♀03:19

Dean Ganovich©defeated Jun Orosgrish to retain the Light Heavyweight Championship.

Near the ring was the Great Catsero with 4 types of poisons and protected Orosgrish from the rest of the Extremists, but Ganovich, unexpectedly even for himself, managed to defend the title.

Michael Burnsdefeated Chris Lasner.

Raindefeated Celestia©, Becky and Joan Brawling to become the new Women’s Champion.

Midway through the match, Celestia and Becky fell off the stage, nearly knocking out the power throughout the arena.

To win, Rain pinned Joan. After the match, Zetwalter came running to Joan, and she, overwhelmed by sentimentality by the hurtful defeat, forgave him, but did not kiss him yet.

Emily McGillan©and Cable© defeated Zetwalter and Tasha Smothers in an elimination match to retain the Tag Team Championship.

Elimination order: 1. Zetwalter pinned Cable after a messy Fear Factor. 2. Emily McGillan held Zetwalter after Zetwalter’s long-awaited kiss from Joan. 3. Emily McGillan forced Tasha Smothers to submit in the Octopus Takeover.

For the first time in her life, Emily was able to defeat Tasha in the wrestling ring!

Zetwalter did not wait for the end of the match and immediately after the kiss he left with Joan.

Tasha, judging by her hysteria after the defeat, came to her senses again. I stopped loving Zetwalter and stopped being crazy. «No wonder,» Ed Callejero said out loud as he walked to the ring for his match. Seeing Tasha’s hysteria finally cured Ed’s fear of women.

Great Catsero©defeated Ed Callejero and defended the title of champion of the British Isles.

Shakan Gloibige defeated Enkefaliko.

Damon Apostotadefeated Brandon Stamford in a match with special referee Lord Stamford and kept the $100,000 stolen from Lord’s office.

During this match, Cute Tank returned to the company. He sat down at the commentators’ table and began commentating on the match. The cute Tank performed in Japan for a long time and it was there that he took the title of champion of Fighting Without Rules from Beelzebub, who, by the way, was undefeated in AWM. But I, the Nice Tank, said the Nice Tank, took and defeated Beelzebub, and returned the title in AWM.

After the match, Tank was attacked by Dino Langolo, unhappy that he didn’t have a match.

Dino Langolo defeated Cute Tank.

Lily Grice interfered in the match and hit Tank with a low blow. We can say that this is why Dino and Lily reunited again.

Brad Pridedefeated Barkan.

Kento Kensuke©defeated Mitsukage Megura and defended the title of World Champion.

First defeat for Mitsukage Meguru.

Damon buys the commissioner’s position from Brandon for $100,000 and first sets up a match for Emily and Kablu for the Tag Team Championship against the returning BoomShine Saigon.

Michael Burns, recalling his victory over Chris Lasner, swears that from this day on he will be invincible.

Emily McGillan© and Cable© defeated BoomShine Saigon (BoomShine Dursley and D’Saigon Dursley) by disqualification.

Emily and Cable remained champions.

Multi-titles are cool, says new commissioner Damon, and sets Michael Burns and Women’s Champion Rayne in a Tag Team Title challenger match against a reunited Zetwalter and Joan.

Michael Burnsand Rayne defeated Zetfalter and Joan to become #1 contenders for the Tag Team Championship.

After the match, BoomShine Saigon smashed a table with Rayne’s body.

Burns wants to get even with BoomShine Saigon. At least somehow, the main thing is now! Damon, with whom Burns is still on a frosty truce, assigns the roulette to Burns. A table match is expected, but suddenly… a coffin appears…

Michael Burns defeated D’Saigon Dursley in a coffin match.

During the match, BoomShine Dursley performed a powerbomb on Rayne from the stage.

And Damon (let me remind you, he’s a commission agent) lifts the ban on Emily fighting for the Women’s Championship and appoints her a match against Rayne, but also constantly assigns her and Kablu matches for the Tag Team Titles, apparently in a desire to weaken Emily before the match with Rayne. Tasha notices with displeasure that the sarcastic Damon has become cooler towards her, and understands that the lifting of the ban for Emily is connected with her, Tasha, «falling in love» with Zetwalter. Emily and Cable defend the titles in nine different matches, three of which were against the Extremists, and Rain constantly helps them defend — she wants a match for the titles against Emily and Cable.

Michael BurnsDino Langolo defeated.

Langolo ran into the ring at the count of 9, but was pinned by Burns and lost.

Michael BurnsDino Langolo defeated.

In the first minute, Langolo pinned Burns, but he held onto the ropes and Damon, watching from the stage, restarted the match.

Langolo says that he is no worse than Burns, and he has a woman (and had another, and another), and holy love, and he can also fight on the same show not only with the broken Cute Tank, but he can also fight and for several titles, and will also start like Burns, and repeat his own long-standing winning streak and surpass it, and, as if as proof, he attacks both Dean Ganovich and Jun Orosgrish on the sly.

Lily Grice sleeps with Damon in order to become a special referee for Langolo’s matches. But no one knows about this. Damon kind of just makes Lily the referee in all of Langolo’s matches, while for all the TV viewers, the person who slept with Lily was the man in the Kabla mask.

Dino Langolo defeated June Orosgrish in a match with special referee Lily Grice to become #1 contender for the Light Heavyweight Championship.

Dino Langolo defeated Dean Ganovich© in a match with special referee Lily Grice to become the new Light Heavyweight Champion.

Cute Tank© defeated Dino Langolo in a match with special referee Lily Grice and defended the title of champion of Fighting Without Rules.

After the match, Langolo beat Tank with his own bat wrapped in barbed wire.

Emily asked Cable not to interfere in her match. Cable made excuses, saying that he did not sleep with Lily. Emily said she believed, but Cable didn’t believe that she believed, but he listened to her and didn’t interfere.

Rain©defeated Emily McGillan to retain the Women’s Championship.

Rayne won with the help of Burns and Damon. Cable didn’t have time to stop them and now he regretted that he had listened to Emily.

Michael Burnsdefeated BoomShine Saigon (BoomShine Dursley and D’Saigon Dursley) in a Handicap Match with Elimination Tables to retain the Tag Team Championship.

Elimination order:

1. Michael Burns broke D’Saigon Dursley’s table after an STO with a kendo stick. 2. Rain interfered in the match and broke the second table with a Royal Suplex to BoomShine. Dursley.

Damon Apostatadefeated Kable and Zetwalter in a «No Heart Feelings» match to retain his commissioner status.

After the match, Damon officially allowed Rain to date Burns.

Tasha SmothersJoan Brawling defeated.

Beckydefeated Celestia in a Sound and Fury match.

Mitsukage Meguru©defeated The Great Catsero in the first of three matches in the series for the International title.

The evil Dino Langolo challenges Rain to a fight.

Dino Langolo©Rain defeated and defended the Light Heavyweight Championship.

Michael says that he understood the hint and adds that Langolo, although he is a «Light Heavyweight» champion, is blown away and is generally a loser. Langolo attacks Burns, but Cute Tank, in retaliation for yesterday’s attack with a barbed wire bat, attacks Langolo and hits him.

The mad Shakan Gloibige returns and says that he wants to beat everyone. Actually everyone. He says that he will beat the «already undefeated» Burns no matter what. Shakan says that Burns once deprived him of the title and, in general, interfered in matches so often, and in general he infuriated and still enrages him, that it’s high time — ahhh! — kick his ass for real, so that Burns «feels» the pain, and not like when Shakan defeated Burns, when Burns played his pathetic «mysterious crush»! Langolo interrupts Shakan and says that his reasons for kicking Burns’s ass are much more significant, in contrast to the «mothballs» of Gloibige. Anyway, as a result of all this, Damon assigns them a match.

Shakan Gloibigedefeated Dino Langolo and received the right to fight Michael Burns.

Damon interfered in the match. He accidentally hit Langolo with a cannonball when he was clearly aiming for Gloibig.

Tasha flirts with Burns so that Damon will at least somehow pay attention to her — otherwise he’s completely playing with the controls. Cute Tank sees this scene and films it on camera.

Damon replaces Burns with Tasha in the Tag Team Championship match so Burns will only have one match on the show. Damon still doesn’t like Burns — he explains his concern by saying that he wants him, Damon, and not Gloibige, Langolo or anyone else, to break Burns’ winning streak. The streak must continue, and for it to continue, Burns must defeat Gloibige, and in order to defeat Gloibige, he must be fresh and not participate in the match for the Tag Team Championship, even if he earned it. Tasha is grateful to Damon. She believes that Damon still cares about her, and she feels bad for flirting with Burns.

June Orosgrishdefeated Dino Langolo© to become the new Light Heavyweight Champion.

This time Damon hit Dino with the cannonball on purpose.

Emily McGillandefeated Becky to become (again) #1 contender for the Women’s Championship.

Crucifix☢♀03:53

The light turned green. Ian went to the crossing.

— Yang!!! — Ulyana screamed shrilly.

It was too late. Ian was lying on the side of the road about ten meters from the crossing. The small green foreign car drove back and stopped in front of Ian. Dima and Ulyana heard the woman’s screams from the salon, her complaints about her trembling hands, which she could not use to dial the ambulance number. A man’s voice was immediately heard, loud and besieging, and the car soon turned around on the road and drove off in the direction from which it had come.

Dima and Ulyana approached Ian. Dima was pale, and Ulyana pressed her palms to her face and trembled just as much as the woman in the green car, if not more. Ian’s arms and legs lay at an unnatural angle. A trickle of blood flowed from his mouth. The left sleeve of the shirt was covered in blood. His phone rang. Ulyana gasped in fright, and Dima couldn’t bring himself to turn around Ian, take the phone out of his pocket and answer. He had barely decided to do this when Yang grabbed his wrist and said slowly, increasing the bleeding in his mouth:

— I will become a father.

He didn’t say anything else. Ian died three minutes before the ambulance arrived.

Wedding.

Masha woke up, already feeling tired, prayed, not demanding anything from God, and immediately set to work on the dress. It looked everyday, and Masha’s mother, who was helping with the outfit, was so amazed by this that she said two opposite things — that Masha was fussing around like a child, and that she was in a hurry, like she was going to work. Having finished with the outfit, the women approached the dressing table, and Masha was somewhat touched by the mother’s emotion, and Masha thought that she herself would have shed tears if it were Yan Roma from her best dreams.

— Wonderful! — exclaimed the mother. — The weather is sunny, you are sunny for me! Oh! May everything be sunny for you!

Masha hugged her mother somewhat condescendingly, surprised by her sentimentality — after all, in front of her was the same mother who scolded Masha’s already deceased father and called all men oily gears — seemingly simple in appearance, but not suitable for everything. Dima entered the room, looking more like a groom in his checkered suit with a vest than Ian, unless Ian, of course, decides at the last minute to surprise Masha with a change of suit, which is unlikely. Dima said general but pleasant words to Masha and said that it was time. The family left, and then Masha found herself in a kaleidoscope of smart, semi-familiar faces pouring in congratulations, strangers with their appraising glances, the bright sun, which for Masha was a greater inhuman gear than the worst man in the eyes of her mother, Ian with his delight, flying away to a previously unknown orbit, friends who are sympathetic here and so forgetful in life, Ian’s parents, who can easily be classified as strangers, Roma, who you don’t need to think about, Anya, who you don’t need to think about either, so as not to think about Roma, puddles from the night rain, the receptionist, distracted, like Masha herself, with rings that seemed to Masha more faded than her dress, which did not seem bright, Maxim and Zhenya, standing aside, looking like servants, Tanya, whose joy hit Masha in a subtle but sharp point of the heart, without affecting him entirely, as a mother, as if making sure that Masha did not get lost — always such an insightful mother! Masha considered her entire checkered path, from home to the registry office and from the registry office to the village, to be a well-deserved, but protracted scaffold.

Masha, sitting in the back seat with Ian, looked at her ring, starting to think that Tanya was right. She didn’t think that Tanya could have had her own personal tragedy — but she could have. Valera, her kind husband, «Kolobochek», could be the same as Ian was for Masha — kindness inappropriate for love. Masha even thought that it was not without reason that she had known Tanya since childhood — in this so old acquaintance could lie the reason for their ontological kinship, their predetermined identical path even then. Masha thought about her drawings, about her dreams, not yet spoiled by any intimacy, remembered three of Tanya’s many still unknown stories, two of which included herpes, and could not understand why life was arranged in such a way that between her dreams and Tanya’s herpes could be something in common? Masha bit her lips, tears flowed from her eyes. Sensitive, as usual, Ian carefully wiped them away, like those of an animal that could bite, and Masha could only regret that these tears were not sweet, but bitter. She looked at Ian, smiled at him and again tried to consider her thoughts about Roma and dislike for Ian as something bad, but something that could not stop her. She saw that Ian’s eyes were shining, kissed him, and for a while she decided that she had succeeded. «Just about — and I will love a worthy one,» Masha began to repeat, like a mantra — «Just about…»

Heaven☢ Ϣ ♥06:16

The saint nods understandingly, and respect joins the cordiality in his eyes, gray or blue.

«But you must admit,» begins the Accountant, «taking into account the information that you had about me and my relationship with Ratko Sobrich — with Ratko, mind you, and not with Tadeusz — it seems to me that knowing what you know, somehow It is wrong to try to look for this Executioner through me.

«That’s true,» the Prince nods and scratches his nose for no particular reason. «But all the previous options led to nothing. Neither my anti-advertising colleagues, nor the advertisers I bribed, nor even the urbanists who were caught red-handed, none of them can say where the Executioner lives.

«Didn’t you think that they were lying and covering for him?»

— No. They need money, not ideas. They don’t care what kind of advertising they do, as long as they get earnings.

— It turns out that you turned to me out of despair?

The Avenger nods his head. He scratches his nose again.

— Does your villain have any relatives?

— I asked — everyone, as one, shrugged their shoulders.

— N-yes… — Stargazer drums his fingers on the armrest of the sofa. — Sorry I couldn’t help you.

— Sorry that I may have been harsh with you…

— Come on. — The saint carelessly waves his hand. — You, sir, mentioned that your brother is obsessed with searching for Home?

— Obsessed, as he says, with creative impulses.

«That’s good,» the Astrologer rejoices. «Otherwise many people just want to hide in the House.» Invite your brother to me? I’m sure he will be interested. I can tell him what those Cardboard Head dogs didn’t let me tell.

«Okay,» says the Prince distantly and rises from the sofa embroidered with gold ornaments. — I’ll invite you.

The saint smiles cordially. The Adjutant’s face is reflected in the gold coin around his neck. The Knave of Hearts rises from a chair decorated with fir branches — and determination with restrained anger is reflected in the gift of the mountain expeditioners.

(forest)

Not far from the house there was a small forest. I boldly walked towards him. It was cold at night, but not so cold as to make my teeth chatter. At night the forest did not seem bald. He inspired in his own way, in the dark it was easy for him to deceive me and pretend to be a taiga. Rare and distant cars made noise. The noise was quiet, but to me it seemed intrusive, like the ticking of a clock in a silent room. I sat down on a fallen birch tree and began to look the forest in the face. There is dirt under my feet — poor Katya’s slippers — and the birch tree under a certain place is not particularly pleasant when you are without pants — but still I felt peace and tranquility. I felt that I could sit like this until the morning. New rhymes related to Katya and Luda popped into my head. I made Siamese sisters out of them and fantasized a little. At that time I was looking at the forest — his face, as it turned out, remained indifferent to my fantasies. The night blue half swallowed the tree trunks, and in their upper half there were forest eyes, maybe all the forest emotions were written in them. Two empty beer bottles lay at my feet — I seemed to erase them from my consciousness in order to fully imagine myself in the virgin taiga forest. I drank coffee — hot, it carried the smell of women now sleeping in the same bed. I wasn’t thinking about them now, I was thinking more about Julia, who in my dream for some reason bore the name Vika. I was waiting for Julia, as Vika, to come out of the forest and announce a truce, but if that had happened, I would have thought it was a dream. In the distance one dog barked, then another, then everyone started barking. A real village, I thought with emotion, and began to look for the moon in the sky.

I didn’t find the moon, but I saw the Big Dipper. Then I saw the North Star. It didn’t seem brighter to me than the others, but in it I seemed to see meaning, a plan for my further actions. I suddenly thought that coins and struggle could be connected and tied to the figure of Lindyanis, and in unraveling the true intentions of this figure I saw a justification for the murder I had committed. I felt like an avenger who had carried out my revenge earlier than I should have.

The light of a single lantern fell on a skinny stream that seemed like running oil in the night. The house without a roof, but with beautiful sirens in it, looked scary. The nightmare was intensified by a new portion of the dog’s chorus, this time justified — a «nine» drove past our house with one front headlight on. I thought they were robbers who stole the set and left a ring with a note in the closet, but it’s unlikely that they were — the car just drove by. The Vedeev sisters’ service with my damn pistol is now where the synthesizer is. But not the ring. I put my hand in my pocket — it was cold, it and my knife were a strange husband and wife. The wind suddenly increased, driving me from the log to the house. I obeyed. He quickly finished his coffee and literally two minutes later he was lying between Katya and Lyuda sleeping peacefully. I basked in their warmth.

I remember everything that I wanted to remember, and silently, waiting for sleep, I compose poetry.

Playground. Empty. Two people, one in an untucked shirt, the other in flip-flops on bare feet, are sitting on a swing with fading green paint: both are smoking and talking about the recently released soy underwear. The first one says, you can wear it several times, but no more than five, even he, such a shameless slob, can’t wear it more than five, and then, as soon as the linen is completely worn out, you can fry it over low heat and eat it, generously greased mayonnaise, otherwise, without mayonnaise, and even with Blood ketchup, it’s completely impossible to eat laundry until you’ve learned how to make it tasty, you haven’t learned how to make it tasty yet, yes. And what kind of underwear, the second one clarifies, the ashes fall on his leg, what kind of underwear, a sweater, jeans, pants, and maybe something women’s — the second one says that then he would buy women’s clothes, not for wearing, of course, but for eating, because eating women’s underwear can probably excite you.

The first one answers that he doesn’t know anything about arousal, that he ate, before that, of course, rinsing them with cold water, hot for a week and a half, soy sneakers of Feni, his son, when he played football in them with himself near the parking lot and inadvertently stepped right into the heart of dog poop. It is to them, to the soy socks digested by a homeless dog, someone previously thrown out of the window, that something that used to be a fly is now heading, silently buzzing.

(kiss)

In front, next to the hostel, girls stood and laughed about something. I saw my salvation in the familiar red hair under the cap. The friend had black hair, but it is closer to Gaponov’s company, and not to the essence that I am striving for. Almost tripping on the ice, I, finally realizing that this was my chance, approached the stranger. The girls turned to me, laughing, feeling that they were coming towards them.

— Girl, can I meet you? — I asked the red-haired girl.

They were surprised. The little black one looked at me with disbelief, and the red-haired one silently refused.

«Sorry for taking your friend away from you,» I said to the little black girl.

«Our entrance exams are difficult,» the red-haired girl told me.

— With me, any entrance exams will seem easy to you. Agree!

The red-haired and dark-haired ones seemed to be holding a silent meeting. I didn’t like the little black one, she seemed like a boy to me, a competitor.

«Well… okay,» the redhead answered as if I had driven her into a corner.

— Great. Can I just kiss you in a simple way, like children… can I kiss you on the cheek… on the right cheek?

«Okay,» she blushed slightly.

And she was surprised, stunned or interested in something.

«I saw you somewhere…» she began.

Fire Thieves☢03:15

Jump onto the carriage, get into the driver’s cabin and kill all the enemies and women there. And women too. When I was little, I hated women. Yes. Due to the fact that in the films my father watched, men died more often, and women only got away with fright, not a slight one, but still. Where is the justice, I asked myself then. And only then did I understand where. Nowhere. And I was upset about it. Then I thought that it was even good that there was no justice. And I was happy. Now I think that justice is both there and not, and so for everyone and for everyone, and I don’t know how to feel about it.

I left the bridge behind me. I passed by the station. It was then replaced by emptiness, and the emptiness was then replaced by yellow houses, which then gave way to white ones. Double-decker shoe boxes with square holes. The lowest holes went underground and were patched with wooden boards. One protruding nail reminded me of something between the letters «G» and «L». I saw the same letter at a traffic light. Two or three vague shadows ignored him, and rightly so, there were no trains or cars at the crossing. I began to look at my feet, and for a long time. From the first type of snow — winter — I grew the Alps and Elbrus with my eyes. From the second snow — spring — I made apple trees and bushes with unidentified, or rather, not fully invented berries. I didn’t have time to figure it out, because I looked up. The fence separating the railway from the rest of the world was replaced by pegs, which soon disappeared. A vacant lot began to appear, on the sides of which, in the distance, businesses were smoking and not smoking. The proximity of plants, combines, factories, workshops and the like made the scarcity of nature richer in my eyes. The organic traces of the city seemed closer to me to a virgin forest than to a city. And keeping this in mind, I decided to part with the railroad. I didn’t say «bye!» brown rails, I silently returned to the crossing, with its traffic light that I had previously noticed, and went out onto the road, onto Karl Liebknecht Street, and then onto Pochtovaya Street, and along it the direct route to my house.

When I got into the room, the twilight outside was already threatening a windy night. I turned on the light and started looking for the gun, I didn’t expect to find it and I didn’t find it.

«It’s where the synthesizer is,» I said out loud.

I remember everything that I wanted to remember, and I sit down to write poetry.

— Why didn’t you say earlier? — asks the Accountant. A gold coin glitters on his neck. — I know him better. This is his half-brother. I had the misfortune of working with him during sowing work in May last year. So, you know, he ruined all the corn crops. Danish, supposedly, pesticides. And the court also ordered me — yes, sir, not him, but me — the court ordered me to pay…

— Enough. I came purely on business. And I cannot solve such problems…

— No, sir, I just wanted to clarify so that you wouldn’t be surprised later that these brothers are like two apples from one apple tree… Although, wait, they’re half-brothers, and that means they’re like apples…

«Your abstract reasoning will not help me in any way.» With all due respect.

— Well…

— I told you right away that I was looking for the Inquisitor’s house. I’m not interested in your problems with Ratko Sobrich. And I’m not interested in your wit.

— So what can I tell you? I have never seen either the King of the Machines or this Executioner, whatever his name is…

«I’ll explain why I came to you with a request,» says the Prince. — Yesterday your interview was shown on TV…

— And How? — This time the Astrologer interrupts. — Did you like it?

— I do not watch TV. My brother watched the interview… he, like you, like many in our city, is also delusional with the idea of the House… Sorry for getting distracted… So, in the interview you mentioned Ratko Sobrich, and I thought, that perhaps the Executioner is also dealing with this Sobrich, but you, as I understand it, know nothing about this…

— Well, well, wait, hit me, dear. Do you want to find the Inquisitor?

— Yes.

— For what?

— I am an anti-advertiser.

7th Element☢03:25

And again, don’t answer — I know all the answers

to those questions that pester you with a blush

To your ears — oops, the cigarette goes out —

But not blush — I love you.

Suddenly. Lisa, Lisa, it serves you right!

The blush sparkled with a pleasant shiver.

The face is in it, the neck, the lobes, you are so happy,

This makes my love even more precious

worth it — oh, no, not like that, she’s priceless,

like the cups of your knees looking into me

with under your dress made of very fine cloth.

Ich amo you mon schönes fille forever and ever

Are you laughing, is it funny to you? You will say softly — yes.

But keep quiet, my love, or better yet, keep laughing,

And this, my beauty, you will only become more beautiful.

And na-na-na and na-na-na and na-na-na and falsehood

It will not be in our relationship,

It will not be in our relationship,

It will not be in our relationship,

Never.

Oh, sorry — I got distracted, my sea maiden,

your blush, it’s a delicate peach, drove me crazy.

Drink your coffee, it’s getting cold… what, what, what did you want?

Marine why? What a question, I don’t know!

After all, he said that I have no thoughts now,

So I’m bringing you this romantic nonsense.

Be silent, my love, and there is no point in restraining yourself,

You, as before, laugh out loud while they bring lunch…

Well, here’s the side dish, fillet and brownish spicy sauce.

You were in a hurry with the coffee — but finish it, they’ll pour you some more!

Let me stop my crazy opus.

Bon appétit!, my… Seriously? Will the dishes wait?

Well, okay, I’ll continue, I’m just glad

To delight your beloved’s sensitive ears with speeches.

Your acceptance of my sins and curious look,

confused face, soul, graceful legs become,

— perhaps I’m a fool in the intoxication of my dreams,

and my speech is entirely made up of false promises —

but for you, Elizabeth, I’m ready to give everything.

And it’s time for my sour thoughts to disappear.

And then, look — the intoxication and deceit of promises:

I didn’t need to add all this,

make an amendment related to the world of ignorance.

Let him go to hell — it’s time to forget him!

And all his earthly people with their inability to love!

And with their obsession, anger and control —

they take it all for love —

her name is so sincere, so honest, it hurts,

while their greedy teeth cut the faithful into blood.

The thoughts returned again — well, I’m sorry, dear

I can’t carry on my romantic nonsense any longer.

Eat, my dear, you have been silent for a long time,

And then you remain silent to drive me crazy.

After all, this is what I want — to drown in my madness.

To cling to your unworthy lips.

Your shyness and heart are waiting for me…

Oh, look, two people in uniform come into the bistro.

And they look at me — apparently they came for me…

Eat, don’t worry — they’ll leave now.

You know, my sweet, that I am an ordinary cheat.

They won’t find the one they need in me.

Is it with regret?

whether with contempt

or maybe with pleasure —

I don’t know what’s in their souls, and I don’t want to know,

but I know that they will not find an enemy in me.

You eat, my dear, and I’ll come now.

And this…

yes, I forgot to say that I love you!

I look at you, I burn, I love, I look…

at your lips, sweetie, is there a stain, I don’t understand,

Either the sauce or the fat — I’ll remove it now.

Not with your finger, but with your lips (smack!) … I’m coming, I’m already coming!

There were indeed people in uniform, and I approached them. One of them is Andre. It’s strange, I thought people of his rank only wear civilian clothes. I saw the second one for the first time in my life.

— Hello, artist! — Andre greeted cheerfully. He looked at Lisa before adding:

— Another blue tunnel?

I smiled as if bashfully, but I really was ashamed. I turned around and winked at Lisa. She nodded at me carefully. Besides, I was looking at Marina at the counter. She watched me closely and, I hope, didn’t think that they were coming for me like a thief..

«Yes, you’re a good guy,» Andre whistled. — Whether you’re black or red, they stood for you in managing the mountain. They said — not him, not him, and that’s it! They defended you so ardently that they directly took and removed from you a written undertaking not to leave the place…

I must have been depressed, so Andre hastened to add:

— But don’t rush to get upset — we’ve already taken it off you.

— Already? — I was confused, and not happy.

— Yes. In fact, you helped us catch this madman… Alexei Kapitonov. He came to your house, didn’t he? Well, Pyotr Pavlovich, with a surname like that…

— Staynicek.

— Yes, Stay… in short, he came to us today, told us about the accident — God willing, I hope Lev survives — and spoke about Kapitonov, said that he knew about him from your words. We found out about this Kapitonov, found out that he was half-homeless, and came to interrogate him, not seriously thinking that he was a murderer. But he, Kapitonov — oh, he was just waiting to be captured! A crazy man, obviously, but pathetic. Apparently, life has beaten him down. He confessed to all three murders and the attempted murder of Lev…

Here Andre’s voice trembled.

— … I hope you try, otherwise Kapitonov will not escape life sentence. He said he looked in on you. He said he wanted to see who was now living in what used to be his room, and he was very cold. Was he telling the truth?

— The truth.

«Well, the truth,» Andre turned to another investigator, assuring him of something, «you see, there is no doubt, everything coincides.»

— Will it happen again, like with Krivko-Gaponov? — I clarified. — Kapitonov is homeless. What if he took the blame so that he could feed himself in prison with taxes?

«You offend me,» Andre said. «He described the murder of the third, Ardan, in such detail that there can be no doubt — he is a murderer, he is!»

«He killed Ardan,» I began to think about Kapitonov.

— Well, okay, poet, good luck in this glorious matter. — Andre nodded at Lisa.

And left. I looked out the window to make sure he wouldn’t come back. He was convinced — he and his partner got into a black car and drove away. I secretly showed my thumb to Marina, and she, nodding contentedly, continued wiping the display case. I sat down with Lisa and said:

— I told you that everything would work out… Well, how do you like the poems?

She didn’t answer because we kissed.

Larisa

Ten past eleven. Alfeev is still missing. I’m frozen. I hated Lena and was even more glad that I stole her ring. I decided to stand for another five minutes. And I realized that I was hasty in my judgments. A short, barely visible man appeared as if from the darkness, addressed me by name and said:

— Are you waiting for Alfeev?

His voice was very ordinary, even similar to mine, only higher.

— Yes, is that you?

(lapse of memory)

I woke up in my room. Larisa stood above me. Angry, in a black tracksuit. Next to me were… children. Three children, two boys and a girl, the boys had bruises under their eyes, red, and the girl had a scratch on her cheek. Voices were heard from the section, I recognized Lenin immediately, and the second one was male and unfamiliar — but after the blow my memory did not fade, I guessed that it was Alfeev’s voice.

«I was right,» I told Larisa.

«If only they didn’t burn my manuscripts,» I thought. I felt a gun at my ankle — they didn’t even think about searching me. Although Lena should have told them about the weapon.

— Glad you’re right, Lieutenant? — Larisa asked.

«Of course, the truth is most important,» I lied, thinking about pride.

The back of my head was buzzing, but I didn’t find any other signs of violence on myself.

— Why did you drag me into my own room?

— To come to an agreement. We want to offer you the place of Leo. I don’t know if he will survive or not.

— First, I would like to know what you do, and how coins and children are connected.

Larisa answered, and I shot her.

1

Maybe you remember what I told you about my pistol? Right after I took it from Lena? If not, I’ll remind you. I wrote that my pistol would be in a place that I would not even reveal to the reader, that is, you. Well, it’s time to reveal. The gun was tucked into the sock all this time. That’s why I slept in my pants. And he consoled his paranoia, and with a certain sense of coolness, which they are embarrassed to admit, he went to bed with a weapon with him, like a soldier, even if he had never seen war.

— Do you love me? — Ilse whispered to me with suspicion.

Did Lindyanis really tell her everything? How could he? He’s a coward, he wouldn’t allow himself to do that! But what if?

I imagined Vika in front of me while I answered Ilse.

«I realized that only love is meaningful to me.» I always knew this on an unknown level, but only now has it acquired my usual understanding. Perhaps my illness forced me to understand.

— What disease?

I looked at Ilse and smiled.

— Don’t worry. My disease is rare and, I believe, incurable. Longing for the absence of the ordinary.

And while she was silent, so that she could see, I took a quick glance at Larisa and added:

— I am always happy as long as the inappropriate do not interfere willy-nilly.

«Yeah,» that’s all Ilze said.

I saw Vika in her so vividly that I would not mind kissing her directly on the lips, not to spite «dad,» but for my own pleasure, but Zhanna Alexandrovna cut off my impulses on stage.

— Dear graduates! — she began. «And their parents,» she added, smiling. — Dear teachers and…

And so on. I don’t want to quote her speech verbatim, it was ordinary, her speech, and did not irritate me in any way. I was expecting Lyandinis on stage — he is the director, after all, and should say something forgiving to the students, from the word «farewell», and not from the word «forgive», but not now — after Zhanna Alexandrovna Steiniček came out and also started something… that is to say, more beautiful, of course, and more pathetic, he talked about the «miracle with the airplane», about the scientific approach to justifying, but not denying miracles, then brought all the Koreans onto the stage, and «mine» was there too — pale, the most main Korean I winked at him, and he winked back at me and nodded slightly. This is good — everything worked out, that means. At that time, Steiniček was talking about Hwak Seok-yong, Lee Oryong and the recently deceased Hwang Sun-won and talked about them with significance, as if they all had something to do with the graduation at the Bryansk school. They even applauded him lively — not because they understood his speech, but simply because he spoke beautifully, as always — and then — yes! Following Steiniček, Lindyanis decided to take the floor. He walked past me on his way to the stage, and probably stepped on my foot on purpose. Pontius Pilate stood behind the podium, satisfied, majestic, as always, although today he was a caricature. He cocked his palms, his thumbs as if deliberately aiming at me. Somehow joyful, I even thought that people don’t know how to pretend like that and that the enemy is really joyful — as if it wasn’t me who made him angry, but he, using me, got rid of his anger, so that he could then enrage me with his joy. The enemy also started talking about some wishes to the relatives and friends of the students, in general, he continued Zhanna’s banalities, even if they were interrupted by Steiniček’s Koreans, but at the end of his speech there was an announcement that I could not help but quote here verbatim.

— Dear graduates! Fifth «B» has prepared a number for you. The author of the issue is our Pyotr Pavlovich, — Steiniček, who was sitting in the front rows, stood up, bowed, and was applauded again, with smiles on their faces.

«The number is called,» the enemy looked at me, and his eyes flashed. — «Down with capitalism!» Let’s see!

Applause again, Lyandinis left the stage. I sat down next to Ilse, and without looking at him, I felt his gaze on me. My palm, squeezing Ilse’s hand, became sweaty. I stared at the curtains, from behind which the children were emerging, and my gaze was probably glassy. Zhanna Alexandrovna turned on the tape recorder. Music began to play, similar to the melody from the cartoon «Krzemelik and Vakhmurka». Children, five girls, dressed like Little Red Riding Hoods, but without red caps on their heads, were holding baskets with something jingling in their hands. The first girl said:

— Oh!

And she poured out a handful of coins, just like a sower over a field. The coins rattled like broken glass, some spinning in a multitude of spinning tops on the wooden stage. A boy in green shorts, with dollars on his sides, looking like a leprechaun, ran out onto the stage and knelt down to put coins in his pockets. The second girl said:

— Oh!

And she also poured out a handful of coins. The boy rushed to collect these coins, but his path was blocked by another boy who jumped out from behind the scenes, apparently the twin brother of the first boy, and in the same shorts with dollars. The boys grappled, almost cartoonishly, and pushed each other to the floor. The audience laughed. Larisa too. The enemy just grinned. Ilse and I were made of stone. The third girl said:

— Oh!

She poured out the coins. The boys, amusingly fighting off each other — the way drunk people sometimes fight, or very small children, preschoolers — crawled towards the new coins, but the boys were prevented by a third boy, not their twin, but in the same dollar shorts, a leprechaun, and now the children began to escort each other friend something similar to wrestling moves. There was even a symbolic folding of the «schoolboy» here, there was also an «arm drag», and if it weren’t for the actor’s crooked performance, the child who accepted this technique would have been hurt, because the «arm drag» is quite a throw. The fourth girl said:

— Oh!

In general, everything was repeated in a circle. Coins spilled out, a new boy ran out, the fight became more numerous, more absurd and more comical, judging by the laughter in the hall, but certainly less comical for me. I saw that Ilse also began to smile, and I think if it weren’t for my seriousness, she would have laughed out loud. Lindyanis glanced at me, as if saying: «well, this is it!», and Larisa, even without hints, simply bent over to me and whispered with contentment:

— This is the fight!

Oh, how I wanted to step on her painted toes! But I just shook my head — it couldn’t be! This couldn’t happen! Was it really all in vain? The fifth girl said:

— Oh!

Another boy ran out, a new round of struggle, new bursts of laughter and clapping. Then, due to the absence of other girls, the first girl said… the same thing, in general, she said, in general, everything was repeated in a circle, and with each circle the feeling of the unreality of what was happening and the feeling of my own insignificance devoured me from within more and more. When there were more than ten boys on stage — apparently, all the boys of the fifth «B» were here — there were no more coins left in the girls’ baskets. They held hands, went out onto the «front stage», so to speak, and simultaneously shouted:

— Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!

They knelt down and also began to collect coins, although there were no pockets on their skirts, but they collected them anyway, and fought equally with the boys for the coins. The audience laughed, Ilze smiled, but I couldn’t understand — am I an idiot, or are they all? I couldn’t believe that I was killing for the sake of a cartoon fight. Rory’s phrase, which forced me to kill him, could not be connected with this cheerful farce. And Belchagin’s phrase couldn’t either. And Alfeev? Tomorrow I have a meeting with him. According to Lena, of course… and Lena?! Why did she steal the gun? It’s under my trouser leg — maybe I should snatch it, kill myself in front of my children, save myself the shame, go to hell like a suicide? No, I feel like I’m right, it’s better if everyone around me commits suicide, but not me! I could not throw shame on my pride, even if I really did everything in vain. This is stupid despair, albeit stupid, but, as Vika told me before breaking up: «you will justify yourself to yourself.»

I began to look for Marina and found her in the row one from mine. She didn’t smile. I remembered how, by inspiration, Irina, how I treated her as a partisan behind enemy lines, I immediately found her with my eyes — and Irina didn’t smile either. I looked at her face in more detail. I saw skepticism on her face. There was no pleasure from what was happening on stage. I looked at Irina again. Yes, she has hostility on her face — and it’s not in my head that she has hostility on her face! Then on the ceiling, high above Irina, I saw a white spot that, it seemed, was not here today. The spot blinked at me, that is, it disappeared, then a split second later it appeared on the ceiling again. I decided not to attribute this to God, if he is, then good, if not, then at least I was not mistaken in the assumption. I just stood up, attracted the attention of heads, and attracted the attention of Lyandinis too, and it was to him that I said loudly:

— Lie.

And at the same time, the children on stage finished their «Down with capitalism!», and they were applauded, but while applauding, people looked at me as I stood up, and Irina and Marina, without clapping, looked at me too.

— Sit down! — Lindyanis said quietly, but bitingly.

— I won’t sit down. It’s all a lie!

— What’s a lie? — Lyandinis asked mockingly. — A play of children’s lies? What are you, a capitalist?

Some guy behind me laughed. I took the coins that Olya gave me from Vika’s pocket, found one with faded paint and threw it into the enemy’s lap:

— This is not a children’s play! These are real fake coins! Real fake coins, pardon the pun. And you use them in reality!

Everyone looked at us, not knowing how to react. Lindyanis tried to remain calm. Larisa looked at me from under her brows, and this made her look somehow ugly. I never thought that such beautiful women could also look like ugly people.

— The teachers know exactly what you do! — I started yelling. — And security guards, and even technicians! Everyone knows you’re hiding something! But they cover you because of fear or because of something else — but it would be better because of something else, because you, the fearful ones — I drew a circle in front of me, as if enclosing «everyone» there — I hate you, I despise and wish you every kind of extinction!

I yelled extremely rarely in my life, I’m bad at yelling, that’s why I didn’t like myself yelling, plus the roar and rows of voices besieging me increased my dislike for my own screaming, butIcontinuedshout: «You want to make fun of yourself!» «I pointed to the stage where the confused children stood. «Your laughter won’t change a damn thing!» You laugh at what has defeated you! And the worst thing is that you love to be defeated! You give up always and everywhere! You cannot step over yourself and therefore you step over others! And you force me to step over others in order to shut your throats!

They hooted at me, they even shouted something rude to me. These people became more unreal to me than ever. Only Ilse seemed more or less alive to me, but I saw fear in her eyes. Some girl was crying, a fool, apparently she thought that my cry was caused by her bad fight, and not by something more, and I felt sorry for her, in a kind way, although she fought, however, like everyone else, really badly. I wanted to find Irina and Marina among those sitting angrily, but I found only Marina — I don’t know what she was thinking, but she was standing, and I considered her pose, with her hands on her sides, to be consistent with my words. I forced myself to go on stage. The egoism of what I consider to be true surged within me. And I have to do the truth arrogantly and proudly. I stroked the little crying girl’s head and told her «everything is fine,» but she continued to cry. I’ll have to ignore her frayed childish nerves. I was harming myself, why not harm others?

— You don’t want equality! — I continued to shout, but while standing on stage. «You want to lick the feces of those above you!» — Here I pointed to Lyandinis. «But even I, a nonentity, am taller than you!» So lick mine!

— You’re an idiot! — and the like was heard in the hall.

I must be an idiot for saying «lick myself» instead of «smear myself,» but what amazed me was that no one tried to drag me off the stage. Since I’m an idiot, then I should pull it off, but if they don’t pull it off, then either I’m not an idiot, or they feel guilty. Zhanna Alexandrovna definitely felt guilty. She, sitting closest to the stage, with her hand hovering over the tape recorder, looked at me and slightly or just barely noticeably nodded her head at me. The approval of an unexpected person cooled me down and distributed my fire to those parts of the body where the lights could be considered hope. I approached Zhanna and quietly asked her:

— Do you have anything to say?

«Yes, but don’t yell at me,» Zhanna whispered barely audibly.

— I won’t, but I advise you to speak as loudly as possible.

— You won’t like what I say.

The lights of hope began to fade.

— You nodded not in agreement with me, but…

«We don’t agree,» Zhanna confirmed, interrupting me. — I realized something. And I nodded to myself, to my guesses.

I didn’t think that I would have to rely on Zhanna, for whom I had no feelings at all, not even carnal ones. She is, of course, a beautiful woman — but she’s no match for my Vika, and she’s no match for my bitch Larisa either.

— Were you with Lev Stanislavovich’s guys? In a circle?

— Yes. But I never found out what kind of circle it was. But you know!

«You killed them,» Zhanna said as an old woman would say about her worthless life. — Those three guys.

I began to think, and in a fit of some completely insane, even for me, thoughts, Lyokha Kapitonov, a wanderer who was in my room, but, more importantly, mentioned that his wife’s name was Zhanna, entered my head. This is a rare name for Bryansk — yes. But it is unlikely that Zhanna Alexandrovna and Zhanna Lyokhi Kapitonova were the same person. It would be too strange a coincidence. It was enough for me that my neighbor Lena was the wife, albeit ex-wife, of Alfeev, still unknown to me. But the idea that two great coincidences were centered around my dorm room became so captivating in that split second that I told Jeanne with the air of a whistleblower:

— Do you know Alexey Kapitonov?

— Whom? — asked Zhanna. I found neither shock nor ostentatious calm in Zhanna. I don’t think she was lying. But this didn’t bother me either.

It’s not for nothing that I’m a poet and writer! In the blink of an eye I realized how to turn everything to my advantage.

«He’s a murderer,» I said. — Alexey Kapitonov. He committed three murders. And he plans to kill Lindyanis as well. He told me about this himself.

— What are you saying? — Steiniček approached us with an expression of the greatest anxiety on his face.

«Tell everything to Pyotr Pavlovich,» I asked the extremely embarrassed Zhanna. — Let him, with his oratorical talent, explain everything. I can only add that they want to kill Lyandinis, and it would be better for him to confess everything while he is here.

— Confess what? — Steiniček did not understand. — What, God forgive me, are you talking about?

I ignored him, walked up to the stage and yelled:

— Lev Stanislavovich! If God exists, then today you…

I wanted to say «die», but I said:

— …you live.

— Why are you listening to this crazy person?! — some old woman in the third row was indignant. — Screw him up! And it is not necessary…

— Shut your mouth! — I snapped, jumped off the stage and went to the exit.

— Stop him! — someone shouted.

— Yes, let him clean up! — someone else shouted.

Some high school students still rushed in my direction, and so I had to run. I ran out of the hall and slammed the door hard to delay the enemies, but I overdid it — the top hinge fell off. They’ll fix it, to hell with it. I didn’t want to run up the stairs and thought that high school students weren’t so stupid as to do what I did — I climbed over the fence and jumped down, immediately ending up near the cafeteria. I ran there. The dining room was empty. I didn’t want to eat, I just know that there is an exit in the dining room where food is delivered, and I wanted to run through this exit — the guard at the main entrance might not have let me through. I ran through the entire dining room, ran into the kitchen, which was also empty, except for one single woman in a dressing gown, with a rosary in her hands, who shouted to me something that I could not make out and that was not of the slightest value to me, ran through the entire kitchen and ended up at a single door, which was locked.

I rushed back from the kitchen to the dining room, flying past a woman, presumably the cook, tripping on her rosary, which for some reason ended up on the floor, and at the same time I ended up on the floor, but instantly stood up and, without wasting time, found myself at the window in dining room I opened it, or rather one of its frames, but didn’t open the other, because I saw a couple of high school students and a security guard with them rushing towards me — I trusted my leg, broke the window with it, broke out the triangles of glass that were preventing me from getting out with my shoulder, didn’t cut myself and was surprised by this fact, finally got out after that and ran wherever he could.

After some time, I realized that there was no chase after me. And I realized that I was in the courtyard where I first experienced the blue tunnel. And yes, I then saw Vika — she was sitting on a bench, for some reason not at her entrance, but at the one next door, although there was a bench at her entrance. Vika had Meowka in her arms. The cat was looking at some insects that were circling over the garden roses, surrounded by tires that served as a kind of fence for the flowers — this is not uncommon in Bryansk. I stopped and began to keep my eyes on Vika. I waited until she noticed me and began to peer closely, I came closer, when this happened, I began to look even more carefully, trying with my poor eyesight to catch the expression of her eyes, but not daring to come even closer. I realized that Vika wanted to say something and even stood up from the bench, slowly stood up because she was holding Meowka in her hands — but at the same time I turned around and walked through the courtyards to the stop, the one opposite the letter «B» made from a sickle and a hammer to wait for the bus and then leave for Darkovichi.

Always… ϟ☢03:26

Wake up now, meet with

by the will of fate.

If you die, don’t cry — after

there will be death

the one you give it to has a chance

dreams,

I gave it myself, carried it out, well done,

she will save

you from the darkness of death’s embrace, and

love

enough for salvation, enough

terrible oppression

past atrocities, it will pass,

will disappear

you were right, always, there is no love

prettier than yours

and that your evil is not evil, it is

necessary,

so that they don’t interfere with your life, fighter,

please her with a song.

These torments are about the bad — but is it bad?

was?

Don’t worry, love will save you, because in

this is her strength.

Evil is punished by evil, so is good

more interesting.

You are good, you beat evil, and bye

you are together,

see that the pain of the lost

I didn’t lose any eyelashes.

Ringfinger

1

I hope without meeting you,

I delayed the inevitable.

Here again, any of your refusals —

a new reason to come to you again.

2

You saw the sun, but I am only darkness,

when there is a moon in the sky without poetry.

A trap in empty kilometers

and in the hope that the spring wind lies in the shadows

nonsense of an honorable genius,

regalia of the defiled,

in the voids of the trembling

in such an unnecessary desire for death.

3

Just a glimpse of you is life,

imagine if we drink the cup

within the sensitive walls of that white-vaulted one?

A promise etched in stone —

deeper than every water world

it.

Will there be a limit to our happiness?

4

Will only the gift become stronger?

5

The truth of fresh hair

the glitter of gold into the world of domes,

where the church is just a backdrop for beauty,

metaphor of intense melancholy

for those wandering in the thawed boulevards,

that are cynical in heat and ice

to those in love and to those not in love.

6

Loneliness is the best brew.

The Euphrates singers are wrong.

What joy, what sorrow, in friends

are not needed, just like sadness.

7

Strange story of the world

drawn by someone on purpose

all in meaningless steps,

that are accomplished by the force of inertia

my endless

potency.

8

An insurmountable abyss between us.

Why can’t we open up to each other?

Just pretend?

9

Dream of putting a ring on your finger?

As if the symbol kisses the skin,

for gestures are more material than truth.

Your bones and blood are undoubtedly more than gold.

It’s here, like the soul, and the soul is everywhere!

Everything is so complicated!

10

Freeing yourself from the need to lie,

will I get rid of you?

It is not courage that will push you under the sword of truth

me,

and something else, loudly uncouth.

It takes so long to tear into two parts

me,

that in a breakup there is not pain, but joy, like in childhood!

— This is what I need!!!

Why Should We Dream?☢04:20

The fly I had noticed earlier was now circling restlessly around the office. I sat down on Andre’s notes and, I hope, shit there. Two pigeons were sitting on the windowsill and, muffled by the window, cooed something to each other, just like Vika and I had recently done. Thin clouds blurred the morning sun in the sky. A red trolleybus, with the number «3» on the back, I can’t see well, stood with its horns down at the side of the road. A woman in an orange vest — a conductor or driver — stood at the back of the trolleybus and, for some reason, was unwinding the ropes. The incomprehensible bustle of elderly people at the crossing — there is much more old age in Bezhitsa than youth. The gates of the house opposite opened, and a gazelle drove out, loaded with something unknown — although no, known, fish, according to the inscription on the body, the gazelle was about to turn sideways towards me. An unpleasant noise was heard — loud, the windows began to tremble. This is not a «gazelle», it is not a car at all, it looks more like an airplane or a meteorite — although I have never flown one, and have never seen the other. What is this? The people outside the window, as one, raised their heads to the sky — which means it’s something flying. Someone pressed their palms to their mouth — it means there is nothing good in it. And sure enough, about a hundred meters above me, not higher, I saw a plane, a passenger plane, with a smoking engine. First I saw its tail, trembling like an oar during a slow row, then I saw it in its entirety, majestic and terrible for our province. The plane’s right wing was down, as if it was about to turn. There was only smoke coming from the engine, I didn’t see any fire. All this time, the wide window of the office was shaking — I suddenly remembered how the sober Bronislav Potemkin was holding a glass of water in his hand. All the people on the street froze, as if posing for an unknown artist, only the cars were still driving, albeit slower than usual. The plane moved away from my eyes, became smaller, the rumble of the window glass also became smaller, the plane tilted in an arc to the right, towards Volodarka, a diagonal arrow in relation to the ground, reaching out to it as to its final resting place.

Then the plane disappeared. I did not hear a crash or explosion.

«I’ll write something about this,» I thought gloomily and with muted triumph.

The fly leaves the empty tea cup, into which green jam fortunately dropped last night, and flies out the open window amid the half-asleep fumblings of the lovers under the blanket.

Report

My name is Andrey Davydov. I am an investigator at the Bezhitsky District Department of Internal Affairs. This manuscript fell into my hands. I took this manuscript from Anna Yakovleva. Anna Yakovleva is a witness in the case of arson in a dormitory. This manuscript helped us learn about the existence of the gang. The gang was led by my former friend Lev Stanislavovich Lindyanis. His condition is stable and serious. Doctors cannot say whether his body will withstand the operation. I decided to publish this manuscript as a book. I made a few minor changes to the manuscript. I did not remove the edits made by Anna Yakovleva. The hero on whose behalf the story is told is called Evgeniy S.. Judging by the table of contents, 50 chapters were planned for this book. They were numbered in reverse order. Evgeny S. wrote only 48 chapters. There are poems by the author. There is another notebook sheet covered in blood. I cannot find out whether what is written on the notebook sheet is reality or whether it is the author’s desire. I respect Evgeniy S. as a talent. Therefore, the contents of this sheet will be after my story. There are no changes from me on this sheet. The investigation opened four criminal cases. The proceedings of these cases will be based on the content of the manuscripts provided by Anna Yakovleva. The author of these manuscripts, Evgeniy S., has gone missing. Bryansk and regional law enforcement agencies are looking for him to testify. I am writing in my continuation of the story of Evgeniy S., so that the reader can know a little more than Evgeniy S. was able to tell them. I designate my story as chapter 2 of the book (or the 49th). I cannot help but recognize Evgeniy S.’s talent and involuntary assistance in assisting the investigation. The police are doing everything possible to find him. The room in which Evgeniy S. lived burned down. The investigation team arrived at the ashes. I was part of this investigation team. We found children crying. There were three of them. They were in the entrance. We also discovered Evgeny and Elena Alfeev. They were unconscious. We arrested them. Evgeniy and Elena Alfeev knew about the existence of Lev Lyandinis’s gang. They took an active part in the activities of this gang. Evgeniy and Elena Alfeevs flatly refused to provide additional information about the gang. They are currently in a pre-trial detention cell. The investigation questioned the children. I’ll keep their names secret. The girl said that «this uncle took them out into the entrance, and then it smelled of smoke.» I believe that this uncle was the one who escaped from Kapitonov’s cell. I assume that Kapitonov also committed the arson. There was a corpse in the burnt room. It belonged to Larisa Matveeva. The corpse was not mutilated. Based on the manuscripts, the investigation concluded that the killer was Alexey Kapitonov. He fired one shot at Larisa Matveeva. After this he committed arson. Then he took the children out of the section. It remains unclear why Evgeniy and Elena Alfeev did not attempt to stop Kapitonov. They refuse to say anything about this. I can only report that they lost consciousness due to the consequences of this arson. The girl reported that before the fire, Evgeniy S. jumped out of the window. The burned room was on the third floor. It can be concluded that Evgeniy S. was not injured upon landing. This circumstance helped him escape from the crime scene. The museum on Fokina Street was the alleged location of Evgeniy S. on the night from Saturday to Sunday. I made this conclusion from the contents of the manuscripts provided by Anna Yakovleva. Our investigative team visited the museum on Fokina Street. Museum employees working on the night from Saturday to Sunday were questioned. They could not report anything about Evgeniy S..

When I Forget☂☢ {۞} 07:55

«We don’t even have a plan,» says the Executioner.

He follows the Founder Without a Briefcase, understands that the Founder <…> wants to go first and that he won’t like it if the villain goes first, and the villain gets angry because of this — he has to slow down his step in order to fall behind a little almost the top predator of this era.

— Does it matter that there is no plan? — says the main predator. — Who has it?

— Someone has it, we didn’t ask.

The Patriarch Without the Mantle laughs, and after laughing, no one talks about anything or asks each other anything. It’s almost night. Crickets and their several orchestras, pain in the legs of the young Executioner, who still continues to follow the Patriarch <…> with his shortness of breath increasing. Dirty shoes and probably smelly feet, plus the stinking naturalness of nature, so disgusting to artificial intelligence. Pines, some bushes, night cold, already night cold and invisible Jews without conversion, but one of them is visible, in a purple suit…

«Yes,» says the Tormentor to himself, «if I had walked faster, I would have been much less tired. Following in someone else’s footsteps, to my surprise, is much more tiring than going first. Yes, I am much smarter than old Guzzler, and with all due respect to his nasty ways, I’ll take the House away from him if he gets to the House first. I don’t know why I need him, but if I need him, everything must be my way… And then there’s this girl with a camera and headphones, which I still can’t kill. Although, I didn’t have any difficulties with this, and shouldn’t have — I know where she works, and I think it’s unlikely that she took my words seriously, especially since her I never kept my promise. I hope that she didn’t quit because of my note or because of something else — you can always check with your wife… And this is… strange… (it suddenly dawns on the villain) my sudden desire to find the House that everyone wants to find appeared not when everyone began to look for it, but when some time had passed since my promise to kill. A promise, for some reason (this is the sad word „why“) unfulfilled. What if my interest in finding Home and not killing this girl are connected? Although… although a connection can be found between anything, even between these mosquitoes in the forest and my wife’s irrepressible desire to endlessly star in unprofitable magazines… But in my case there is definitely a connection: I don’t know why Tadeusz and I are looking for this house and I also don’t know why, why I didn’t kill the photographer that same evening. What if it’s because I didn’t specify her name?..»

The Robeless Patriarch suddenly stops, and the Executioner, deep in dialogue with himself, nearly crashes into him. The hand of the sweating Gnacker points to the night muddy pond, which the villain only now notices and which, inappropriately, blocks their path.

— I guess that’s enough for today. — The words alternate terribly with shortness of breath, cutting both the ear, the chest, and the hearing of the villain too. — Tomorrow we will dive.

— Dive? — the Torturer asks again in confusion. — Let’s go back and try to get around it?

The Founder Without a Briefcase does not answer — he, exhausted from a long walk, falls onto a green slope rising near the river and immediately falls asleep — or dies.

(forest)

The plane flew over our heads. I pushed away the vicious desire to see him break. Since I am happy, I thought, then be happy, too, you passengers. I held Vicky’s cool palm in my hand. I imagined how hot the blood was under this apparent coldness. It’s okay, my big-eyed one, I, like a big mosquito, will drink it all from you. Consider it a sacrifice in the name of passion and higher love. Amour suprême… Russian arbras — they were pine trees — held over them the pink slumber of the tired sun. I love spring, I love all of it, even despite the sticky mud of melted snow in April. Just a month and a half ago, winter was dying here with its last whiteness under my feet, and now summer is hanging over me like a sword of Damocles. Heat, mosquitoes, sweat, eternal drunks — but also a palisade of green trees as a reward, and a palisade of young women’s legs, deprived of even tights. Duality even in this, in summer. And Vika? Where is her dark side? For now there is only light and love. When will the blue woman with her music turn into a she-devil? When will the blue tunnel become uncomfortably narrow for my soul? I don’t see anything wrong with this; on the contrary, it’s always nice to enjoy the unfamiliar form of the woman you love. Make fun of her, pleasantly torture her, release her as a matchmaker in the form of love, as they say in the villages, a hidden sadist. And Vika is next to me, my fragile girl, a couple of mosquitoes want to sit on her ankles and drink her blood — you can’t wait, midges! Her blood is mine, both body and soul! I’m sick, I admit, and I’m jealous even of mosquitoes, although if Vika suddenly cheats on me with a man, I’ll pretend to be calm and apologize, so that she’ll be ashamed!

Tree branches crunched under our feet. It smelled like pine forest, it smelled strongly. If you take pine needles and squeeze them in an attempt to squeeze out the juice, then your hands will, without a doubt, be covered in juice and will also smell obsessively and even unpleasantly and bring up thoughts of something medical; Well, the forest we walked in smelled the same.

The mosquito behaved unreasonably and sat down on Vika’s elbow. I eliminated him with a ringing blow of my palm. The mosquito instantly buried itself in the grass. And Vika screamed. She a) did not expect a strong blow and b) did not see the blood-sucking threat. She, little angel, hit me back, and her nails, as a percentage, dug into my skin.

«It hurts me,» said Vika.

— I killed a mosquito.

— I understood, but still… — No one recognized the continuation. Vika squeezed my fingers a little tighter than usual, but just «slightly» and didn’t offer anything aggressive in response. She never exposed the devil. In some women the devil actually sleeps soundly. Such Ilse, I think, and, probably, Liza, although I only had one date with Liza, what could I see in her? But it is still strongly imprinted (in my memory). Such a nice man. And Vika? God willing, I’ll see another mosquito on her. Then I’ll hit harder.

The sun began to sink even further. My body constantly experienced such a paranoid feeling that someone was biting it, although no matter how much I looked around myself, I never noticed a single small creature. It was slowly getting dark. Some headlights were blinking on the crowns of the pine trees, at the foot, although we saw no cars either behind or in front. I hugged Vika’s waist and said:

— Suddenly you feel cold.

«That’s not why you hugged me.»

— You are my smart one! «I bent down and grabbed her neck like a vampire, with my lips, not my teeth. Don’t think bad, I’m a sadist, of course, but not that much. We froze, and she, the queen of my dreams, reciprocated my feelings. Her fingers grabbed my hair and pressed me to her. Under my palms there was a blue fabric dress, pleasant, like Vicky’s next skin, just as tightly fitting to the body after my palms, I hope it will fit just as tightly, although, the angel living in you, yes, I am addressing you, angel! I love you, angel, but I shouldn’t go to bed! I need the devil, he will take my soul with its hidden corners for granted, and all my shame for the future plan will disappear… The devil! Where are you? Devil?

The full moon disappeared into the fog. A man and a woman were having dinner on the moon, if you remember. I was the man, and the woman — you understood that I recognized that stranger. Vika, Vika, who appeared there and appeared in a prophetic dream, the blue tunnel of the kiss is so deep, everything is going so well, that I constantly ask myself — will the price for such happiness be too high? It’s still a balance. The amount of happiness must be balanced by the amount of suffering. Well, I will believe that my own conviction is complete crap. Or, what’s better, Vika will become a devil and begin to torture me, but this is the kind of suffering that I certainly won’t suffer from.

The moon came out of the fog and hovered above us, demanding one of us turn into a werewolf and kill the hell out of our beloved; but this is not a gothic fantasy novel, that won’t happen here. The chirping bird, whose name I always wanted to know, began, of course, to chirp — its sounds are like elusive percussion, in them there is both wood and singing, if you can imagine that. The forest began to breathe quietly, threateningly. I always imagined the forest to be a single being and again received confirmation that yes, these are not my fantasies. The sun melted too quickly, as if in rewind. A fir needle fell on my head — Vika brushed it off. There was a kind of emptiness ringing in my ears, almost narcotic and in no way connected with the forest. The eyes saw only Vika. Her blue dress, the blue sunlessness, hinting at a dark night, and the blue tunnel — everything was blue. Both Vicky’s blue whisper and my answers were not blue, but transparent, which did not interfere with the blue. Blue pines, blue branches, blue leaves, blue grass, blue space between the trees, transparent but with bluish tints, blue birch, a white crow in this blue pine forest, blue skin — in all this boring blue there was some kind of darkness hidden. But it’s clear, yes, night was approaching, but even in blue things that had nothing to do with the night, for example, in a blue dress, which had already become my favorite candy wrapper, I also felt the approaching darkness. Trouble in paradise? Omen? Paranoia? PPP? To hell with you all! Because the darkness had not yet come, we felt cold. Fuck you all because we’re frozen. We stopped our kiss. It felt as if, having reached the middle of the tunnel, I was suddenly transported back to reality. Reality is also good. I hugged Vika and began stroking her back intensely, as if I were rubbing her with soap.

— Are you cold too? — asked Vika.

«A little,» I chattered my teeth in response.

I’m a man. I am not hot in the desert, not cold in the tundra, I am the strongest when I am the weakest. But Vika, a light in the cold forest, finally saw through me and turned on her mother, saying:

«Then let’s go into the house and quickly, otherwise we won’t see anything.» It’s getting dark… Come on, come on, I’m not a camel either…

Full Discography

(1996) Bryansk 49:11

01. Metal After Rain 03:31

02. New Sincerity 02:43

03. Entraînant 04:31

04. Gypsy Song 03:47

05. Psychedelic 06:48

06. Centimental 05:53

07.WITHasse-Noisette 01:11

08. Miseria Cantare 03:00

09. Crimson Joy 04:04

10. Industrial Dance 04:21

11. Marching All Around (Marcher Partout) 03:47

12. Good Day My Angel, Version Two 05:35

(1994) The Deadliest Pleasure 01:04:48

01. Cold Hands 04:48

02. Touch 04:48

03. Denial 05:24

04. Untitled #1 08:23

05. Sensitif 04:35

06.§204:02

07. SCUM 05:40

08. Six Feet Under 06:13

09.69 04:57

10. Death Stars 03:26

11. Souffle De La Mort 03:34

12. Grapist 05:32

13. When Your Feelings Is Mine 03:26

(1993) Augenblick 48:18

01. Miseria Cantare: The Begginig 02:57

02. Impersonal Demon 04:32

03. Kiss 06:25

04. Space Dementia 06:23

05.Mouth03:45

06. Down From The Sky 05:34

07. I Am (Get Ready To Fly) 02:57

08. Broken 02:32

09.Crucifix03:53

10. Das Spiegel 04:26

11. Amour 04:54

(1993) Αποδυόψις 54:06

01. In Love Not Limbo 03:20

02. Locked 04:04

03. I Have Done Nothing 03:43

04. Elliot 03:25

05. Love 05:22

06. Snapshot Two 06:13

07. Alabama Dice 05:48

08. Families 04:11

09. When The Sun Is Here 02:51

10. Day 03:03

11. Slowly, Clearly and Calmly 01:42

12. Untitled #2 03:07

13. Blow Up 02:28

14. Smile 04:49

(1992) La Mélancolie 56:00

1. Take It Down 06:44

2. Brainstorm 06:05

3. Sex 04:41

4. SMYR 04:34

5. Stupid Death 05:12

6. La Decadence 06:32

7. Enough 05:39

8. My Best Friend Is Dead 04:49

9. The Last of a Dying Breed 04:15

10. Chahada Elégante 02:39

11. La Mélancolie 04:50

(1991) Something to Share 01:10:13

1. Running To Sky 03:33

2.Hopeless, Very 05:58

3. Nevermore 04:30

4. Wizard 05:56

5. In My Pleasure 07:01

6. Run Away 04:38

7. The Beautiful People 05:01

8. Cutie 03:50

9. Fear Regret 03:29

10.Adrenaline04:17

11. Showdown 05:09

12. Speedy Room 03:52

13. Army’s Reign 06:01

14. Good Day My Angel 06:58

(1990) Through The Darkest Days 52:13

1. City Hell 04:10

2. More Rescue Tap 04:22

3. Velvet Sky 05:00

4. Possession 06:25

5. Naked Strong 03:40

6. Film My Pain 03:42

7. Broken Word 04:07

8. Good Day 04:26

9.STS04:41

10.Always…03:2625

11. … 03:06298

12. Sphere 05:08299

(1989) Another Time 42:14

1. Diseased 05:51

2. Ice Coffin 05:40

3. W 06:07

4. Snow Storm 03:25

5. Read My Lips 04:23

6.Shame 03:19

7. Remember Me 04:47

8. Let Me Introduce Myself 05:01

9. Alaal Kanakhra 03:41

(1989) Stainless 59:43

1.Industrial Park 07:04

2.Gently05:17

3.Fire Thieves03:15

4.Heaven06:16

5.Please Yourself06:26

6.When I Forget07:55

7. Killing Me How 04:34

8.Defekt06:21

9. Intoxicatin’ 04:00339

10.Why Should We Dream? 04:20

(1987) Mondegreen 47:36

1. Love’s Decision 03:41

2.7th Element03:25

3.WITHut Off 06:04

4. My Soul 04:21

5. September 06:32

6. My Favorite Girl 03:29

7. Sunshine 03:04

8. Angels Not Live Here Anymore 04:27

9. Silk & Milk 03:41

10. Our Decision 04:15

11. Geheimnis 04:37

(1996) Bryansk 49:11

01. Metal After Rain {۞} 03:31

I mourn like my namesake, as if we are one, while the Stone City is embodied only in a simple amphitheater with three columns. Between them I draw a blue wind. The left one seems greenish to me, the central column seems black and somehow viscous, and the right one foreshadows something strange, and I’m scared to look at it. It feels like nine days from the moment of his death.

But I didn’t remember anything further.

1

Two days passed, and Roma and Masha did not have a chance to pretend. When Tanya was next to Masha, Roma was not there, when Roma was with Masha, Tanya was not there, and Tanya and Roma had not crossed paths at all since the funeral. Roma assured Masha that an emblem for their movement was not needed yet, but when the question of its appearance arose, Roma would immediately ask Masha about it. Masha responded to this by saying that she came to the village only for her grandmother’s funeral and was planning to leave soon, but Roma asked Masha to stay in the village for a while, and after this request Masha sometimes thought that the request to pretend to be in love was an excuse for Roma to fall in love her into herself for real. But, fortunately, Masha thought so only occasionally. She thought more about how to justify to her mother her desire to stay in the village for a while longer.

And while Masha was thinking, an event occurred at Roma’s house that postponed the creation of an emblem for his (or «their») movement for an indefinite period.

Roma had a friend named Yan, and Yan had a sister who studied in Moscow, at the university, and that’s all Roma knew about this sister. «Sister, university, Moscow» is a somewhat associative series that remains in the memory even about people once familiar or important, but apart from this series there could be nothing else here. The series did not lead to memories or a more complex form, already from three words it was considered self-sufficient. A person simply exists, there is a minimal series of things about him, like a brief description of someone else’s and deep, but seemingly non-existent, just like yours, life. Ian, upset and not understanding anything, turned this series from something conventional into something living. He called Roma and said that his sister was detained in Moscow for ten days. Roma felt sorry for the stranger, and since he was an important friend, he was also a pleasant person, but this story aroused in him not sympathetic, but professional interest.

He asked Jan to come to the village. Roma lived in Uncle Vasya’s house, and there were two extra bedrooms there — one was already occupied by Roma and Anya (who, citing either work or things that irritated Roma, did not appear in the village yet), the second was intended to be given to Yana. Uncle Vasya, a kind man and busy with his own world, knew nothing about Roma’s political sentiments, considering him the same as himself, simple, but still a young hard worker, giving the best years of his life to a meat company (and Roma gave them, but for show, trying to take vacations and sick leave as often as possible), therefore, in many matters, the uncle followed his nephew’s lead, and given the gift, which was, admittedly, useless, but still, a game, not to follow the nephew’s lead this time would mean violating the balance of kindness and devotion and mutual assistance in the family, so Ian appeared in the village that same day.

He and Uncle Vasya immediately found a common language. This could not but please Roma. Jan talked about Tarkovsky’s films, which Uncle Vasya for some reason loved. This «for some reason» requires some explanation. Uncle Vasya watched only Soviet films, and he divided all Soviet films into two categories: «I love and understand» and «I don’t like and don’t understand.» All other films fell into the «I don’t like and don’t want to understand» category. Tarkovsky was a phenomenon that stood out from the concepts of Uncle Vasya, since only his films belonged to the category «I love and do not understand.» It seemed to Ian that he understood the tossing of Tarkovsky’s soul, although he admitted that it was just his imagination. He saw the presence of God in every frame, and as soon as Roma realized that Uncle Vasya also saw this presence, but simply did not have words for it, he decided, until evening came, to leave his friend and uncle for an interesting conversation, and he I went to Masha’s house, wanting to finally pretend.

The desire remained only a desire — Tanya was not there. Roma and Masha had a neutral conversation between brother and sister, they discussed technology and their role in the future. Roma predicted a digital dump for this world, casually calling the trash can on the desktop «a purgatory for computer files.» They talked until the evening. After the conversation, Masha was in the right mood to find cute and interesting things in the image of Roma and his speeches. She decided that evening to communicate as often as possible with Roma, to diligently pretend, if necessary, to be his beloved, but at the same time to remain his sister, not allowing the pretense of «funny things,» as she called it to herself, to turn into something inconvenient for her. mind and people around.

In the evening, Roma returned to his place and called Yan, as he explained to Uncle Vasya, for a walk. He said the word «walk» so that Uncle Vasya would resurrect in his memory young and portly women in headscarves at a red sunset and understand the unspoken and understandable desire of the young men. Roma and Jan left, and Jan on the way endlessly praised Uncle Vasya for his faith and understanding of God, which even worse things than the unfulfilled dreams of the Soviets were powerless to resist.

They came to Maxim’s house. Ian was embarrassed that he had to hint to Uncle Vasya about women, and not talk directly about a political circle, albeit cozy for them. Roma explained to Yan that Uncle Vasya, even understanding God, may not understand his, Romina’s, sincere efforts to make life at least in Bryansk better.

«They’ll call it youthful maximalism,» said Roma. — He will remember this courier from the Soviet film, who «will go crazy and become just like us.»

Maxim’s house served as a safe house for their nameless organization. Roma met Maxim himself in Bryansk, at the university. Maxim was five years older than him and studied at the Faculty of Computer Science, while Roma studied at the Faculty of Journalism, but it was Maxim who became a journalist for a regional newspaper, while Roma went to work for a meat company, simply because they paid more.

Maxim trained his writing skills in this newspaper. He was convinced that the word, and not the fist, has a decisive influence on a person. He hated any form of active protest and despised mass gatherings with their stupid slogans, because he was convinced that it was not society that needed to be changed from the outside, since it was heterogeneous and abstract, but each individual person from the inside.

«About the same as Gandhi said,» said Maxim, «but with passion and without humble Tolstoyanism.»

Roma and Maxim met in the city, and by pure chance, of which there are plenty in life, they had common relatives in the same village. Maxim’s relatives died long ago, and Maxim lived alone in a deserted house, and therefore this house became the place for their meetings, with the goal, as Maxim said, of «humanely changing the world.» This two-story house, with a chocolate-colored fence, white bricks glistening in the sun, seemed completely empty from the inside. Clean, unpretentious, and spacious, it resembled a huge chamber or a rich man’s prison cell. Sometimes Maxim, speaking about beautiful girls, compared them with his house, with its rich facade for a Bryansk village and emptiness with the wind wandering between the rooms. Maxim himself was in the house only for meetings; he lived more in the city and worked there. The house used to be filled with various young people, even those who are not interested in politics, but today, except for Yan, Maxim and Roma, there was no one in the house. Roma introduced his two friends, who had not known each other until today, and Ian briefly told the story of his sister’s detention.

02. New Sincerity☂♀02:43

«I see,» said Maxim. — What does Ulyana herself (that’s her sister’s name) say about this?

«He doesn’t complain about the conditions,» answered Ian. — But he complains of boredom, loss of time and the fact that he is not allowed to wash himself.

Maxim immediately dialed the number and called. Ian asked Maxim with gestures where he was calling, but Roma answered:

— To the editor.

— It’s evening, almost ten.

«That’s why…» Maxim said to Yan and immediately switched to the phone, as they answered. The conversation was long and rather harsh, as it seemed to Ian, but to the familiar ears of Roma and Maxim, and Ian understood this.

— ...the city of Moscow, do you know this one? — said Maxim. — It’s not far from Mytishchi. So, there was Ulyana, a student and social activist, not politically engaged in any way. She had flyers for some charity fundraisers. Shelter for animals, something compassionate, fashionable and feminine, something that I don’t really like, but that I personally, and other people too, even if these other people were at least two hundred thousand times pro-government, could not interfere. And so, for this fashionable charity, Ulyana was imprisoned. And the reason? In the very corner, in small blue font, was the name of the opposition party, of course, a party approved and in no way interfering with the authorities. But what would you think? Ten days for agitprop! Even for the fine print {of this party} (Maxim named the party). You will say that in our time, ten days is humane and is of no interest to anyone — well, yes, of course, it is humane, but protecting animals, especially cats, is of interest to everyone. And this is why a man is imprisoned, as if every kitten he protected was trying to undermine the Kremlin…

Maxim’s speech was interrupted by a quiet, clearly audible in the empty house, but not intelligible voice from the receiver.

— Even in the world of the absurd, this is absurd! — Maxim retorted him. — It’s the same as if they tie you up, take you out to the square and start throwing stones at you for a long, long time incessantly, and after receiving stones in the face for a long time, you will inevitably rejoice when a smaller pebble flies at you! But this is all obvious, I agree…

The conversation continued. At this time, Roma offered Ian a beer. Ian, a non-drinker, refused. He always refused, and Roma knew it, but he always offered.

When the conversation ended, all three sat down at a table covered with newspapers, most of them unnecessary, and both of them began to drink beer. Ian realized that it would not be possible to rescue his sister earlier than ten days later and that Roma and Maxim simply wanted to use this as a special example of lawlessness in the country for Maxim’s article in a regional newspaper, which, by the way, does not cover politics even indirectly. So Ian realized that Roma and others like him were not looking for the truth, but were engaged in propaganda, and Roma and Maxim themselves said this out loud, as soon as Ian thought about it. Maxim even said that it was vile to push on something emotional, on the same cats, for example, bypassing the truth, but the truth, he said, needs to be studied with the head, and not with some kind of moral core, the problem is that the horror of this truth people are not physically able to accept. He said so — «physically» — and this is exactly what Ian remembered, and he said it out loud, to which Maxim smiled pleasantly at him, already like a good friend.

«These are flash words,» said Maxim. «They may not be related to our goal, but they are reagents in the chemical reaction that we want to produce.» We are saying a word that cannot be undermined — and that word tells people what the state must undermine if it wants to preserve itself in its usual form.

Maxim deftly pulled out the article he needed from the chaos of papers and showed it to Yan.

— This article, for example, was not published. And there are plenty of such articles. It’s very difficult to influence people the way I want — I’m young and all that, I have no experience, blah blah, and so on. It’s like planting a bomb, you know. I plant bombs, but sometimes they explode ahead of time — in the hands of the editor — when they should explode in the heads of the readers.

When asked by Ian why he doesn’t want to blog on the Internet, with access to the whole country, but only writes in a regional newspaper with a small coverage, Maxim answered with another comparison.

— I want to plow my garden. I can run through other people’s beds, pluck once, pluck twice — but this is wasteful. «I’m like sugar,» and then Roma laughed at another comparison. — Two of his spoons. I’m in the same circle. They won’t notice me in the teapot.

Ian liked Maxim and his manner of speech, but he could not share his beliefs and methods, even taking into account his sister’s troubles. Yang felt the whole policy was somehow wrong. He believed that people do not pay attention to it and think either about their daily needs or about their own pleasures. He himself wrote poetry, published in the magazine «Air», listened to Kuraev’s lectures and loved Chesterton, not understanding how politics could enter his sphere of interests and even more not understanding why other people allow politics to enter their spheres when there is there are so many right and beautiful things that it is much more pleasant to waste the crumbs of life on.

Ian read Maxim’s article, did not notice anything political in it, could not find «bombs» in it and did not feel «revolutionary explosions» in his head.

«Me too,» said Roma, opening a second bottle of beer. — I told Maxim that the article was unsuccessful.

«Don’t tell me,» Maxim protested, even rather contentedly. — Daria, the editor (he explained to Yan), not our Borya, whom I just called, forbade the publication of this article. She told me directly that she saw politics in it. Once she saw it, it means it exists.

03. Entraînant 04:31

«So these bombs are a little too delayed,» Roma noted.

«She said she would publish the article if I removed it.» — Maxim showed Ian the piece in which, in Ian’s opinion, a «bomb» could least of all be hidden. — But I refused, saying that a complete «no» is better than your vile half-hearted one — well, of course, without the words «yours» and «vile». At best, censorship is an amputation. At worst — castration. I can still live without my hand. But this,» Maxim pointed at the same paragraph on the sheet, «I won’t let anyone remove it!»

They talked for some time about politics and about it. Ian was silent and watched. Roma was looking for gaps and spaces, and Maxim was uncompromising, although he understood that such fanaticism in his position would not allow their desires to move forward. Towards the end of the conversation, Ian realized that he would be interested in looking at Roma and Maxim in a year or two, when their undertakings would definitely come to nothing — it would be interesting to know what they would fill their thinking-loving heads with then. Maxim promised Ian, in addition to propaganda with cats, to contact his Moscow colleagues so that they would highlight Ulyana’s problem there too, but with the truth, as it should be, and Ian thanked him heartily for this.

«You are doing this in Bryansk, under my nose,» he said. — I wouldn’t know if it weren’t for Roma that we have something like that. It seems to me that you are not the only one in Bryansk, right?

Roma and Maxim looked at each other significantly.

«You touched on a sore subject,» Maxim said, glancing sideways at Roma.

— Sorry. — Yan peacefully spread his arms to the sides.

«Everything is fine,» said Roma. — Maxim means Anya (Yan has seen Anya and knows her). She, you see, is also an editor — but an artistic editor, and an editor on her own.

It seemed to Yan that all three times «editor» was pronounced by Roma with hatred.

— There was a story in Bryansk this spring, with murders and fires, children involved, remember? So, these are not religious fanatics, as they said in the news. They — how should I say? — they are radicals, they want the same thing as us, but their activities discredit us and present the authorities as supposedly guardians of order.

«In short, these radicals killed each other,» Maxim picked up. «But one of them survived.» And…» he looked at Roma.

“...and he communicates with my Anya,“ Roma said reluctantly. „He asked her to check his memoirs, and out of joy or some kind of responsibility she really imagined herself to be an editor and began reading his nonsense and making notes in them.

— You didn’t read it, why all the nonsense right away? — Maxim noted.

«She won’t let me read.» As long as this continues, no matter what is written there, even the Iliad, it will be nonsense.

Maxim winked at Ian and, taking a sip of beer, said:

«He’s just jealous of Anyutka for this guy, that’s all.»

— I’m not jealous! — Roma objected sharply. «She met him before she met me.» And since it didn’t work out for them then,» Roma’s knuckles cracked, «it won’t work out now, even more so.»

Jan became convinced that there was jealousy after all, and decided to find something that was not connected either with politics, much less with radicals, and after some time, in an ornate and bizarre way, as a rule, a conversation goes on between good friends who know well each other, they came to talk about numbers.

2

Masha, still thinking about Roma’s request and Tanya’s incomprehensible motives, did not immediately notice that her mother had a boyfriend. She met him at the funeral. His last name is Popovsky, his first name is Kirill. He turned out to be a quiet and shy person, although Masha remembered that the loudest and drunkest toasts at the funeral came from him. Masha, remembering Roma’s request, even thought that for some reason Kirill was pretending to be quiet and shy, but she left her observations somewhere deep inside herself, because she hoped that her non-interference in her mother’s life would mean her mother’s non-interference in hers, but she was wrong.

When Masha spoke about her desire to stay in the village, her mother immediately stated that this was stupid and that it was time for her, a graduate, to look for a job, and not continue to live with student inertia.

«I want to stay here for a week or two,» said Masha. — This is not my whole life.

— And how will you live? — the mother was indignant. -Here, in an empty house? After the funeral? With your great-grandmother?

The mother was convinced that it was impossible to live with great-grandmother Ektenya. Masha knew that she judged by herself and her childhood.

— What will you live on? — the mother continued. — My budget is not rubber!

«For me this is not a question,» said Masha.

She said that because she had already decided this issue. But the mother should not know about such a decision. Masha borrowed several thousand from Dima. Dima had an average management position, but he was generous and could afford to part with such a significant sum for Bryansk.

— What do you need if it’s not a secret? — Dima asked.

— I want to talk to Tanya. I haven’t seen her for a long time, but we were such friends…

Dima immediately and willingly parted with the money, and Masha quickly repeated her explanation about communicating with Tanya to her mother, who, to Masha’s surprise, said that she didn’t like Tanya.

«She’s kind of slutty,» said the mother.

— Why? — Masha was surprised.

— I don’t know why, but I’m sure yes. I saw her sitting at the table with Valera. Imperious, possessive, a lot of womanish things and no femininity…

Masha was interested to hear this from her mother — Tanya herself did not seem like that to her.

«I had a friend, Lyuba,» the mother continued, «she also behaved the same way with her husband, and she was definitely dissolute.»

— Is this the same Lyuba who took dad away?

— No, this Lyuba is different… it’s not important, in short, Mash, we’re returning to the city, and you’re looking for a job.

«Two weeks,» Masha said separately.

«It’s a waste of time,» the mother said impressively.

This forced Masha to hint to her about Kirill Popovsky.

«I have my own life, mom, and you have yours.»

Mother understood the hint and, unexpectedly for Masha, laughed.

— Kirill has a toothache right now, so he has forgotten me, and God, and the devil. And he stopped going to work. In this world of dorks, he is somehow gentle, — the mother, saying this, seemed to admire Popovsky as a son. «He doesn’t go to work because he’s in pain, and he doesn’t have money for a tooth, that’s the man’s logic.» I’ll probably have to ask Dima. I’m penniless…

Masha knew that Dima was not an endless financial resource. He had already helped her himself and therefore was unlikely to be able to help his mother, or rather Popovsky, but Masha did not upset her with a hint of this. She was glad that her mother got off the topic of her departure, that she was now talking about Popovsky, that he was the complete opposite of Masha’s dad, talking about other men in the world, that love was becoming cheaper every year, at that time how prices are getting more expensive, and the people are getting poorer, and so on. Masha relaxed, because she thought that her mother would not return to discuss her life, but she was mistaken again.

«You liked someone here,» the mother said.

Masha rolled her eyes.

— You’re like Grandma Ektenya, by God! You don’t think about anything else!

«There must be a reason for your sudden love for the village.» You haven’t left your room for five years!

«I didn’t go out, but when I did, I fell in love with the village.»

— Not a village, but some young man. Who is he?

The mother changed her tone from irritable to joking, but for Masha this did not change anything. She was equally reluctant to answer questions, and somewhat envious of her mother’s insight. Masha could say for sure that she did not fall in love with Roma, but she could not understand how her mother guessed, and not only guessed, but now with a confident look insists that a certain «he» is to blame for the reason for her delay in the village.

— Yes, mom, you may be right, but I don’t want to talk about it. It’s still early, maybe my words will be loud.

— I’m glad you think with your head. I didn’t think so — and look where I am now! And if you think with your head, maybe you’ll think that you need to return to the city?

Everything started again. Mother spoke the same arguments, Masha — the same objections. Then Masha revealed all her cards except the most important ones. She said that she was interested here, that she would see Tanya more often than her great-grandmother, that yes, there is «a certain he» and that there is an amazing variety of landscapes in the village — and as an artist, this is important to her. Only she did not talk about Dima’s money, referring to her small savings, and did not mention the name of the chosen one — who was not the chosen one! (Masha caught herself in time). The mother did not understand the scattering of landscapes in the village, considering all the trees the same, but she understood more about love than Masha, as she thought, and even told her who her chosen one was.

04. Gypsy Song♀03:47

— The one with Roma was short, wearing a T-shirt of some band.

— Yang? — Masha exclaimed.

The band on the T-shirt was «Scorpions», and Ian was wearing this T-shirt yesterday near Masha’s house. I was not alone, but with Roma. They recalled some stories from the university (since they were classmates), talked about the innate intransigence of Maxim, who, despite the difference in his positions to Jan’s, liked Jan, they even talked about Anya and her editorial work, to which, in Maxim’s absence,, Roma was more calm, they talked about a lot of other things, and at one moment, sudden as always, Roma decided to introduce Ian to Masha.

«This is my second cousin,» said Roma.

Ian felt boyishly insecure in relationships with women, although he was already 25. He idealized some, and considered others to be somehow wrong, although these wrong ones could objectively be considered beautiful. But the presence of Roma and the status of the «sister» of the unknown Masha somewhat neutralized Ian’s complexes, and he willingly agreed to meet and was not even surprised when he realized that he did not experience the usual jitters in front of Masha, which he usually experiences in front of beautiful girls — and Masha was like that. Objectively.

— Are you also a revolutionary, like Roma? — Masha smiled nervously.

«Not yet,» Roma answered for Ian.

The word «nervous» requires some explanation. Masha could not understand how to behave in front of Ian. Pretend that she and Roma are in a relationship, or is the pretense only needed for Tanya? She has not yet received an explanation. She felt her head being carried somewhere outside the village when she realized the seriousness of her attitude towards pretending. «At least tell you who I am — a girl or a sister,» Masha was silently offended by Roma, and thought that he had already told Yan about her status in her absence, and she also thought that since Roma did not extend his hand to her, then This is the status of a second cousin. But no matter how she thought, she extended her hand herself. And she immediately put it aside — it was hot, and Roma’s hand was sweaty. But that was not the main thing.

«For what?» — she asked herself.

The three of them walked into the yard, where there was some kind of veranda, built by the late grandfather right in the middle of the yard, without reference to the house. Ian talked about poetry and his own attempts at it, Masha talked about her paintings, but thought about Roma, Tanya and pretense. She waited until Ian’s attention was drawn to Masha’s mother, who had come out into the yard, to whom Ian greeted and who also said hello, and nodded her head to Roma, like an accomplice, making it clear with this gesture that she wanted to talk to him alone. Roma in response looked at where Masha’s nod was directed — at the barn — and only shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment. She would have to wait for Ian to leave, Masha realized.

Ian, who was a shy person, suddenly showed himself as an adult, confident, knowing that his opinion about the world and his activities are not nonsense, and that his gut with his attitude to the world has the right to be exactly in the form in which it is there is now. Roma noticed this change, but did not attach any importance to it. Masha saw Ian for the first time and thought that he was always like this.

She found Ian handsome, but she lacked masculinity in his features. He is a poet, and, as Masha guessed from his long welt about Chesterton, he is a believer, kind, calm, not daring to offend anyone even with reason, but this was not enough — and so little that Masha allowed herself to think that she did not like Ian. She even began to scold herself — why doesn’t she like an openly good person? «What if he has skeletons in his closet?» asked Masha, then looked at Ian, at how he carefully chooses his words and at the way he, without rude flattery, compliments the Painting Machine, as such, not as a result in the form of paintings, which neither he nor Roma saw, but as a process of «life manifestation of creativity», and on the basis of this she was sure that Jan had no skeletons. Masha grabbed hold of the «life manifestation…» and asked where these words came from.

«Maybe they are from somewhere, but I said them because I thought they were,» Ian answered naively.

Masha looked into Ian’s inspired face and understood that a person with such a face would never be capable of a bad deed. She convinced herself to treat Ian well, like an exemplary child, like a kitten, since she could not treat him like a man. «Women like bad things,» Masha recalled Tanya’s remark yesterday. It seemed, and still seems to Masha, like banal vulgarity, but, thinking about her attitude towards Ian, she noticed with horror that in this vulgarity there is a place for truth. «Why am I like this?» thought Masha. «Why have I never liked good young men who have not been spoiled by life?» She already had two young men who somehow reminded her of Ian, whom she refused, as she then thought, for fear of burning herself in relationships. Now, looking at Ian, she realized that everything was simpler — she just didn’t like them. And she doesn’t like Ian. But Roma is more difficult with him. Roma loves only horror films and conversations about them, in addition to conversations about the revolution, and now, when Roma was talking about the detention of his sister Yan in Moscow, Masha again remembered Tanya’s remark: «When two supermarkets in a row are closed in a city, Roma informs everyone about the coming revolution.» — and again I found Tanya’s remark not devoid of truth.

Masha was sure — and as an insecure person, she tested her confidence many times — that thoughts about Roma and Yana, or rather, their depth, were not in vain for her so exciting. She couldn’t understand what Roma expected from her when he looked at her — and she was wondering what exactly. She understood that Ian liked her — but she was ashamed that she could not reciprocate his feelings. With her peripheral vision, Masha saw that Ian was not taking his eyes off her, but when she looked into his eyes, Ian immediately began to look at Roma, even if he did not say anything. Masha also understood that when she looked at Ian, she looked flirtatiously — and she couldn’t help herself. Even when she wasn’t looking at Ian, she thought that he would be able to see some kind of coquetry in this. «I’ll just give him false hope,» Masha thought sadly. «What if this is all he needs? He writes a couple of poems and forgets? And I will be pleased, especially after many years, that I am in someone’s poems…»

Despite all her thoughts, the conversation between three people on the veranda seemed to Masha not only interesting, but worth the time spent, like a good movie, which, although good, will not stick in her head. Ian went into the yard and petted Knight, the dog who loved all intruders and thieves, and Masha had the opportunity to ask Roma:

— Are we pretending to Ian or not?

Roma seemed to have forgotten about his request, since he reacted as if he had woken up, while being late for something.

— Oh yes? Is that why you took my hand?

Masha turned pink and nodded.

— I haven’t seen Tanya for two days now… have you seen her?

«I saw it,» said Masha and remembered her morning conversation with Tanya, which became to some extent a revelation for her. Tanya, as Roma expected, decided to tell her about her faith. And the difference between this faith and Ian’s faith, as Masha understood, was greater than between Ian’s faith and atheism.

«People misunderstand the Bible,» Tanya said. — This is a consolation, not an instruction on how to live.

Then, having made Masha promise to keep her subsequent words secret, she told about her three infidelities.

05. Psychedelic♀06:48

«You know better, I haven’t read the Bible,» began a slightly shocked Masha, «but I know for sure that Christianity condemns adultery.»

«Fornication,» Tanya corrected. — So in short. You’re right. Condemns. Christianity. But not Jesus. He is the redeemer of our sins. He forgives us, and forgives us right now. This is the main thing. The rest is an invention of churchmen and evangelists. I believe that Jesus knows better what is in my soul, that he knows why I do this and cannot help but do it. I love Valera. I love it very much. Otherwise I would have gotten divorced. But without my betrayals,“ Tanya thought, and half a cigarette in the form of ash fell into the mug, „I feel that my life will be incomplete. I don’t want children, just imagine. Maybe that’s why I waste my love on other men, huh?

«I don’t know,» said Masha. — As your grandfather said, «I didn’t smell gunpowder.»

«That’s for sure,» Tanya smiled. Masha saw that Tanya was trying to seem proud and, in a sense, cynical, talking about betrayals, but she felt sorry for her. She thought that since Tanya allowed herself to be frank, why shouldn’t she allow it herself.

— Why did you try to set me up with Roma?

It seemed as if Tanya needed some time to move away from the conversation about Christ and fornication, because she did not answer right away.

— You are young people, why not bring you together?

— We are relatives…

— Don’t start, you’re water on jelly…

«I’m not starting, my mother will start if she finds out.»

— So you’re dating? — Tanya leaned her elbows on the table with both hands and moved closer to Masha, as if wanting to kiss her. Masha didn’t know what to answer, and decided to say:

— Yes.

Tanya began to nod to Masha, and nodded with meaning, the way a father would nod to his son if he found out that he was already a man. Masha loved Tanya for her honesty and spontaneity, but she found it unpleasant to remember these nods. It was this unpleasant feeling that forced her to retell the conversation with Tanya to Roma, of course, excluding those moments that Masha promised to keep secret — that is, excluding eighty percent of their conversation.

— You nodded for a long time, you say? — Roma thought. — Well, well… How long will you be in the village?

— Can not say.

— So… Tomorrow I’m at work until eight. I’ll be here at nine… So… Can you force yourself… that is… can you force yourself and me to visit Tanya? Tomorrow after nine?

— Her Valera will be at home.

— So what, he’s not a hindrance to us. Can you?

— I’ll try.

Roma grabbed Masha’s hand, and she, shuddering, decided that this was a rehearsal for pretending. But it turned out to be just a neutral handshake.

— Well done, Masha. Tomorrow we will understand everything.

Masha thought for a long time about what exactly she and Roma would understand and what meaning Roma put into these words, she thought now, standing in front of her mother, who was sure that Masha’s beloved was Ian.

— How do you like Yang in appearance? — Masha asked her mother.

— Nothing at all. I heard him talking to you on the veranda, and I will say that he is even better when he talks. With men it’s usually the opposite.

«I’m glad», Masha smiled and said nothing more.

3

Any perseverance is rewarded, and Masha’s perseverance was no exception. Mother allowed Masha to stay in the village for another week. She didn’t even allow it, but rather gave up and stopped trying to persuade Masha to return to the city. Masha was grateful to her mother for this, but she herself did not fully understand what she expected from the village, from their pretense with Roma and from Tanya, whose sincerity had laid a certain barrier between her and Masha.

Grandmother Ektenya had already gotten used to Masha and behaved with her as if she were a permanent resident of the house. She always appeared at the most inopportune moment, like a ghost, like a ghost from a cloudless life, and offered Masha anything to eat, from milk (store bought) to carrots from Aunt Klava’s garden. She behaved more and more cheerfully every day, in the sense of cheerfulness in which it is applicable to ninety-year-old poor people, and Masha understood that time heals wounds, but in the case of Liktenya’s wounds due to the loss of her daughter, she did not understand why these wounds heal so quickly. Grandma Nadya was sick a lot towards the end of her life, and her death at 76 looks natural, but it seemed wrong to Masha that Grandma Ektenya reacted to death in this way.

«They never loved each other,» my mother once said before leaving. «On Tuesday I even found her dancing.»

It sounded loud, given the half-century of rheumatism of the Ektenya, and in the mouth of the mother it did not sound like something blasphemous, but when Masha thought about it, it was the obvious joy of the Ektenya that began to seem blasphemous to her, but Masha did not want to talk about this very great-grandmother. She once again realized that the women in her family do not know how to love each other, and that men die early. She didn’t remember her grandfather on her father’s side, she hadn’t seen her father for six years, but she knew about both of them that they were dead — she didn’t know why Grandfather Petya died, but she knew that her father drowned, entangled in coral, when he was vacationing at a resort with his fourth wife. My maternal grandfather, that is, the husband of the recently deceased woman Nadya, died at the age of 30 in Bucharest during the Vrancea earthquake, and my mother’s brother, Uncle Kolya, died of cirrhosis a couple of years ago — all this convinced Masha that her family was destructive for men. She even joked in front of her mother, telling her to take care of Kirill and his tooth, and her mother appreciated her remark, since she herself sometimes said that «around us, men are dying like flies,» and treated this as a funny mysticism. Masha, although she pretended in front of her mother that she did not take these coincidences seriously, still considered them an evil fate and still seriously feared for her brother Dima and for her future husband, no matter who he was.

Mother and brother left early in the morning. Finally, the mother read frivolous instructions to Masha and, without much faith in it, invited Masha to return to Bryansk with them, to which she received the same words that she received yesterday in huge repetitions. When her mother got into the car, Masha secretly thanked Dima for the money, but he brushed it off, rather because he liked to brush it off in such cases, even when the money himself would have come in handy. Masha knew well her brother’s love to look generous.

«Look, don’t be sorry,» the mother finally said, and with the echo of this instruction in Masha’s head, the car disappeared, crushing pale stones on the rough road.

Immediately after leaving, Masha went to Tanya. She woke up late, at about ten o’clock, and began her morning with a cigarette on an empty stomach.

«I saw yours leaving,» Tanya muttered, pouring coffee for herself and Masha. — Dima has a good car.

Masha nodded — she knew that she was good, but only because both her mother and Dima often talked about it.

— How old is he — twenty-seven?

— Dima? Twenty six.

— He’s in no hurry to get married. Well done. He doesn’t want to fool the girls.

— Have you talked to him?

— Yes.

For Masha this did not become something important — it was more important for her to express her desire to come and visit with Roma.

— With pleasure! — Tanya was delighted. — I’ll call Kolobochka and let him buy some cakes. Do you remember the ones that were at the funeral? Over seventy-five.

«I remember,» said Masha. These cakes were «ladybugs» with chocolate dots on the back, and she, suddenly remembering Tanya’s words about God, connected them with the speech about betrayal and grinned to herself, imbued with dissonance. Then she began to study Tanya’s face, which turned from sleepy to cheerful as soon as Roma’s name was heard. At this time, Tanya was chatting carefree about the fuss around her and so on, and Masha, without listening, correlated this cheerfulness with what she had heard about the betrayals, and began to think that Roma and Tanya had something going on.

Roma didn’t go to work. He went to the city to the clinic and, sniffling in front of the doctor twice, took sick leave. He told Masha that they would still go to visit Tanya in the evening, despite the extraordinary day off.

«I want to see how she will behave in front of Valera.»

— Did you have anything to do with Tanya?

Roma, which amazed Masha, was pleasantly surprised to hear a frank question from her.

— No. Maxim had it. And it was something. They were arguing so loudly that I thought Valera himself heard everything — although they were in Maxim’s house, and Valera was somewhere in the city, but I still thought so. Maxim assured me that Tanya wanted to pour her faith into him through intercourse…

Roma, considering this something funny, realized from Masha’s face that she didn’t see anything funny in it, and began to speak more seriously.

— Tanya is your friend, Masha, I know. But she, it seems to me, considers herself something like Mary Magdalene. She had more than one Maxim. Here, a month ago…

And Roma retold Masha one of the stories that Tanya told him.

— Does Valera really know nothing? — Masha was perplexed.

«You have to be too naive for that.» Here either he is deceiving himself, or she has him under control. Something either…

Masha didn’t know what to say — for her, Tanya was still a teenager who fell into nettles while learning to ride a bike.

«I was sure that Tanya would try to contact me,» Roma continued. — Not because I consider myself some kind of handsome man — no — Maxim told me about her desire. And Tanya tells him about it directly. And at the funeral, when she came up to me, I thought: «That’s it. My friend is right.» But she suddenly began to praise you, Masha, how smart, beautiful, creatively gifted you are, and so on. «She didn’t lie,» Roma added, and Masha blushed with embarrassment, «but, believe it or not, I even felt offended that she didn’t offer herself, although I wouldn’t have even looked at her anyway.»

Masha was flattered by Roma’s frankness. And she, condemning herself, agreed with Roma about Tanya’s appearance. She was still convinced that every person is beautiful in their own way, but she did not consider Tanya a beauty, and now she received male confirmation that she did not think correctly.

— And your girlfriend? — Masha suddenly asked. — Anya? Is she still in town?

«Yes,» was all Roma answered. Masha’s question was like a blow to the head for him. He reluctantly told about the secret in Anya’s family, which Anya had not yet revealed to him, and besides the fact that this secret exists, Masha did not learn anything about the secret itself or about Anya.

They sat alone in Masha’s house — Grandma Ektenya was visiting Aunt Klava — and, having talked, in the absence of the Internet, they were now watching TV. The wires in the antenna had long since oxidized and made pictures, in this case pictures with a report, jumping. When the lower half of the correspondent hovered in the upper half of the TV, Roma drew attention to the book that was lying on the table. He looked at the cover and, grinning, showed the book to Masha.

— Is this grandma’s?

Masha, also smiling, shook her head. In Roma’s hands was Lilia Melanchodelia’s novel «Legs.» Tanya gave her this book to read. Masha, knowing that she wouldn’t read something like that, still took it.

«The female praying mantis killed everyone who did not satisfy her,» Roma read as an entertainer. «And everyone wanted to satisfy her.»

I opened the book and read the epigraph:

— A woman needs a husband like a fish needs a bicycle… Yes… Don’t say anything, Mash… This is Tanino…

Masha nodded.

«This is her real Bible,» Roma thought. He took off his glasses, blew on the lenses, wiped them with his shirt sleeve and put them back on. — Answer me — is Tanya a smart woman?

«She didn’t seem stupid to me.» Her behavior is one thing. But what she says is different.

«I understand everything,» Roma smiled.

He continued to smile, and Masha could not understand the reason for his smile.

— What did you understand?

— She wants to seduce you.

«But I understood that too,» Masha waved her hand.

— Is it true? So what are you going to do?

— Will I be seduced? — Masha laughed. She continued to laugh, but, seeing Roma’s silence, her laughter began to fade away, like cheerful music whose volume is reduced.

— Roma? — Masha became worried.

Roma took off his glasses and wanted to wipe them again, but looking at Masha, he realized that it was stupid to wipe them so often, quickly put them back on and asked:

— Ian said that they sit crookedly on the nose. This is true?

Masha thought that Ian, with his spirituality, would hardly have noticed the curvature of the frame, and if he had noticed, he would hardly have said it out loud.

«A little bit,» said Masha. — A little bit. And that’s if you look closely. And you know, all people have asymmetry. On the face. This is fine.

There was silence, which, fortunately, was cleared by the sound on the TV. Roma turned to the screen, and Masha too. The novel «Legs» lay open between them. Masha noticed the phrase circled in pencil:

«kissing the lotus stamens»

and blushed.

06. Centimental☂♀05:53

«We won’t pretend,» Roma suddenly said, looking at the parliament meeting. — I realized that this was stupid. We won’t know the truth. Tanya will lie and take it inexpensively… She’s lying to her husband… She, you say, is not stupid…

Masha glanced at him briefly. She saw that his eyes were shining. He, feeling her gaze, began to look at the money tree withering on the windowsill. She didn’t know what his words meant. Don’t pretend — stay brother and sister? Or not pretending meant… Masha stopped and thought about Anna, a stranger to her — Roma was clearly unhappy with her.

— I already told Tanya that we would come in.

Roma seemed to have woken up.

— Yes, we will come! Of course, this doesn’t change anything. Let’s just not pretend…

«Or maybe,» Masha began hesitantly, «maybe this time, in fact, this only time, we’ll still pretend to be a couple?» Let’s see her reaction?

Roma’s gaze fell from the tree to the battery. On her black holes between the cracked paint.

«I didn’t think this idea was stupid,» said Masha.

— …drowned while trying to cross the river in a car…

«Okay,» Roma answered without expression.

At six o’clock in the evening Roma brought Ian to the veranda.

— Everything is the same as yesterday — except for the berries! — Yang said joyfully.

Masha smiled back at him.

They sat down at the table and began to eat the watermelon brought by Ian. It was hot outside, and watermelon from the refrigerator was more expensive for them than strong wines. Roma ate directly with the bones, Masha and Ian carefully spat the bones into an empty plate. From Ian’s casual glances, affectionate and somehow unexpectedly patronizing, Masha realized that she was not mistaken in yesterday’s assumption — she was interesting to Ian as a woman. She received further confirmation of this when Ian casually noticed common character traits in himself and Masha only by the way they spat out bones. This remark caused Roma to laugh loudly.

— It’s a pity that Maxim is not here! — Roma exclaimed almost squealing. «Then he would have come up with something about psychoanalysis and spitting seeds according to Jung!»

If this confused Ian, he didn’t show it. Masha, indifferent to Ian, could not be embarrassed.

Almost immediately, laughter and the amount of watermelon eaten forced Roma to leave. At the door of the wooden toilet he almost slipped out of the blue. Ian, noting Roma’s curse with an understanding nod, looked at Masha, and now Masha saw how all the embarrassment Ian had been hiding came to light, making his ears and neck red to match a watermelon. He himself realized this, once, waving his hands, he said:

— Well, I gave myself away!

Masha pretended not to understand.

— How?

«I like you,» Yang said, looking fearfully at the wooden door.

— Thank you. Me too.

Having said this, Masha almost burst out laughing when she saw how the blush faded, the look sparkled and Ian’s cheeks trembled, poorly hiding the joy that had been expected, perhaps, for years. How easy it is to make people happy! Masha herself felt a surge of strength. But this did not change her attitude towards Ian.

«I didn’t express myself quite correctly,» Ian decided to clarify. — You may like poems, paintings (nods to Masha), watermelons (nods to Roma’s empty space), but you…

Roma appeared and interrupted Ian on this dramatic note. His speech seemed to stick to his watermelon-sweet lips. At that moment, Ian’s eyes were round and unhappy, and Masha suddenly imagined a Knight caught in the rain in an open field. To ease the young man’s suffering, Masha seized the moment, and when Roma looked at his feet, so as not to stumble again, she whispered to Ian:

— Me too.

Yang seemed to hear an equation from higher mathematics. Masha winked at him, and his face brightened. Seeing him jumping up and down in his chair, Masha, afraid that he would immediately confess everything to Roma, pressed her finger to her lips, frowning playfully. Yang nodded his understanding and began to sit more reservedly. And Masha sat throughout the subsequent conversation, frowning mentally, but this time for real, at herself, for her weak will, for the fact that now she would not be able to break off Ian’s hopes with the same light heart with which the hopes of the previous ones were cut short.

Only Roma could say what the subsequent conversations were about. He spoke most of the time, and Masha and Ian, immersed in their various devastations, answered Roma with general remarks, sometimes out of place.

Closer to nine, Roma announced that it was time for him and Masha. Ian said that he would go to Uncle Vasya and recommend Chesterton’s «The Peacock House»; speaking, he silently asked some questions to Masha, to which she also silently did not answer. He left, and Roma, peering into the distance, noticed that Ian jumped as he crossed the bridge.

«I caught the muse,» Roma decided.

Tanya’s husband, Valera, bought «ladybugs», and as soon as Masha and Roma entered, he began to say that snacking on vodka with them was even better than Baba Grusha’s cucumbers. Vodka was immediately on the table, in a steamed bottle, the neck of which was already empty. Tanya was sober and as cordial as before.

— Shall we have a drink?

Masha refused, and Tanya began to insist on drinking at least the bottom.

«No need,» Masha said somehow pitifully. She met Roma’s eyes, and they were drawn to hold hands.

Tanya poked Valera with his shoulder, which could mean «I told you so,» and Masha didn’t like it. Valera only poured half a glass for Roma, at Roma’s request, and filled his and his wife’s glasses to the brim. All four — three glasses and a cup of coffee — clinked glasses, drank and began to eat crab salad. Masha didn’t eat, she only drank coffee — she said that she had eaten too much watermelon, although in fact she lost her appetite because of the words that could not get out of her head:

«Me too»

Valera asked something about Roma’s movement. Roma began to answer, willingly and enthusiastically, telling the story of Ulyana, Yan’s sister, detained in Moscow, and avoiding mentioning Maxim in front of Tanya, calling him a «comrade-in-arms.» Valera also joined the conversation, as if he himself was personally distributing propaganda in the square, and, most likely, because of this involvement, Tanya started pouring vodka. She insisted that Masha drink, Masha refused, and Tanya filled Roma’s glass to the brim. Masha was outraged by this, and she asked: «Isn’t it too much?», to which Roma, looking at Valera as if in a competition, replied:

— A little.

Tanya filled the glasses five times, and poured them full for everyone five times. Masha felt that she now understood Tanya’s motives. «She wants to humiliate me,» she thought. — «By myself. Let it be through Roma. But by myself!»

This angered Masha, and she even looked at Tanya a couple of times with hatred, which was also intensified by «me too» to Yana. Tanya noticed this and still insisted that Masha drink. Masha, thinking that it was uncomfortable for her to think so much and was so unpleasant, agreed to half a glass. Raising it to her lips, trying not to inhale the pungent smell, Masha suddenly imagined herself plunging her face through dirty wooden boards into a white void. She drank, she felt bitter and sick, she immediately washed the glass down with juice, caught her breath and said:

— This is disgusting!

«I agree,» Valera supported. — «Finnish» is better.

Tanya laughed, and Roma took up her laughter. Masha, feeling the warmth running through her veins, smiled and was glad that her smile was sincere.

From that moment on, everyone at the table began to feel freer. Masha decided to drink more — but only two glasses maximum, and wash it down with plenty of juice.

At one o’clock in the morning Roma brought Masha home. Her head was buzzing. She herself understood this, and with a sober edge of consciousness she tried to curb the sea surrounding her. Familiar things in the house turned out to be further away than they usually were, and grandmother Ektenya’s snoring from the bedroom seemed completely scary. Roma put Masha into bed and covered her with a blanket, although she did not undress and the night around was hot. He was about to turn off the bedside lamp, but he saw Masha’s lips. In the lamplight they looked full and flower-like, simple and unabashed. Roma even remarked out loud that until today he had never seen drunk women who did not cause rejection.

— What? — Masha muttered in what seemed like a sleepy voice.

— Masha?

— Yes?

— I don’t know.

4

Waking up at ten in the morning, Masha was first glad that she did not feel a hangover. She knew this word, but it was unknown to her, like a trip on a catamaran, and, fortunately, remained the same even after drinking vodka yesterday. Yawning, she headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove, and in the aisle she came across Grandma Ektenya, carefully studying her.

— Why were you so noisy last night?

— I?

— The steps were not yours. I thought they were thieves, but in the morning I saw that my pension was there.

Masha remembered everything.

— These were my steps. I stayed at Tanya’s.

— At Tanya’s? «After this question, the grandmother read a series of useless instructions that grandmothers who have lived life and know it best love to read, with which Masha agreed without really hearing them, feeling fear in her stomach, circling in a spiral.

After drinking tea with her grandmother, Masha returned to her room, lay down on the bed and buried her face in the pillow. She stood up, checked the blankets and sheets, and buried herself in the pillow again. «Maybe nothing happened?» Masha remembered everything vaguely, but she remembered something clearly, and this caused echoes in her body, echoes of something strange, good and somehow evil. She remembered light to her left, shadows to her right. Also on the right, on the wall, there was a carpet with deer, and it, coupled with Masha’s feelings, seemed to her like someone’s joke. The sensations were different, but Masha understood that they were useful — she remembered how she drew a birch tree for the first time and how she meticulously painted leaves on the branches, and these leaves, perhaps, were sensations that complemented one big feeling — the feeling that yours the body is passed through an extremely narrow, cruel tube, only upon exiting from which you are able to breathe. They let her in rudely, like a slave — and this upset Masha, this is not how she imagined her first love. But, nevertheless, she was grateful to Roma, she was sure that he was her man, and not someone else’s second cousin, she was convinced that all this meant something, and that’s what she repeated to herself, burying herself in the pillow before noon:

«It means something»

Roma did not sleep until the morning. He sat on the steps of the porch of his house, smoked, washed down his cigarettes with fruit drink, and looked at the empty dark blue sky reflected in the flat surface of the pond. The pond itself seemed drunk to Roma. The whole night with the endless barking of dogs, the empty road and the twinkling of rare stars was reminiscent of shameless drunkenness. Roma was sure that he had not drunk that much. I was sure that Masha didn’t get it as badly as newbies sometimes get it. Unlike Masha, he remembered everything perfectly — how trustingly Masha hugged him, allowing herself to be dragged, how the floor and the solid door creaked, and how, what was most terrible for Roma that night, how grandmother Ektenya’s snoring was interrupted for several long seconds. He remembered everything, but understood nothing.

07. Casse-Noisette♀01:11

He thought about his feelings for Anya, which had now acquired some kind of bitterness and an indelible touch, and regretted that these feelings had not become weaker — then he would have gladly broken up with Anya, since he had feelings for Masha, and seemed Although they are smaller for him than for Anya, they are lighter. But because of this raid on his feelings for Anya, he involuntarily looked for something vile in Masha, the first thing, of course, was their second cousin, which without feelings for Anya would not have become a problem — Roma understood this clearly. He correlated all these experiences with his interest in politics and saw merciless absurdity throughout the world, in the world order. He thought about all the protesters and mentally asked them: «Why are you doing this? What, others will come to power, honest people from heaven, with the powers of angels, and you will receive a guarantee not to find yourself in the situation in which I now find myself?» All of Russia’s problems and his political confidence suddenly seemed to him like husks on something eternal. He was even surprised that how he managed to think about politics after everything that happened with Masha. And at that same moment, Masha’s face, especially her lips, appeared in Roma’s head, imposing itself with some inexplicable tenderness, and Roma, despite his torment, felt proud that he was the first to be in bed with this creature who did not knew and, it seems, will never know what to do with its primordial nature. After that, the fruit drink and cigarettes became tastier, and Roma thought that, despite his insomnia, he could easily work out the coming day, for which, alas, he could not get sick leave at the clinic.

At work, Anya called Roma and said that she would come to the village after her shift. Roma was joyful in his conversation with her, realizing that a significant part of this joy was intended for Masha, who knows what she was thinking now, but as soon as the conversation ended, he felt something heavy in his chest. He considered all his enthusiasm to be groundless and branded it a small share of those stupid consequences of drunkenness. Anya would arrive in the village at eight, and Roma at nine, and Roma regretted that he would not have the opportunity to talk to Masha (he didn’t think to ask her for her phone number), although he had little idea what he could or even wanted to tell her. Added to this was an unpleasantly minor dissatisfaction with oneself — it would have been better if they had given sick leave for this day, and not for yesterday, since the clinic had reduced to one-day sick leave. This circumstance, even more minor than politics now, angered Roma, and he managed to quarrel with his superiors and get a fine, which he then considered the first received for the case.

08. Miseria Cantare {۞} 03:00

At nine o’clock in the evening Roma was already at home. Uncle Vasya fell asleep earlier than expected for a reason known only to him. Anya was sitting at Roma’s table, where he was studying works on politics and psychology, and was reading something with a pencil in her hands, and Roma knew what exactly. He greeted loudly, Anya turned around, and Roma was surprised to notice that her black hair, previously combed back with a special parting, looked ordinary, like the hair of any brunette briefly seen.

— Hello. «She stood up, Roma came up to her and kissed her on the cheek. — What did you do? I believe that I did not drink with Maxim.

— Why is this?

— Uncle Vasya said. He is a hunter, and his sense of smell is appropriate. By the way, he praised your hunting bag, well, which you gave him — he now puts his tools in there.

— I know. And I’m glad she’s good for something.

Roma gestured to Anya outside, «so as not to wake up Uncle Vasya,» and wanted to ask Anya what she was doing in Bryansk, remembering that he had not answered the same question of hers, but had just realized that Ian was not in the house, and asked Anya about him.

— I haven’t seen him yet. Uncle Vasya said that he went for a walk.

— Where is this, I wonder? To Maxim?

Saying this, Roma doubted that Ian had gone for a walk to Maxim.

— So what were you doing? — Anya returned to her. — You weren’t verbose on the phone.

— In theory, this should make me look good.

— Eh, no, don’t dodge! Come on, tell me!

Seeing Anya’s joy, Roma couldn’t believe that he wanted to break up with her and that he asked her all sorts of stupid questions that jealous people usually ask. The last time they saw each other, they had a fight over the manuscript that Anya was editing, and Roma then said that she was sleeping with the person who wrote it, which really hurt Anya. She was silent for several days, talking only about everyday things, like buying bread, and when Roma announced the death of Baba Nadya and that he was going to her funeral, Anya did not express any sympathy or anything else, saying only «okay.», leave.» Then, a couple of days ago, she called and asked about the film «Parasite», whether it was worth watching, Roma said that it was worth it, hung up, and only then realized that Anya was behaving as if nothing had happened, and that he did not reproach her for this. Today, when Anya called him at work and informed him about her visit, Roma did not reproach her, because he was thinking about Masha’s lips and how small and pure Masha is, when the world around, especially in the face of Tanya, is funny and dirty. Now, Roma understood, the right moment had come, and, telling Anya about his time in the village, the funeral, Maxim’s work, Ian’s daydreaming, and about nothing else but the above, he was thinking of how to bring Anya into a conversation that might seem unpleasant to her, and also thought about Masha.

— Magazine «Air», right? — Anya thought. — I read it on the Internet, the last issue. So Yan Sovetov is our Yan?

— Yes, he (Ian’s real surname is Betskoy). Why did you even read it? Is this related to your manuscript?

— No. — Anya was still thoughtful. She sat down on the steps, where Roma had imagined her throwing dishes at him after her words about Masha that morning, and lit a cigarette.

— Do you have any juice? — asked Anya. It was from her that Roma picked up the habit of washing down his smoking with sweets.

— I blew it all out today. Thought about you. About us — no matter how cliché it may sound.

— And now I’m thinking about it. — In the flashes of smoke from her cigarettes, Roma saw something pleasant, he sat down next to Anya, and she laid her head on his shoulder. «You were jealous of me, I ignored you.» If I was jealous, I ignored her. You didn’t trust me — I may not have been trustworthy, but how can I earn it if you don’t want to trust me?

«You would show me this manuscript, that’s all, that’s all I asked.»

— And would you believe it?

Silence.

— I think yes.

— By the way, I took this manuscript to the investigator. I decided that the investigator would undermine me if I lied, and you and Maxim and your movement — he could attribute all this to Zhenya, and would begin to interrogate you, but you don’t know anything at all…

— Your writer’s name is Zhenya?

— Yes. Forgot what your enemy’s name is? — Anya smiled and threw away the cigarette butt.

«You didn’t say his name.»

Anya jumped up as if from a burn, and the headband on her hair, or rather, its decorative stones, unpleasantly slashed Roma on the cheek. There was no scratch, there was only redness — Anya ran her hand over it, and, looking at Roma with wide open eyes, said:

— Sorry. It turns out I didn’t trust you myself.

Roma was embarrassed — he realized that Anya’s apology would now interfere with his thoughts about Masha. He thought with hatred of himself for becoming Masha’s first.

— Forgive me too — I was harsh and…

«You were harsh because of me, because of my secrecy!» — Anya stood up, uttering reproaches as accusations addressed not to herself, but to an unpleasant stranger. — If I had said it initially… If I had refused… But I was interested in him, understand. Zhenya, that is. I wanted to understand why he behaves this way. And, after reading his book, I realized that one of two things is true — either he didn’t lie, and then he is a very bad person, or he is trying to confuse everyone, and then he is even more incomprehensible than when I met him.

After this, Anya invited Roma to read the ill-fated manuscript. Roma decided to persistently refuse, realizing that he wanted to read it even more than always, and Anya somehow understood all these emotions and said it out loud, and then Roma, in order to avoid pretense or «rehearsals of pretense,» began to read it, having read just the beginning and a chapter in the middle.

09. Crimson Joyϟ04:04

«His name is not here,» said Roma as soon as he put the notebook aside.

— The investigator made edits and indicated at the end.

Roma found and read the investigator’s edit, then, with the conviction that his political confidence was not a husk after all, he said to Anya:

— I want to talk to Zhenya.

5

While Roma was at work and expecting something unpleasant from meeting Anya — this premonition deceived him — Masha spent that day waiting for something unknown from Roma, waiting for something that would instantly turn her life around, making her dreams come true or completely destroying her. these dreams, replacing them with what Masha’s mother usually called «adult life.» She walked around the house for fifty circles and already began to consider the unknown bird sitting on the chimney of the house, from which, due to the absence of a stove, smoke could not come out, as part of her ghostly soul, which was becoming coarser, as Masha understood, building up its shell, preparing for the real, than so scared her mother for a long time. Masha’s mother was quite tolerant of Masha’s love of freedom, her painting and reluctance to surround herself with the signs of the times that almost every modern person was surrounded by, but Masha, against her will, thought of her mother as a kind of evil witch who, knowing in advance that Masha’s story would have a bad ending, she didn’t tell Masha anything about this, talking to her only about what was not of paramount importance. Masha thought something like this not only about her mother — in an instant all people began to seem to her like liars, hiding their tragedy behind masks of general words, but the whole social life, with norms of behavior, etiquette, morality, church and other things that everyone knows about and has weight, she began to consider it a huge and unnecessary mass, designed to hide the enormous misfortune of each person, that is, according to Masha’s logic, to hide the most important thing.

Masha understood that as soon as Roma came to her and said some joyful nonsense, even one that she did not want to hear, all her painful thoughts would disappear, as if they were not painful, since they so easily leave behind a previously completely occupied an emptiness that is so nice to later fill with new dreams. Tired of walking around, weighing and predicting everything, Masha returned to the house and took the book of Lilia Melanchodelia, remembering her promise not to read such things and justifying herself by the exceptional circumstances. It was hot outside, pleasantly diluted by a cheerful breeze, and Grandma Ektenya was snoring in the house, having seen a daytime dream and now associated, as Masha thought with some horror, with last night, so Masha went outside, sat down on a bench on the porch, and, stretching out legs, began to read — from the outside it looked like an idle girl was reading a light novel and thinking only about what snobs would call vulgarity. This is exactly what it probably looked like for Tanya, who came to Masha, and Masha, seeing Tanya’s pale hands and too knowing face, began to curse herself for the fact that Tanya caught her having an affair that aroused her, even if it was not reflected on face, but disgust.

— Maha, hello! Well, how? — Tanya nodded at the novel.

«It’s not mine,» Masha answered liberally. I wanted to immediately hand the book to Tanya, but decided that it was rude and simply put it on the porch railing.

— Well, yes, you are a classic among us, and this is for spoiled natures. — Having said this, Tanya looked at Masha so understandingly that Masha thought of herself as the most spoiled person in the world.

«You had too much yesterday,» Tanya continued. — Out of habit. I don’t judge. When I drank vodka for the first time, I actually vomited into some kind of puddle. — Tanya’s face brightened, as if we were talking about her first kiss. — You know, it was like the soup that my little Kolobok tried to cook when I was lying with a sore throat.

Masha, whose imagination was easily excitable, winced, and Tanya, sitting opposite her, asked:

— Well, how?

— Are you talking about the book? You asked, I said…

— ...that it’s not yours, I remember, but I’m not talking about the book.

— What about? About vodka? It’s not mine either.

Tanya laughed heartily, and Masha remembered the old Tanya, who laughed the same way, but from whom, as Masha fully realized only now, looking into her pale eyes, as if scorched by life, pale, like her skin, there was nothing left.

— Are you talking about Roma?

— Well, of course, about who else!

Masha, feeling anger towards Tanya, unusual and unpleasant, instantly understood what and how she should say. She looked at the scars on her wrists, saturated with this flattened letter «x» with some kind of superiority and a feeling of her own, more correct life.

«Roma and I decided to pretend that we were dating,» Masha said firmly. «We thought it would be fun to play with the theme of incest.» We had nothing.

— This can’t be true.

— From what? I said at the funeral that he was not my type.

«But you said…» Tanya looked somewhat desperate, she could have been Anya at that moment, it would have been more appropriate, given her reaction, and Masha, somewhat embarrassed by the tragic bewilderment on Tanya’s face, lost her prepared firmness.

«It turns out you were lying,» Tanya said with the calmness of someone in mourning.

— We didn’t lie. We were pretending. It was… funny. For us, at least…» Masha stopped short, her words sounded false, and she didn’t see anything funny either in her relationship with Roma, or in the way she falsely tried to present them, or last night especially. Masha stood up, took Tanya by the shoulder the way she wanted to be taken in the morning when she realized everything, and said:

— Sorry if this offended you in any way.

— Me? — Tanya laughed artificially. — I have something to do with it! You’re the one missing out on your luck, Maha! What if you don’t miss it? — she immediately blurted out. — You were drunk yesterday…

— I missed it. — Masha surrounded this word, as if in quotation marks, with small, as if medical, nods. Gradually, Tanya’s bewilderment gave way to an uncertain expression. Masha remembered who she had seen this happen to: an unknown tennis player on TV, who, frowning, expressed respect for her opponent.

«God will forgive,» Tanya said. Masha realized that this did not refer to her previous remark, but to her apology, but it still sounded strange; Masha felt awkward, and when Tanya said:

— Come to us with Roma. Just like yesterday.

She felt completely uneasy, she was afraid that in each of her eyes Tanya saw her last night with Roma, and this despite the fact that Masha’s eyes were not looking at Tanya, but at the pond in the distance.

Tanya left, and Masha, taking the book with her, returned to the house, where, not understanding why, she took her bitten eraser and erased the oval crookedly framing the phrase «kissing the stamens of the lotus.» Then she sat down on the bed, hugged her knees, began to rock, and thought that even if Tanya had guessed everything, she would lie to her to the end, that she and Roma had nothing, she would even lie if Roma himself admitted it, even if the whole world tries to bring it to light. At the same time, Tanino’s inappropriate «God will forgive» was buzzing in Masha’s ears. «Is she out of her mind or does she really think I should be forgiven for not sleeping with my brother?» As soon as she asked herself this question, Masha laughed, then thought that she had no conflicts with God, and, convinced that Tanya had no merit in this, she decided to pray to him, and after that she felt better, then, fully realizing that She really spent the night with Roma, her previous state returned to her, and she prayed again.

At about six o’clock Masha began to draw palm trees. She looked at the alder, its leaves golden in the sun, and turned these leaves into palm leaves, which, to her displeasure, seemed more like fern leaves.

Stretching her neck, she cast a casual glance towards the pond, and immediately her mood fell, anxiety began to bubble up in her heart — Ian was walking towards her house. Roma was still at work, so there was not even a ghostly hope that Ian was looking for him. She took the drawing and wanted to hide in the house in order to pretend to be sick, but Yang, not yet reaching the house, called out to her, and she, doomed, froze in place.

10. Industrial Dance {۞} 04:21

— Mashenka, hello! — Yang said when he was next to her. -Your pencil fell.

Masha didn’t even notice it. Ian leaned over, picked up the pencil and handed it over, like one would give flowers.

— Did something happen to you? — Ian instantly sank.

— Can you see it from me? — Masha asked in fear, then, imagining how sad or angry her face looked to Ian, she slightly waved her hand and said:

— Don’t pay attention. This happens to women. Nothing happened to me.

— If I interfered with drawing or… then I will leave.

Masha looked at Ian carefully. She had the feeling that Yang wasn’t happy to hear «me either» from her. «They want love and, being afraid, they want to leave everything as it is,» thought Masha, looking at Ian expectantly, even with assertive expectation, as if asking what he was ready for. Yang turned out to be more serious than she thought. She said that he loves her, loves her very much, and doesn’t believe it, it doesn’t happen, and when he realizes that this «doesn’t happen» is actually happening to him, something clicks in his head, dissonance arises, constant surprise at this world, and Ian absolutely does not understand anything. He abandoned poetry. Wanting to dedicate his best lines to Masha, he was unable to write even something average, so now he says all this to her, Masha, in confused words, only hoping that his uncertainty will seem sweet to her and not repellent, preparing himself for the worst, wanting, begging her to say this is the worst, if she really is hiding this worst in herself, and let her not spare him, he will endure any blow, the main thing is that this blow is honest. Masha listened to Ian’s nervous, lively and semi-chaotic speech and looked at the pencil, which she held like a knife, and felt the opportuneness of the comparison with a knife, because her fingers were pricking. She was faced with something definitely serious, from which it would be criminal to just get away with it. She put the pencil in her pocket and took Ian by the shoulders, hoping that he would not be hit, because, taking into account the fieryness of Ian’s speeches, Masha would not be surprised if Ian fell on her knees just because of the breath that belonged to her, not to mention touch.

«I can’t answer you as beautifully as you confessed to me,» Masha began. «I understand that it will be easier for you if I say yes or no, but I can’t say that.» Sorry for the half measures towards you.

She was embarrassed by her last words; they seemed completely armchair to her, but seeing the sparkle of undying hope in his eyes, she realized that she had done the right thing. She felt awkward if Ian cut his wrists because of her — and she had a similar thought before she decided what to answer. Because of the veins, she thought about Tanya, and then about Roma… «Roma… Roma… Why did it happen yesterday?»

Excited by someone else’s confession, she decided to do something for her feelings. After being silent for a couple of minutes, so that the abrupt change of topic would not be offensive to Ian, she asked him to tell him more about Roma.

«I know very little about him,» Masha explained, «but I’m interested in how such a good brother lived before me.»

Ian was surprised, but began to tell the story with enthusiasm. Masha counted the minutes until Roma came home from work, of which there were still more than a hundred, and Ian kept talking about Roma as something distant, like Napoleon, spoke in detail, starting from the day they met at the university, continuing with endless gatherings here in the village, in the absence of dachas, in the courtyards, where Roma convinced Ian of what Ian did not want to be convinced of, and what Ian himself wanted to convince Roma of, of which, of course, Roma did not want to be convinced. Masha listened to Ian’s speech, almost not remembering it, like background music in a cafe, but the name «Anya», heard for the first time, forced Masha to turn on all her perceptions at full capacity, and she began to hope that Ian would not suspect her liveliness in that that she is connected specifically with Anya.

«Roma called me from work,» Ian continued. — He said that Anya would arrive today. I think you’ll meet her tomorrow…

Something bitter burned Masha’s throat — Anya, unknown, and therefore non-existent, should not have appeared today, precisely today, when Masha is at a painful crossroads, from which Roma not only could, but was obliged to move Masha towards something something more serious, adult and responsible. The tripping that Yang inadvertently put on the Machine Spirit forced all her internal resources to act more thoughtfully and put on her appearance an ostentatious equanimity to Anya’s arrival. Masha, it seemed to her, had come up with the right solution, which, although it could not solve the problem with Roma, would be able to convince Tanya that there was no problem with Roma. She, having waited for Ian to finish his speech about Roma on a logical note, from which she did not learn anything definitive about Roma himself, suggested that Ian go to visit Tanya. Masha tried to show Ian that she was no longer distracting him with talk about the stranger Roma, but was directly moving on to the topic that was important for Ian, and, as she tried to hint, for her — their time together. Judging by Ian’s involved smile, Masha realized that he understood everything the way she wanted him to understand, but his answer unexpectedly sounded in a minor key:

— I promised to be with him and Anya. Roma wanted me, otherwise they might again…

And then Ian’s face lit up. He rushed to Masha to hug her, but she delicately pushed him away:

— Take your time, please. We’ll just go visit. And… about us — I’m still thinking. This is probably bad, but I can’t help but think.

— Certainly! Right! — Yang exclaimed almost pathetically. — Everything must be serious! I’m even ready for the wedding, damn me!

Masha could not stand it and burst into tears, but Ian was not offended and laughed, as if recognizing the inappropriateness of his dramatic enthusiasm.

«Masha, I wasn’t joking,» said Ian, still smiling, so Masha considered this part of the «joke.»

«I believe,» she said. — Let’s go.

She put her hands in her pockets so that Ian would not encroach on anything, and walked next to him, smiling as if she was all ease.

— You are earlier than promised… Ah… Is this Ian?

Tanya saw Ian a few times and could not remember him. Ian knew Tanya as a person who lives in this village, and he didn’t know her anymore. He confirmed that Ian was him, and they sat down at the table. Half empty, there were still traces of yesterday’s feast on it — half a plate of crab salad, herring in a round plastic package and an empty bottle of vodka. Masha didn’t see any glasses, and Valera was at work — she considered this enough to think that yesterday, with the risk of today making yesterday absurd, would not happen again.

— Is Roma still at work? — asked Tanya.

«Yes,» answered Masha. — He was on sick leave yesterday. Now they only give him one for a day. He complained about this yesterday.

— But weren’t you bored today? — Tanya looked at Ian as if he were looking at something boring, and this did not hide from Masha.

«I didn’t miss you,» she said decisively.

Ian sat pressed into his chair, and only now Masha saw him as he usually appeared in front of strangers. The sublime enthusiasm for life and the semi-ironic attitude towards this enthusiasm disappeared, and Masha suddenly felt herself in Yana — insecure, withdrawn, afraid of people. Only Masha managed to extract arrogance towards people from this, but she understood that Ian was not like that, that he perceived all this shyness as completely negative. She regretted that she had called Yan here, and realized how much better Roma was — after all, he didn’t have what both she and Yan had.

Tanya lit a cigarette. Smoke flew out in a thin stream out of the slightly open window, behind which rose cuttings of tea roses. Ian did not look away from the smoke, and Masha decided that his poetic brain was drawing Tanya from the smoke, and in the roses he saw her herself, and she moved a little closer to Ian so that he could feel her warmth — or her knee, if Ian had the determination to move a millimeter closer to her.

«We’re all squeezed,» Tanya said; It was this directness, or rather, glimpses of it, that Masha loved in her. — Valera will come at eight. Along with vodka.

«We’re not drinkers,» said Masha, thinking to herself: «He’ll come at eight, just like her.»

Masha glanced at the round clock behind Tanya. Fifteen minutes after seven. She didn’t know what to expect from herself. For what? What do you expect? Where? — were stupid questions. For the first time in her life, Masha realized that these and similar words only simplified what, as it seemed to her, could not be expressed with them.

Tanya, due to her lack of complexes, took upon herself the responsibility of turning their get-together into something decent. Turning to Ian as an old acquaintance, which in Masha’s eyes looked like a change of clothes on the fly, she began to talk about her dissatisfaction with politics, the eternal drunkenness in the country and the reluctance of people to work, admitting that all this was the case with her.

«But that doesn’t matter,» Tanya said. -Who am I? Small screw. Shpuntik, ha ha! It is important that the officials are all the same as me. And therefore our parents lived poorly, we live poorly, and our children will live poorly. Officials are just like us, and we are lazy. As Maximilian said, damn it — all our activities are the size of Germany, just like in Germany, but our country is fifty times larger than Germany, so all our activities are simply blurred across the taiga and so on — and it is not visible. Here, Maxim! — she suddenly blurted out. — An eccentric man!

«Obviously, Tanya decided that Ian, like Roma, is a «revolutionary,» thought Masha.

11. Marching All Around (Marcher Partout) ♀03:47

Tanya mentioned God in passing, and Ian began to listen more attentively. But Masha noticed (and would be surprised if it were somehow different) that Ian does not approve of Tanya’s theses about Christ’s permission to live as he pleases, about forgiveness, which is guaranteed by His resurrection, and about the fact that Christianity makes no sense if it does not forgive everyone — from Arshaluys Khanzhinyan to Chikatilo. Jan, in view of his nature, could not object to anything, and Tanya did not even suspect that she had touched upon matters that were deeply important to Jan. Tanya also stated that humanity did the wrong thing by considering families of one male father and one female mother to be the «correct unit», and only this Ian, considering «flash words», remembered well, and not Tanya’s further words about the normality of families from two women and three men or three men and three women. Then, suddenly, Tanya asked Ian for forgiveness for wanting to go out with Masha for a minute, and suggested that he should not be shy and go to the refrigerator, and not just eat what was on the table. Ian couldn’t help but feel embarrassed; he didn’t eat at all and took the same position at the table, while Tanya, already in the yard with Masha, pushed her against the fence, provoking, one might say, a quarrel. She said that her coming with Ian was a bluff, which she had with Roma more than once, and Masha did not understand this involvement of Tanya in other people’s relationships, she knew that she had to put Tanya in her place, but did not have the words for this, and Tanya, talking about her crossed arms with Roma yesterday at the table, looked like a moral authority, and Masha, with her back pressed to the gate, seemed like a criminal, and this situation especially outraged Masha. She wanted to see Roma, but it wasn’t until nine soon, plus Ian mentioned that Anya would come at eight, so Masha was ready to see Anya and tell her everything. Everything — and Masha didn’t care that people consider it normal to hide such things, that people can treat one night as meaningless, that Roma himself can call this night a mistake — Masha was important in itself, regardless of the consequences, and she didn’t care how decently or how not to react to her.

«We’re friends, Maha,» Tanya said at that time (Masha was now also offended by this «Makha», towards whom she was always calm). «I tell you everything, but you lie to me, and that’s wrong.»

— Do you tell Valera everything? — Masha blurted out.

Tanya was not embarrassed.

— The husband lies to his wife, the wife lies to her husband. I’m not saying that I’m not a sinner. Lies in general biology, male and female, in order to continue the race… lies are inevitable. All flirting and all compliments are lies. Necessary, like all norms of behavior — which are also lies. God understands all this and forgives us for this. But friendship… There shouldn’t be lies in it, but you’re lying to me…

— And because you accuse me in vain, will your God forgive you?

«I wanted it to be in vain, but it’s not, because you don’t know how to lie, I see.»

«You want my words to be a lie!» — Masha said loudly, wanting to say something else, more stupid, as she now realized, because after these words some kind of shadow lay on Tanya, or the sun disappeared behind the trees, but Masha, seeing how Tanya’s face darkened, decided that she had said everything is correct.

«You shouldn’t be doing that,» Tanya said. — I want you happiness. And I want the truth — because there are so many lies.

«Thank you,» Masha said sincerely after some thought. — But from now on, let’s not interfere in my personal life, and I won’t interfere in yours? After all, you can be friends not only about this.

Tanya also began to remain silent, and longer than Masha was silent, and Masha herself felt some kind of wall in herself — she did not understand why she needed Tanya now, who had nothing in common with that nostalgic Tanya from childhood, whom she loved and loves still.

— But who are you with — Roma or the poet?

Masha thought: «I want to be with Roma, and Roma will be with Anya today, and this is after yesterday…» She decided to talk to Anya before Roma arrived, so that he would not have the opportunity to get away. Then I asked myself: «Why?» — but I didn’t change my choice. She, in thought, did not immediately understand that Tanya was waiting for an answer. Masha winked at her and called Ian, saying that it was time for them to leave. Ian came out — in movement he seemed not as tense as at the table — and Masha, leaving with Ian, knowing that Tanya had not yet closed the gate, hugged Ian and kissed him on the lips, without opening her lips, counting her jaw at that moment bitterly stony and felt déjà vu when she kissed Ian for the first time. Then she said that she needed to be alone, citing the fact that even a kiss was a shock to her, and went to her room. She stopped at the house and began to watch Ian’s diminishing figure. After waiting for her to disappear, she decided to go to Anya, but then she remembered that Ian lived in the same house that Roma and Anya lived, and began to curse herself for forgetting about this little thing. She immediately considered her kiss something terrible, deceitful for Ian, deceitful for Tanya, who was not worth pretending to in front of her. «And putting forward these pretenses, I want to see Roma. And Roma today will be with Anya, the same Roma who started these pretenses, without which there would be no feelings for him!..»

That night Masha hated Tanya, Roma, Yan, and Anya, unknown to her, but most of all, herself.

6

— Where were you yesterday?

«I was walking,» Ian answered joyfully. — First with Masha, and then alone.

— Why alone?

— He’s a poet, Rom, don’t pester him for inspiration! — Anya intervened.

— Fine, I will not! — And Roma was glad not to pester. And I was glad that Ian mentioned in front of Anya that he was with Masha. But, having made peace with Anya yesterday, he now did not know what to do with Masha herself. He knew that she could not treat what they had as something unnecessary — and he himself could not treat it that way. He understood that he loved Masha — first of all, because she did not belong to that life where there was politics, work, inertia and even Anya. Masha was something new for him and so natural that he did not understand why he considered this natural thing not to belong to this world. Roma knew that he needed to talk to Masha, but did not know what to do with Anya. They had the same weekend, and Anya had been hinting since the evening about a joint trip to the lake, because they hadn’t had anything together for a long time, largely due to Anya’s stubbornness, as Anya herself confirmed. Roma decided to first ask Ian to say something to Masha on his behalf in such secret words, just like in Maxim’s articles, so that Ian would not understand their secret meaning, and Masha would understand, but, firstly, he was unable to find such words, so how he didn’t know Masha well enough, and secondly, after what Ian said, he had no doubt that Ian, like himself, was not indifferent to Masha. Even Anya, who had just arrived, understood this from just one remark from Ian. At first, Roma didn’t know how to feel about Ian’s interest, but then he realized that everything depended on his decision. If he stays with Anya, then he will be the first to wish Ian success in winning Masha’s heart. If he wants to be with Masha, then Yan will have to be upset, citing Masha herself, who, which Roma for some reason had no doubt about, will choose him over Yan. And, besides, Anya will have to be upset. If not for their reconciliation, he would have chosen Masha and would not have hesitated as painfully as now, even taking into account the fact that Masha is in all respects a more inconvenient option than Anya. But Roma, having an interest in politics, already knew that any convenience is deceptive. He believed only in his heart, now painted in two colors.

12. Good Day My Angel, Version Two☂ Ϣ 05:35

After some thought, with a cigarette, in the light of the rising sun, Roma realized what he needed to do. He approached Ian, who, trying, and too diligently, with a pre-war iron, to make the creases on his trousers solidly distinct, was talking with Uncle Vasya about the upcoming mowing. Roma nodded to Uncle Vasya and called Ian aside.

— Will you help me? I have a personal request.

Ian froze as if in formation.

— I’m listening.

— Distract Anya, and for a long time. Tell her I’m somewhere in the yard, but don’t let her go into the yard.

Ian didn’t even find out why Roma needed this, he asked:

— What is the best way to distract her?

— Something exciting. With my own poems, for example. She read the poems you published under a pseudonym and liked them.

— Is it true?

— Well, of course! How could a woman not like them?! You can talk about the manuscript that she’s editing — but that’s if I don’t return by the time she stops praising your poems — and no matter how long I disappear, I’m sure I’ll return sooner.

The play on the poet’s pride turned out to be successful — Ian promised to do everything in his power, and Roma headed to Masha’s house, still not knowing what to tell her.

An unexpected obstacle arose along the way. Tanya. Her house was on the way to Masha’s house. She was smoking on the porch at the moment when Roma passed by him. She called out to him, he said hello and quickened his pace, but she said something that Roma could not have escaped even if he had continued to walk.

— Are you going to see Masha? She is gone.

Roma came closer to Tanya.

— How did you leave?

«On the train, apparently,» Tanya laughed, then added in a more serious tone:

«She said she was leaving today.» Didn’t she tell you anything?

— No. Strange.

— What’s strange? She only came to the funeral. And there is no point in staying here for a long time. She, you know, is from the city. Even more than you,» Tanya added and laughed again.

Roma was silent.

— Are you sad?

Roma suddenly realized that Tanya should not guess anything — it was Masha that one time, at Tanya’s house, who was the culprit of their pretense. He himself, even then, and even more so now, when it’s too late to pretend, believed that it was better to hide your love than to show it falsely. He waved his hand, as one does when one is deprived of some little thing, and only said:

— Thank you for warning me.

— Maybe you can drink some coffee? Just brewed it.

Roma knew that Tanya was offering coffee only because she knew that he would refuse it. He refused.

— Come in sometime.

«I’ll come in,» said Roma, knowing that it was unlikely.

He returned home with a pleasant feeling of certainty, which was still hampered by acute sadness. Does this night really mean nothing to her? Or does it mean so much that she decided to leave for the city just so as not to see him? Roma tried not to let the sadness on his face show itself, and he was lucky — he found Anya and Ian enthusiastically talking, and Anya, judging by the way she met him, did not notice that Roma was leaving somewhere. Roma was grateful to Ian, and the gratitude was sincere in the friendly smile addressed to him — no one would have been able to guess what was inside Roma. And inside Roma, in addition to his own sadness, there were thoughts about Yana. How will Ian react to her sudden departure? Roma decided, not least out of caution, that he would not be the one to break the news to him.

«You did great,» he said to Ian. — I owe you.

— Still, you came back later! — Ian laughed. Roma was frightened and thought that Ian somehow knew that he was at Masha’s, but Ian, mistaking his fear for misunderstanding, explained:

«We have already started talking about the manuscript…» And he explained again:

— Anya said that my poems are better than Zhenya’s. I don’t know Zhenya or his poems, but it’s nice that they are better! It’s probably wrong to think so — but it’s nice!

«Ah…» was all Roma said. He forgot that he wanted to see Zhenya — Masha pushed all politics out of her head.

— So where have you been?

Roma couldn’t figure out what to lie, and when answering, he knew that his words were unconvincing:

— I wanted to surprise Anya. It didn’t work out, I’ll have to do it another time.

Ian pretended or actually believed it, and Roma felt a little better.

Tanya, waiting for Roma to cross the bridge — the same one where Ian was jumping joyfully — put out her cigarette and returned to the house. She turned off the coffee pot and went to her bedroom. She took out from the bottom drawer, where she rarely looked, a lipstick that had once been given to her, which she had never used. The watch she bought on the Internet at a bargain price also caught her eye. Holding lipstick and watch in her hand, she realized that she needed to find something third. She loved the number three — not only because of the Trinity. She saw the mascara she had bought the day before yesterday, not yet used, and took that too. I found a gift bag left over from last New Year. I put everything there. She walked past the coffee pot and chuckled at him, as if he knew something extra. She left the house and went to Masha.

Grandmother Ektenya met her at the house.

— Hello! Tell me, has Masha already left?

— No! She sits there, draws her trees.

Tanya sat down and they chatted happily. Grandmother Ektenya once again noticed that Tanya was smart and got married on time. At this time, Masha was sitting in front of the TV and trying to draw a sketch of an oak tree (from some Soviet film) from a frozen picture. Hearing voices and deciding that it would be impolite not to go out and say hello, as she thought, to Aunt Klava, Masha went into the chapel and saw Tanya at the moment when she was receiving the above-mentioned compliment.

— Thank you, Grandma Ektin… Masha! Hello! — Tanya responded joyfully. — I’m just coming to you, I want to talk to you! Shall we go out into the yard?

«Okay,» said Masha. She still held the pencil in her hand, thinking that she would immediately return to drawing as soon as she said hello. But Tanya’s face told Masha that whatever it was that Tanya was going to tell her, it would be better for her now, Masha, to hear it.

«You can discuss men in front of me,» Grandma Ektenya said after him.

— Ho-ho-ho, Grandma Ektin! — Tanya remarked cheerfully.

As soon as they approached the veranda, Tanya said:

«Your great-grandmother is right — we’re talking about men.» About the man. Don’t look like that, Mash, I remember yesterday and I’m not going to get into your personal life. You could say I was dragged into your personal life.

Thinking about the worst, Masha pointed to a bench in the veranda.

— No, thank you, I’ll just tell you to go to me.

— Hand over?

And only now Masha saw something shiny in Tanya’s hand. Tanya handed the package to Masha, Masha looked into it and stared at Tanya in disbelief.

«This is from Roma,» Tanya explained. — He came to see me today. A couple of hours ago. He said that since you left, let me have it,» she nodded at the package. I wanted to say that I don’t know anything about your departure, I wanted to say that he could at least come here to check if you were here or really left, but I was confused by this package, and when I started talking, I looked — Roma has already left. I shouted to him, and he was not deaf, he heard, but he didn’t turn around on purpose. I don’t know his number. In general, I didn’t know what to do. I decided to come here. I ask your great-grandmother — are you here? She says here. I don’t know what to think, but for you, I see, this is news, right?

Masha put the package on the table. She didn’t know how to describe her emotions. This was something new. But she decided to play her previous game.

— News, and very strange. But tell Roma thank you as soon as you see him.

— Fine. — Tanya waited a couple of moments, and then turned around, preparing to leave.

— Tanya! — Masha suddenly blurted out.

As soon as Tanya’s face appeared in front of her, Masha tried to study every feature of her face, especially her eyes, believing that a lie, if there was one, would definitely somehow, even tinyly, blink in them. But the search was short — Masha remembered Ian, remembered how she considered him infallible, and realized that it was stupid to think so. She, Masha, was considered infallible by many, especially her mother, but she knows herself better!

«Thank you for bringing it,» she said to Tanya.

— My pleasure. Come over for coffee sometime.

«I’ll come,» Masha answered. And Tanya, smiling briefly at this word, left.

Masha took out a watch, lipstick and mascara from the bag, sat down at the table and began to look at the gifts. «What stupid gifts!» — Masha thought — «Is this really from Roma?» She bit her knuckles. She thought that she knew Roma little, knew Ian little, and even knew Tanya little. But why would Tanya lie? Even if she came up with all this, how will she justify herself if Masha meets Roma today? That’s what she decided! Will meet Roma today. And don’t care about Anya!

Masha looked angrily at her watch and stuck her pencil into the glass. The glass cracked. The pencil broke.

Getting up to go to Roma, she immediately changed her mind. She returned to the table and cried. Everything is simple, thought Masha, sobbing, everything is very simple. «Roma just didn’t want to see me, so he came up with a story for Tanya about my departure. And he brought his stupid gifts, which he probably didn’t buy, but stole from his Anya to ease his awkwardness. And awkwardness — yes, there was it, of course «Spending the night with me is awkward!» Masha emerged from under the elbows to catch her breath from crying and feel the tears running down her cheeks, no longer shaking her. «Everything passes. This too will pass. You just have to leave.»

She washed her face in the sink that stood in the yard, returned and told Grandma Ektenya that neither Tanya, nor Roma, nor anyone else had made a mistake, and she really had to leave today — to Bryansk, on artistic matters. Litanya grumbled for a long time about the fact that Masha did not warn her in advance, but Masha didn’t care. Having quickly looked around the room, she decided that there was no need to take clothes — she had plenty of her own in the city. Especially this blouse, in which… Masha tried to hold back her tears, at least until she said goodbye to her great-grandmother. She took a small purse, threw the bag of gifts into it with particular hatred, changed her clothes and left the house. Before this, she said goodbye to her great-grandmother somehow too cheerfully — she even promised that she would return soon. I went to the railway station. She decided to go through the vegetable gardens — so as not to pass by Tanya’s house, to deprive Tanya of even the chance to see her.

She did not lie when she told Ektenya that she would return soon. She returned very soon. On the same day. While waiting for the train, Masha looked for every reason not to think badly of Roma, blaming him on Tanya. But then she saw Roma and an unknown brunette — obviously Anya — walking towards the lake across the road. Roma had a blanket on his shoulder — to lie on the beach. «Together with her. Sunbathe while Uncle Vasya mows alone,» Masha thought angrily. She felt funny — though the laugh was to herself and nervous. «He will be nice to her — and I will go to my mother, burning with shame? He can calmly go to the beach, when half an hour earlier I was crying, as if… No, really!» Masha immediately went back the way. I was glad that I only took my purse. «As I knew!» I decided to use the gardens to get home again. Then she changed her mind: «Fake it again?» I went the usual way. I thought about Tanya. I decided that she didn’t lie. «She told me about her infidelities — why then lie to Roma, and even so stupid that I’m not here? If she benefits from this, then it’s small. But for Roma — ho-ho (she was angry with herself for Tanino’s „ho-ho“),»

Tanya was not on the porch, and she did not look out the windows — Masha was convinced of this by looking around the windows herself. But there was Ian. He walked in the direction of his grandmother’s house, dressed up and clearly upset. «Only he was missing,» thought Masha. Seeing her, Ian did not run up, he flew up to her, and Masha, almost seeing his heart beating, heard:

— Mashenka, dear, hello! They told me that you left, but, as I understand it, you changed your mind?

And he added more sadly:

— Or was it late for the train?

«No,» Masha answered supposedly carefree. «They called me from the art studio.» False alarm.

— Oh, I see, but I already…

— Did you give this? — Masha interrupted him and took out a gift bag from her bag. Ian looked at him suspiciously and replied:

— No Unfortunately.

— Did you tell Roma that I left?

— No, what are you talking about, I only found out from your grandmother, that is, great-grandfather… I…

Then he slapped his forehead and blurted out:

— This is from Roma! It’s just… He said that he wanted to surprise Anya, but apparently… let me see… apparently he decided that she wouldn’t like it all. So as not to waste, I decided to give it to you. Oh, and the clock is broken, now everything is clear…

«I broke my watch,» Masha smiled in disbelief and admiration. — Accidentally.

She couldn’t believe that Ian was really so naive. «And I still thought that he lied to Roma. Stupid! I was looking for under his infallibility what I had long ago found under my own.» She became infinitely touching about this Ian, with his ironed wings, perfectly ironed, like in a salon. She hugged and kissed him on the cheek, like an infinitely pure person, and Ian responded with a kiss on the lips, sure that he was kissing love that stopped thinking and realized that «me too» on the veranda are not hasty words.

A week later, Ian proposed to Masha. She said yes.

(1994) The Deadliest Pleasure01:04:48

01. Cold Hands 04:48

0

Before killing the Guardian, the Executioner, for the sake of decency, decides to stop by at work. He has a Home, he doesn’t need work at all, but the Dark Side, when he entered it, told him — mentally — that he still needed to go to work — for the sake of decency. His car is broken down and will probably be towed away by a kind tow truck, and, of course, he didn’t have time to buy a new car, so he goes to work on the subway, and he is unbearably ashamed of it. Apart from the method of arrival, there is nothing new aboutwaysthe King of Peaks does not go to work — he, as usual, enters the skyscraper, takes the elevator to the thirteenth floor, walks along the corridor, on the sides of which, in offices fenced with transparent glass, his unloved subordinates work and who look at him somehow strangely, with fearful interest or something, then approaches the secretary’s desk. The grinder, as she should be, is sitting at the table, but she looks more frightened than usual.

— Something happened? — the villain asks politely.

«The Sobrich brothers are dead,» the secretary answers. On her face there is fear, regret and some kind of powder, the cheapest. — And Thaddeus is also dead. Koji now, if not Mr. Tadeusz, will entrust us with such expensive orders?

Difficulties in the enterprise entrusted to him no longer worry the King of Spades, whose House is, although if he had heard such news on any other day, he would have fired a dozen innocent people out of anger.

«It doesn’t matter anymore,» the villain reassures the secretary. «There won’t be any more anti-advertising in the city, so you’ll manage somehow without me.»

— Without you??? — the Grinder is surprised. — So you already know everything?

— What do I know?

«Well…» The grinder hesitantly nods towards the door of the villain’s office, and at that moment two policemen open it. Open from the inside. They go out. One of them holds in his outstretched hand a certificate, a black and white photograph looking into the eyes of the Inquisitor, the other has his right hand on a holster with a pistol tucked into his belt, and crumpled paper is visible from under his left hand.

— Are you the head of the city design department? — asks the policeman with the ID.

The villain nods automatically.

— You are suspected of the murder of Ratko Sobrich…

— I didn’t kill him! — the villain laughs.

— Yes? — asks another policeman. — What does this mean then?

He lifts his right hand from his holster and uses both hands to straighten the crumpled note in front of the villain’s eyes. The villain immediately recognizes his own handwriting:

«I will kill you tonight»

And he takes advantage of the fact that none of the four police hands is on the holster. He runs away from them along the corridor.

— Stop! — they shout after him.

«Don’t think about stopping! Don’t you dare!» — the villain feverishly flies into the office, exposing the backs of his subordinates to a possible shot. — «But they won’t shoot! The law forbids them! Yes, get away from them, run away… It’s not my fault. I didn’t kill Ratko, and I didn’t kill Tadeusz, and I didn’t kill my wife either, even if they hang in my House, so what? The house can’t lie, or what?.. Don’t get in the way, otherwise I’ll fire you — but will I fire you?.. And how can they know what’s in it… What are you doing here, lazy people?… What if they can, because they want to hang Ratko on me… hang me — what an evil irony?!. Window, rather to the window!.. But no, they weren’t in my House, otherwise there would have been other corpses on I was hanged, and although the other corpses were also not my doing, it’s impossible to kill with a glance, what nonsense?! I killed the old man, yes, but if they found his corpse in the pond, would it matter to them, the policemen, on the orphans of this world? And if they arrest me, I have a House, in which I can hide anywhere on the planet… Window sill, yes, yes, be careful… Hands on the frame… yes, that’s it, well done.. You are a fearless stuntman, Ornyshev!.. If only there were no inscriptions in the House… You wouldn’t stumble, it’s somehow slippery. Oh, how high! If only I wouldn’t lose my temper, if only I wouldn’t lose my temper… Oh, they’re already running to the window, with pistols at the ready…»

— You won’t shoot! — the villain shouts. — You will be imprisoned if you kill me, and you know it!

He’s outside the window. The air here is cold. Cuts his back with knives, tears through his expensive jacket. He scratches the transparent wall with his fingers, presses his stomach against the smooth glass, the toes of his shoes are on the thin partition between the floors, the window to his right with every small step becomes further away from him, the faces of the police will stick out of it very soon. «Don’t lose your temper, don’t lose your temper… The police can’t shoot at me… They don’t have the right… Don’t look down, don’t look down… Why is this stupid dream here?..»

He remembers walking up a mountain in a dream and reading Kafka. Then he was not alone, but he was unsociable, and there was a backpack behind his back, but now there is some kind of heaviness there. He looks towards the window — there are no police faces yet — then turns back, as if in an effort to drive away this weight, and his eyes open to a panorama of the Stone City and the crowded street as part of it. The villain peers at tiny people and among hundreds of dots he distinguishes the Guardian. In close-up he sees his round face, the bald spot on top of his head and his endlessly kind eyes with wrinkles around them. The villain feels sorry for him, he even becomes touched, and the heaviness behind him is filled with something good. This weakness must be driven away from oneself — it must be empty, and in emptiness its most terrible strength. «Here are the faces of the police… I shouldn’t have lost my temper… Why did I delay moving? Did I want adrenaline?..»

— Goodbye! — the villain shouts not only to the police, but to everyone in this world.

«To the House, a cozy House, a Woman, a wife, Alice, a refrigerator, safety…»

He ends up in the House — with his feet in a trap with feces! In furious pain, he wants to jump to the side, but his neck, as if on purpose, falls into an empty noose hanging nearby. There’s no way to put your feet down, there are traps with feces everywhere! The noose is tightening. The last thing the villain sees is the empty loops next door.

1

— What are you doing? — a guy asked me.

At that time I was digging up a ring — and not a villain at all.

— I’m looking for a gift. For his wife.

— What do they bury for a gift? Ring, right?

Even a «shocking» man can be insightful, I was upset.

«It’s none of your business,» I answered rudely. — Go where you were going.

«Yes, I just asked… Ah…» the man waved his hand indifferently and went to the factory canteen, near the house opposite, where beer was served on Saturn’s non-working days. I, having taken out a bundle with a ring hidden in it, brushed all the stuck earth into the hole, sprinkled the hole itself, trampled it down properly, walked away and took a closer look — yes, no one would understand that someone was digging up something here. He put the ring in his pocket and sat on the bench, waiting for Vicky. There were no eternal money at the shops, thank God. I took out a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, looked at it as I did at Belchagin before the murder, but for much longer, for so long, without looking away, I looked only at Lisa and Vika, of course. I looked at the cigarette until I broke it in half. I felt good and bad at the same time, but still, there was a little more good in this feeling. He looked around in search of a trash can. There was no such thing, but this is not surprising. I threw half a cigarette towards the first floor balcony, in the company of yellow bulls.

The psychological games had barely ended when Vika came out of the entrance. She was wearing a blue dress. I, holding my hand in my pants pocket, moved the package with the ring into a half-empty pack of cigarettes by touch. It was not easy to do this, I regretted that I was not smart enough to do it before Vicki arrived, but in the end I did it, because it was necessary to do it — otherwise what if the ring accidentally caught her eye? She will also think that I am preparing to propose to her. I love Vika, there is no doubt, but there will be no proposals. Everything is like Lermontov’s — I’ll at least give her honor, but never freedom!

We kissed. Through the faceless houses and playgrounds with the occasional child, we, looking at us from the sky, seemed like a bright point in something dark and sticky. It wasn’t dark outside, it was still six in the evening, but I imagined everything around that wasn’t connected with Vika and other women as something disgusting, something that under no circumstances should get dirty with. Yes, I’m just young, you say, there can be nothing in my head other than this, but if it turns out that this can only happen in youth, then I declare that then I want to die young — young, at the age of sixty-nine. I remembered the graffiti in the toilet «Died at 69» and that’s why that age came to mind first. And so, it would be nice to live up to a hundred years in stupid youth.

— How is your French? — I asked Vicky.

I forgot to say, I have to add here out of place that Vika’s entrance exams were difficult because she didn’t want to go to a Russian university at all.

«C’est facile pour moi,» Vika answered boastfully, in contrast to my expectations.

— Nous allons faire quoi ce soir? — I asked, feeling that I had expressed myself incorrectly, but Vika did not correct me and answered:

— Et toi?.. uh… Moi, je voudrais aller à laaa… but to hell, I can’t! — She laughed. — Where will we go?

— We won’t go, but we’ll go. — I lowered my voice. — To a place where there is no place for fun. To the abode of darkness, which is called Darkovichi.

— Suddenly. What will we do there?

I didn’t think about that. For me, pour moi, just being with Vika was considered enough to never do anything, but I had to make a choice — I had to lead her somewhere. I remembered tomorrow’s date with Ilse, shameless through and through, I remembered that good Katya knows everything about the investigation, unlike the only Vika, and duty forced me to answer like this:

— I’ll tell you about the investigation I’m conducting.

— So, maybe you can tell me on the way to Darkovichi? — Vika answered carefree.

— No. «Like a pickpocket, I looked around. — We might be overheard.

Vika perceived my seriousness as some kind of comedy, which, however, was to my advantage. It is unlikely that Vika would have spared me the explanation if she had immediately understood that the investigation was connected with the activities of Lyandinis and, to some extent, with two school murders. And this is wonderful — I was much more pleased to talk with ma fille about our future, about our secrets for the whole world, while we were traveling on the bus to the monastery of not so darkness, which cannot be said about the school.

A line of trees ran across the spring field following the bus. I remembered my «Night Road» for Katya and compared it with the real «Evening Road» to the same place, but in the company of Vika. Now thoughts about the future were in a more impenetrable fog than then. I felt the severity of what was accomplished, as well as my love, as well as the need for it, much more acutely. I spoke to Vika, answered Vika and looked out the window. The sun chased the bus through the palisade of trees. So everything that I wouldn’t mind getting rid of completely is chasing me. But I was glad. Yes, I was happy about all this. The sharper the sensations, the more mysterious the future, the better, and God, if he is here, rewards me for everything I have done, and I thank him for that.

We ended up in Darkovichi faster than we wanted. For once we walked along dry ground deep into the monastery, and immediately Vika, barely seeing a house without a roof, enchanted, said:

— Do you know if anyone lives here?

— I.

«Wow…» Vika looked at me in a new way. — You said that you live in a dormitory.

— Both in the hostel and here. I owe you a lot of things, so I’m making amends.

Vika didn’t say anything, but I don’t need to say anything. I have long penetrated under her skin, into her soul, and now I can read her beautiful, but not always legible handwriting without asking. Now he was quite picky, so I realized that she saw something gothic in the house without a roof, and would not mind being there, and that she perceived my entire prelude with the investigation and the dark abode as nothing more than my desire to surprise her something new. But it’s okay, my dear, I will happily disappoint you.

— Is there no stove? — Vika asked as soon as I opened the creaky door for her. This question pierced me with such a pleasant needle that I almost rushed to kiss her — after all, I asked Katya the same thing when I first came here, and therefore, in Vika’s and my identical question, I saw the kinship of souls so sought by everyone.

— No. This is not my home. There would be a stove in my house.

— You’re lying! — Vika said maliciously, playfully.

— I’m lying — there wouldn’t be a stove in my house. Aren’t you hungry?

— No, I ate at home. — Vika sat down in the place where Katya usually sat. — Not your house, you say? Whose? What if we are here like thieves?

I sat down next to her, without even touching her shoulder, but pressing in, as if in this way truths from one body could pass into another, I removed from my eyes a certain pathos, which I even found innate, and tried to reconstruct all my subsequent words in the manner of Gogol’s beekeeper.

— Katya provided the house for me. She is my friend. She has nothing to do here, but I have something to do here. It’s impossible to find inspiration in the city, but here the pen itself walks in my hands, guides me, and not I it…

And so on. I told her in detail about my acquaintance with Katya, I even mentioned Masha, even for no apparent reason I decided to include Marina in the story, in general, I was self-destructively detailed. He kept silent only about the dancing and about Lyuda, and didn’t say anything about his promise to Marina to find her money; besides that, Vika, perhaps, heard everything she could. Even about my desire to meet Anya, the refusal of which turned into such a life-affirming acquaintance with her, fell into her ears. Vika listened to me attentively, sometimes it seemed to me that she knew what exactly I was hiding from her, but this can be attributed to my reverent observation of the features of her face. Well, if I put my unnecessary thoughts aside, the expression on her face was new, beautiful, but not understood by me. I just realized that she, of course, made conclusions, but of these conclusions I am destined to learn only a small part of them.

— What for? — Vika asked me when I mentioned my request to Katya to talk to Larisa.

It’s time to talk about the investigation. Investigation? Oh, if I only knew… With Vicky’s arrival in my life, the desire to get to the bottom of the truth changed its form, a sharp knife turned into a club. But big things need to be completed to the end, even if they don’t give up. Started — finished. A promise not kept even to oneself smacks of nonsense. And I can’t stand nonsense. From these honest, like everything else in me, words, I continued my story. I told him everything I know about Lyandinis and the coins, the childlike struggle with Alfeev at the helm, and so on. I included the corpses of Rory and Belchagin in my picture with large and in no way aesthetic strokes. To complicate matters, Vika heard the boldness that it was the future result of my search that was the reason for these murders, and not my desire to live. To simplify, I lied, but it’s correct, you can’t convince me, I’m right, because I can see better than from the outside. And if suddenly my rather long story can be summarized in one simple sentence, then this sentence will be as follows: I was frank with Vika until the very end in those places in which one can be frank with her until the very end. That is, in almost everyone, but this hidden «almost» carries within itself a Machiavellian strategy aimed at the benefit of the whole world. Oh, and yes, this «almost» also includes my reluctance to communicate with Ilse for the sake of investigation. I suddenly thought, I haven’t hidden a lot from Vika, I counted it on my fingers right in front of her — I wonder what she thought? — four fingers came out, and I was convinced that yes, a little. Ilse, Luda with dancing, money for Marina and blood on my hands. Everything is fine, I’m calm.

I finished and asked Vika to put the kettle on gas. I wanted to drink some tea. Vika fulfilled my instructions, sat down and reminded me of the portrait and this touched me to the point of madness. On her feet I saw the apple scent of her hands with their delicate peach skin. The legs themselves were brought together modestly, like the letter «L» — I vividly imagined that this was how her knees kissed each other. If I could see Vicky’s soul, I’m sure it would be no different from the blue dress with which she decided to pamper my heavy eyes. Great multitudes of poetic associations flared up in my head and randomly, violently, they all fought with each other and were destroyed in their natural desire to survive, that is, to fly from my lips in the form of words. That is why, after a vivid impression, the poet, as a rule, does not find words, using only their shadows. Now, after an ode to myself, a detective, I did not use anything, I silently and imperiously looked at Vika, hiding my natural defendant in the power of this gaze, reveled in the blissful emptiness of female beauty and expected a verdict from beauty.

«Yes, keep playing detective, it’s interesting,» Vika said calmly.

— You must understand that a real detective studies everything impartially, rejecting the sympathies of even the lady he loves.

— I understand. «Vika was looking for something in my eyes. When a woman studies me like this, I don’t see her as an ally, on the contrary.

«You are a seeker,» Vika said. It’s always nice to hear short, but so containing words… Oh, Vika, let me kiss you! But no, deal:

— Who do you want to be?

I trusted my intuition — the first thing that comes to mind will be the most correct.

— I want to be naive with teeth. «It probably sounded like someone who was tired of making jokes.»

— Explain. I can put anything into these words.

Only my blindness from the brilliance of the ideal did not allow me at the moment to discern in Vika a scabrous psychotherapist. She is a sensitive person, but anyone else who asked this question would have become my rapist.

— And a more detailed story can be given any interpretation you like. But I don’t know how to interpret myself correctly — a long answer will be tiresome, and a short answer will be deceitful. I can only say that in a person’s life there are only feelings, and supposedly logic and the like are used only as a language to justify them. That is, the root cause — feeling — is irrational. But for some reason the explanation of this feeling to oneself or to another must be rational. But from a scientific point of view, any reason is rational, even the craziest love. The reason for love is procreation and… you know me better, I won’t continue.

— Is music rational?

— Like notes in a certain order — yes, music is quite mathematics. But notes are not all its components. There is no single set of notes that contains the very ingredient that makes you enjoy music. But it seems to me that all good musicians are chasing after this ingredient. Good ones, I repeat, not those…

Here I interrupted myself, because there was no less hatred for some in my body than love for others. And in communicating with Vika, at least at this honey stage, I want to show only the half engaged in love. And hatred, ha! (here the little gray man in his head threw his hat on the ground with bravado) hatred can also be thrown out on others «around me,» preferably men, but not necessarily. Otherwise, I myself will feel sick from the cloying. I love sweet cakes, but I can’t eat them 24/7. And I think that there is nothing wrong with switching to a piece of meat with spices — it’s just that for my angel, while she is an angel, meat is contraindicated.

The little man had completely gone wild in his hatred, which is why I didn’t finish my sentence, or change the subject, or return to the original thesis about «naivety with teeth,» fortunately Vika, while I was silent, returned to him herself:

— Still, let’s talk about naivety. You consider it irrational in yourself, like the pleasure of music, right?

«Yes,» I said, not knowing the answer.

— But you love her, she makes you carry dreams through life, no matter how stupid they are?

«A dream is generally the most important thing in a person,» I said confidently.

— Yes… yes?.. well, yes… And naivety needs teeth so that she can protect herself. — Vika spread her hands to the sides, as if asking and saying that she had finished dissecting my judgment.

«No,» I decided to say. In general, I could agree with Vika, but, remembering my metaphor with meat, I decided not to please her ears, but to convey the essence of the meat metaphor in other words. «I don’t need teeth to protect my naivety.» And for attack when naivety becomes boring.

We fell silent. The handwriting in Vicki’s soul was readable, but I decided not to read it, but to finish thinking about what I wanted to think through. At this time the kettle boiled. I made myself some tea as I wanted, Vika some coffee, and then, by silent agreement, we left the house. The sun, sleepy, wanted to roll over the horizon, spreading pink across the sky. Dogs were barking in the distance. As I understand it, they were barking at drunks who had wandered into the territory entrusted to the dogs for protection.

— Woof woof woof? — asked one dog.

— Woof! Woof! — answered the other.

Everything (or all) of Darkovichi was (are) immersed in provincial melancholy. She was always here, of course, I even liked her, this melancholy, but today it was intensified either by the drunken rabble, or by the presence of Vika, in general, I was ashamed of the dirty ground on which my vigorous feet were trampling.

«I feel embarrassed because I feel ashamed of my own happiness,» Vika told me, echoing my thoughts.

I was indignant. Drunken voices with their tasteless obscenities fueled my indignation. My dragon of misanthropy breathed fire on Vika.

— Oh no, not about them! Even in poetry I carry all this hatred for people, for their unwillingness to live. I think — here I again remembered meat and sweets; and in general, I often attribute my feelings to the duality of the world — I don’t even think, but it’s true, Vika, I hate people! And this is necessary for balance. My love for you balances my hatred for the rest.

— It looks like… Lermontov. «In moments of thoughtfulness or doubt, Vika reminded me of Ilse, and then shame boiled in my blood.

— It seems, of course, but if we take it deeper, the idea of the duality of every element on earth takes its roots in the time of Lao Tzu, if not earlier. And returning to the people (in the word «people» I put the emphasis on «I») these people, their mass, not even individually, they are like Lao Tzu, but in a bad sense — they were also born old people, but not wise, but crazy. They are constantly sick and want to die as soon as possible, they like to hurt themselves with unloved activities, work, and when they do this, they often replace the word «hate» with the word «necessity». Probably this is an unconscious desire for one’s own death — to ruin oneself with something unloved. And tears during a funeral would be better off being joyful.

I remembered the «ceremonial cleaning», again I remembered Ilse, again the unpleasant boiling water burned me, and, defending myself from it, I thought about Lisa. Lisa-Ilse, the parallel is obvious. I looked at Vika, who remained cold to my cruelty. I asked myself — what is there in Vika that is not in Lisa? All the same. But suddenly, I thought, deciding at all costs to immediately get an answer to my question, what if I have some kind of rudiment that senses what the brain is not able to process? Well, scientists would find it, of course… And to hell with scientists, they don’t even know where consciousness comes from! I love Vika, I love her logically, and the nature of this logic lies not in the area of procreation — but in the area of something inhuman…

Anything higher is stupid.

Cute.

But right.

02. Touch♥ 04:48

— What are you thinking about, my misanthrope? — asked Vika.

On this question I thought about Belchagin and so on. About Lena, the messenger of trouble, with her «the investigators were looking for you.» They weren’t looking for me, you fool, but for a murderer! In this phrase I saw peace, I forgot about the shed blood, and I answered Vika on the topic, essentially: «Yes, often people are semi-sincere, but they are afraid to be completely sincere, they think that they will be considered sick.» But I was lucky — because I see the sun in all the names of me being sick!

He scratched his nose and added:

— Being sick for people means living. You should rejoice, dear, that you upset the unhappy world with happiness!

The drunken voices intensified, and in the pink languor of the sunset we saw three courageous silhouettes, brave, strong and stupid. One of the silhouettes threw an empty bottle at the concrete slab. It crashed, the dogs resumed barking, I even heard the dissatisfied whisper of water nearby — either a well, or a forest river.

— Shall we go feed the mosquitoes? — I suggested to Vika.

— In the forest? — she immediately realized.

I nodded. I realized that the mosquitoes somehow dampened Vika’s desire to escape into nature.

«I promise that I will kiss every mosquito pimple on your body.»

— Oh! — Vika sighed; With this sigh of the smart one over the stupid one, she hid her embarrassment. — Then let’s go.

And off we went.

2

In the evening Katya left for work — she is on the night shift today. She said she wouldn’t come tomorrow. I spent the rest of that day doing various nonsense, and, to my great displeasure, did not write a single line. It’s even embarrassing to describe that day.

But the day of Saturn, the day of our meeting with Vika, was much more promising in the morning. Sunlight undeservedly promised to be with us until September inclusive. Yes, I am convinced that the smoking chimneys of the factories, the yellow walls, similar to the Lefortovo walls, although I have not seen the Lefortovo walls, maybe they are not yellow, but this does not matter, it is important that I now associate the walls along the perimeter of the Bryansk factories with Lefortovo prison, in short, the walls and roads, which the Lilliputians would call the Grand Canyon universe, and the factories do not deserve the sun. Until people make the whole city pleasing to the eye, and not just the center, none of the Bryansk residents deserve the sun. Nobody. You’re freezing, gentlemen.

But the sun never listened to me — today it was bright, truly summer, all its winter pallor seemed to remain in April with its quickly melting snow. I arrived at Anya’s apartment. Why? I forgot Alfeev’s address. This time Anya looked well-groomed, prettier, and brighter in her face. Probably, the resentment towards Alfeev has become less (and God grant that it does not bother her at all) or she, like many, rejoiced at the coming summer. I asked her for the address from the doorway, she answered me, and then said:

— Ira is not here. Will you have some tea?

— I’ll have a drink.

Ira was not there, it’s true, but her husband, Adonaev, was there. I felt offended for my memory — after all, she missed the necessary address of Alfeev, and kept the unnecessary surname of the unnecessary husband, as if it was Vika’s birthday. Adonaev was snoring in the next room, and except, perhaps, for his snoring, he did not disturb Anya and me with anything else.

«He promised to come on Odin’s day and arrived two months later,» Anya said without reproach.

«One and a half,» I corrected. — Well, first of all, I’m a goat, like all men…

— I won’t argue.

— ...and secondly, I found the one I was always looking for, I began to study it, complement it, pick it, but I hope you are not interested in this…

— Don’t know.

— …what I mean is that because of Vicky, I forgot about my investigation, and now that she’s busy studying, I finally have time.

«It’s good that you forgot his address,» said Anya. — You are quite an interesting subject. It’s nice to talk to you. And he didn’t drag me into bed, which is also nice.

If it weren’t for Vika, then after such words I would have tried to drag her onto the sofa. There was only one bed (namely a bed, not a folding sofa) here and in Irina’s room, and even that was occupied by a snoring man. But there was also Vika, there was also Anya, smart and pleasant to the eye, and we began to talk about our hobbies. She told me about her favorite films and TV series, and I said that I don’t like TV series, and I love very few films, but I love «The Mole» by Jodorowsky very much, and so on. They moved from films to music, from music to books, and then it seemed appropriate to me to promise Anya to dedicate a poem to her, and I promised. Anya was delighted, poured me more tea with poppy seed buns, and at the end, when she saw me off, she even kissed my unshaven cheek with a wet kiss. Encouraged, I went to the Sovetsky district, to the house in which Alfeev lived.

Irina’s husband, by the way, was snoring all this time. A caustic thought flashed through my mind that under such circumstances it would be possible to come not to Anya, but to Irina herself — and there would be a sofa there…

What about Vika?

That’s the point, enslaving Vika…

I approached the desired house and began calling the intercom. Nobody answered me. I sat on the bench for about ten minutes. I called again. No answer. He sat down on the bench again and began to watch the young people entering the entrance. I sat until the grannies crawled into the yard, then I stood up and, standing, began to watch those entering and now, just in case, those leaving. Alfeev was not there. Anya described him to me — no, she didn’t describe him, she just said that he had a tattoo on his neck in her honor, that was enough. But in any case, there were very few young people, and those that were there were either without tattoos or, as luck would have it, wearing turtlenecks that hid their necks. The thought flashed through to approach them like a fool and ask: «Alfeev?», but I didn’t dare. I stayed at the desired entrance for a total of about an hour, and under the sidelong glances of the attendants, I decided to retreat. I thought that next time, when I come here, I would not be stupid, but brave, to ask strangers «Alfeev?», unless, of course, he does not answer the intercom.

Absent-minded, thinking about Vika’s and my foggy future and how gracefully she had shaken the mechanism of the habits of my previous life, I clumsily climbed onto the bus and scratched my palm on the retractable mechanism. It’s not deep, it doesn’t hurt too much, and the scratches are great. From enemies or from the woman you love, but not from some ridiculous door. I even got upset about it. I sat down in an empty seat, drove a couple of stops, and only then noticed that I had sat on «40» and not «240,» the required route. For the second time in two days, I thought self-ironically about our misunderstanding with public transport, I drove around the city and decided to get off at BSU. And I immediately realized that it was not in vain — right at the bus stop I saw Ilse. This happens… I decided that my mistake was not accidental, but meant something and led to something, so I went up to Ilza and bowed to her, like Bolkonsky to Natasha. She recoiled in fear, and then realized that in front of her, to quote Anya, was «an interesting subject,» and smiled.

— Hello? Did you find the time or…

«Or,» I confirmed. — How are you alive? Have you heard about the second murder?

— Oh, of course yes… My father is completely exhausted… The regional teachers’ council asks him to close the school. He responds by saying that there is no point, children must study somewhere. And… there are no… obstacles to closing the school… legally, so it works…

— Will you go on a date with me? Tomorrow?

Ilse blushed. I looked at her blush and thought about raspberry jam.

— You somehow… surprised me…

I myself was surprised at the suddenness of my proposal.

What about Vika?

«I wanted to talk to you,» I began to explain. — About you, about studying, I was expelled a year ago, and so…

I finished as if all of the above were a valid argument. And, apparently, it was, because Ilze, still crimson, asked:

— Okay?.. At the same time?

— Yes, and in the same place.

Ilse shook her head.

— Tomorrow is a sunny day, I’m not studying… Let’s go near my house?

It was then that a click sounded in my head, meaning that everything in my investigation was going as well as possible. Ilse told me her address, and I said:

«Wherever you want, I’ll come there.»

— And you… don’t have long to go? — Ilze asked, and for some reason I was sure that if it had been «long», she herself would have offered to come to me.

«Not for long,» I assured.

Ilse smiled shyly. The blush began to fade from her face, but this process was interrupted by a cry:

— What do you have?

— Where?.. — Ilse looked at my palm. — Oh, that’s… I got scratched on the bus…

As if she had heard «I had a fight with bandits,» she put her fingers to my scratch, and from this, in Ilse’s eyes, closeness, almost intimate, I felt so ashamed that I myself blushed.

— Are you sure you’ll come? — Ilse asked, removing her fingers.

— Yes exactly. «And he repeated her address to her.» — I do not forget.

Pleased with my embarrassment, Ilse thought that it was caused by her touch, and not by my thoughts. I felt like I was committing some kind of crime. Just don’t laugh, otherwise, I know, you’ll think that he has something to compare with! No. Killing Sasha Rory — Ilse’s brother, if you think about it! — and Belchagin, I understood that these were not crimes, but one, exactly one, good deed. Here my insides were divided into two parts — one speaks to Vika, assures her that Ilze is my friend, and the other speaks to Ilze herself, also assuring her that she is only a friend! Oh, it’s so cruel to use the girl’s timidity in attempts to find out anything incriminating about Lindyanis. But on the other hand, I thought, having already said goodbye to Ilse, her shyness, perhaps, will be the saving reason why she will accept me not for a long-awaited gentleman, but for a sexless friend. A sexless and disgusting friend, I still decided, and shuddered and, like an oasis for a wanderer in the desert, I thought about the consolation that I wanted to find in Vicky’s arms.

3

I went to Darkovichi by bus, got a little confused and got off later than necessary. All because of an advertisement for a dental clinic. These red letters, right on top of the window, blocked the view — in Bryansk they love advertising, it is everywhere here, and everywhere is inappropriate. I passed, as I later became convinced, only a stop. On the one hand, it was about ten minutes to think about something superfluous, I always liked not my thoughts, but the course of my thoughts, but on the other hand, these dry words of Lena about the investigators caused me vague anxiety, and an extra walk could prolong this anxiety. One way or another, in such cases I tried to replace this anxiety with thoughts about Vika. The anxiety itself did not disappear, but with real and fictional memories of the heroine of my novel, anxiety seemed to begin to adapt to my step, and not I to hers.

As soon as I saw the house without a roof, I immediately perked up — after all, I saw not only its ever-memorable frame, but also Katya’s green car. It’s good to come into the house not as a thief, but as a guest — and from the change in my role, I even began to walk more bounce than usual. Katya was beating out a carpet on the street — she hung it on a clothesline and beat it all over with this beater — is that what this carpet beating thing is called? I don’t know, in short, I didn’t even have to knock on doors, I stood next to Katya, morally encouraging her in this simple art of knocking out dust.

— Oh, hello, lieutenant! — she said. — Have not seen you for a long time. Why have you given up on investigating, huh? I was interested.

«Me too, but it’s not my fault: I fell head over heels in love with a girl.»

«Mmmm…» Katya probably looked at me appraisingly for the first time. — Congratulations. Will you invite me to the wedding? Or don’t you think so yet?

«I don’t know,» I answered. — Vika might get jealous.

Katya smiled knowingly. The rhythm of beating the carpet has not changed one iota. The dust, through the May, not yet summer freshness, floated ahead of us — I seriously saw in it a hint of my future. Katya was not serious about me. This is like another salvation for me.

— Why did you decide to come here?

— There is extra time. Vika takes her studies seriously, but I didn’t know where to find you.

Not knowing how to brighten up the previous clumsy phrase, I added:

— I’m resuming the investigation.

— Finally! — Katya said, as if this was all she expected from me. — And I sometimes go into your garage. Everyone asks about you as if we live together. — Katya looked at me thoughtfully. — You didn’t tell them about Lyuda and me?

— I rarely share my joys with anyone.

— You’re right. This means that Julia made up everything, and they believed her.

Some other life awoke like a shadow in my soul.

— How’s the group doing?

— Sings other people’s songs. Julia has a good voice, I must admit. She and Vitya are in a relationship, it seems…

— Give them my blessing. «I’m really glad that I predicted something more for Julia and Lev and at the same time avoided Julia’s revenge.

— Maybe you can come there yourself? Slava asks about you and sincerely admits that he can’t write poetry like you. I like it — it’s rare for men to say that other men are better than them at something.

«I’ll come in sometime,» I waved him off. I even thought what Vyacheslav Katya meant and it took me a while to realize that it was Ron, although in the past I would have figured it out faster. It would be necessary, of course, to participate in my own group, but Vika, with her appearance, plowed my whole life, made it more pleasant, but less meaningful. Even my best friend Ron began to operate in a fundamentally different coordinate system.

— Do you communicate with Larisa?

— Oh, I haven’t seen her for a long time. She moved to some village, she called from there happy, cheerful — even envious, to be honest.

— She didn’t get sick with anything? In March, to be more precise?

— Definitely not in March, otherwise I would know.

— It’s clear. She is Lindyanis’ accomplice. Otherwise, why would she lie about her illness? The teacher replacing her said that Larisa was sick, and said that she did not believe it herself.

Katya pointed at the door with the knocker, I entered and immediately sat down at the table. Katya put the beater behind the gas stove, put the kettle on the gas and sat next to me, pointing to the delicious chicken legs in the frying pan, the fat and tan tempting me to eat them. I took one and began to eat greedily — women like it when they eat their food, and I eat once a day and am always hungry. And Katya, to the sound of my creaking jaws, in long and vague phrases, expressed her doubts about Lyandinis’ connection with the fight.

— You know about another murder, right? — Katya then asked me. — A month and a half ago? They killed Lev’s son’s friend?

I nodded.

— Also not a schoolboy, but they killed him at school, in the same toilet and with the same knife, as criminologists say. Andre — for some reason they call him Andre, although he is Andrei and not French — a very pleasant investigator. I asked Laura about Lev, about… Belchagin, I think that was the name of the second murdered man? here, but neither Laura nor Lev could say anything sensible. The investigators, as I understand it, made a conclusion — they did not voice this conclusion to Lev, but told Laura. In short, they are sure that Belchagin and Sasha were in some kind of gang and that their comrade killed them.

— Haven’t you heard the surname «Alfeev» from Larisa’s lips?

— Mouth? — Katya smiled, considering this word old. — No, I haven’t heard anything about Alfeev…

I briefly recounted to her my conversation with Anya, and with Irina at the same time, and while I was talking, I couldn’t understand why I was telling Katya something that I didn’t even try to talk about with Vika. She, that is, Vika, of course, knows about the murders, makes her own guesses, but she still has not the slightest idea about the connection of these murders with the «circle», counterfeit coins and me. Yes, for now — I still intend to reveal all of myself to her, otherwise why would I love her all without a trace, but with only one half of me? Albeit kind, but only half?

«It’s a pity for the girl,» Katya said about Anya. -You didn’t talk to this Alfeev?

«I fell in love,» answered the defendant’s voice, reminding the prosecutor of a mitigating motive for the murder. «But I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.» I just need to stay with you for a while. To… — I hesitated — to bring my Vika here. I assure you that even a house without a roof is better than the shack in which I live. I alone don’t care where to live, but with her… — I shrugged. — Yes, and I can save your house from robbers and another ring, or rather a note about a ring…

— Oh, it was you who mentioned the ring well! — Katya instantly perked up. — I didn’t tell you right away… Klim brought the ring with the note — this is Lyudin’s husband. He apologized so much for the affair with Lidka. To buy it, he borrowed six thousand from Kuragin, even decided to take two from Rogozhin — Lyuda, good fellow, still gave him a knife fight.

— With knives?

— This is a figure of speech, poet, he should understand right away! — Katya explained with cheerful reproach. «And Klim, Clementy, as I sometimes call him, mocking the old-fashioned nature of his name, decided to hide the ring here, but did not have time to warn me about it. But the ring — Katya snapped her fingers — disappeared. I thought that these were the same robbers who stole the service.

Katya grinned deeply, like a bird, too subtle for her.

«Luda even thought it was you.»

— How could she think that? — I was indignant without shame.

«I thought I told you so.» She later became convinced that you had nothing to do with it.

— And how? — I asked in a voice that betrayed surprise that it wasn’t me.

— So Klim told her the story about the ring. Where did you hide it, why did you buy it, well, you understand. She, as she told me, laughing, wanted to beat him down and hug him — well, this is the best emotion for a woman to have for a man. Klim then explained to her that Rogozhin knew about the house in Darkovichi. It was he who stole the ring with the service — well, you understand, in retaliation for the unpaid debt. What a swindler, he gave two thousand and took away twenty thousand.

I, with relief, blessing Klim and all his mistresses, asked, as if the answer worried me:

— Did Rogozhin return the service? And the ring?

— The service — returned. Lyuda has it in the hallway. He denies that he didn’t take the ring, but Klim promised to poison investigators on him. It would be better if Andre… Ha ha, And’ge! — Katya mumbled. — He’s a good man.

— So, there is no need to guard your house now? — I asked upset.

— No. It’s unlikely that Klim still has the crazy Rogozhin who is ready to break into his grandfather’s house. Old pirate! He also has gout, you didn’t know… Ahhh! — Katya changed the topic when she saw my face. — Well, you press for pity, you scoundrel, like a kitten! I remember why you came here, Lieutenant, I don’t forget anything! Of course, of course, you can live with your missus, but know that I will come here, detective! And stay outside the city, I hate Bryansk so much — and now you’re here too, maybe you’ll investigate something. Do you promise that you won’t quit again?

I kissed Katya’s hand and said:

— I swear.

— Jester! And Luda will also drop by if she wins with her husband, remember that.

— Certainly.

— Stable! Should you get some cucumbers from the refrigerator?

I nodded — and at that time I was thinking about how to sell the stolen ring, worth eight thousand.

4

— Eight thousand minus payment for the room?

— Eight thousand.

— Minus payment for the room?

— Eight thousand.

— Minus the payment…

— Eight thousand.

— THREE FIVE HUNDRED! THREE FIVE HUNDRED! THREE FIVE HUNDRED!

Crystal Bridge. White arch. I represented the carriage there. Vika and I, I’m in black, and she’s in white and a hat with a soft brim. Like the figures on wedding cakes. I would bite off the white chocolate of her hat, swallow it, sweet, like Vika herself, like her words and heartbeat.

Knock-knock, knock-knock, knock-knock.

We are driving along the summer bridge, a white crystal arch, in the canopy of trees. I killed Belchagin. I kiss Vika, and reality distracts me, distracts me with numbers.

Ten.

Knock Knock.

03. Denial♥ 05:24

Billions. Billions of millions. Trillion. Billion, as the Anglicans say, the Anglo-Americans would be better off, and so on. Petrol and gasoline, but the essence is gasoline. Gas station. Bahnof Zoo — I’m ready, I’m ready for the laughing gas!

Knock-knock, knock-knock, knock-knock.

At any cost, I must achieve an audience with Larisa.

What about Vika?

My stupid but dear story about the lake, written before school, seemed to me a sign of my talent. I immediately wrote several poems and went crazy to fully understand who I was.

— Who are you? — Vika asked me. «Mother won’t be able to understand me.»

«A duck that hatched a swan’s egg,» I answered all the misunderstandings in one fell swoop. — I don’t remember exactly, but I came across a similar phrase from Green.

— He was a good man. Otherwise, he would not have created what he created.

— And only two can make a dream come true…

We told fortunes using the Book of Changes. She shouted to me dreamily:

— Have any of you had a mysterious stranger?

«I have it,» said Olya.

I thought to myself and my stranger, Alfeev. I never talked to him. And I decided not to speak for now.

«Sun, I don’t even know myself,» I once said to Vika.

— Do not you know?

— I’m an actor. — I shrugged.

I kissed your lips and broke your heart. You acted like the world had ended.

The conversations were long. One hundred and seventeen and I, but where is she, we, I, she, we were just going crazy, corny, I think, he’s just as handsome, so much has been thrown away.

I used it. I loved. But I did. I thought I loved you. I think I’m using it? Do I use her, Vika? A world of mutual use. Is life itself not self-interest, friends? A? Where am I asking all this? I’m drunk, I’m in a daze, my thoughts are sober, but they seem different. My self is aware of the deception of sensations and rejoices at it. Continue deceiving me, Vika.

Her name is Vika.

Vika absorbed the best that was in the previous girls.

— Yes, she has a chinchilla. Boy. It’s out there. — Vika blushed, but continued. Used my right hand. «You stroke her,» she began stroking the air, «then,» here,» her hand jumped, hitting an invisible tubercle, «and then,» she continued stroking the air, as before.

I smiled. She looked at me and smiled too. Her smile was much shyer than mine.

Olya, her friend, had the chinchilla. The little black one who was with her that day, at that hour.

In the very heart of Vicky, I saw a fluffy kitten etched in my memory because of Green. Tiny, red-haired, taken from the gray street, full of puddles and continuous rain, into the house, into comfort, to the home fire and the rhythmic beating of the heart. As if in earnest, you emerged from my rib in a dream.

It’s so dear to me, it’s like I’m kissing myself. Your dream come true. I am the winner who conquered that wonderful dream, and Vika is the beautiful stranger who was in that dream.

The rest of March and all of April were flawless. There were many women in my life, but there was no woman. Now the women have disappeared, and a Woman has appeared. I was happy for a long time and undeservedly, so in order not to annoy you with this, I decide to immediately skip to the first of May. Yes, the first of May, Odin’s day. That day I buried the ring at Vika’s house. The same one that was in Darkovichi, with a strange note on it.

The ring is gone. I buried him, but remembered exactly where. Just in case.

Now fast forward to the second of May.

Evening.

I spent the whole day with Vika. Then she shocked me with the news that she would see me less often. She has introductory ones. And she, if not for me, would have started preparing for them back in March. But now it’s criminal to delay.

«The less often, the sweeter,» I said, reassuring myself rather than her.

— We’ll see each other every other day, okay? In the evenings?

— Yes OK.

Some insignificant «introductions» brought me down to earth. And this seemed to be the beginning of the end. Black line. I came to my dorm, began to open my room, when suddenly Lena came out of hers.

«They came to see you today,» she said. — They were looking for you.

I froze, waiting for an explanation.

— They introduced themselves as investigators.

That’s all the explanation. Lena went to her room.

I also went to my place. I remembered the coins, Belchagin, Sasha Rory. The coins came to my mind earlier than the ones I killed. I don’t live here, I thought to myself, lying on the sofa, unable to sleep. I went to the site to smoke three times, and after the third I remembered that in April I finally quit smoking. I imagined myself as a snake. I imagined a snake biting its own tail. I remembered the buried ring. I remembered the Darkovichs. I remembered Katya. I haven’t seen her for a month and a half. Where can I find it? No addresses, no phone numbers. I remember how I destroyed Katya’s mirage, but now everything, time has again made Katya a mirage, and a faded one, not as majestic as it appeared to me in March. Where can I find her? I quickly got dressed and left the house. I went to the payphone, it took about three minutes to get there at my pace. Came. I called Ron’s home phone. He was the first of us to see Katya, maybe he has her contacts, although it’s unlikely, all this is empty… but the attempt is not torture.

— Hello? Ron? Can you hear me?

— Who… who is this? — asked a drunken voice. Not Ron, but his father, Bronislav Potemkin.

— Is Bronik at home? — I yelled into the phone. I believed that my scream would bring Ron’s dad out of oblivion, like a good bucket of water.

I even trembled with fright — I must have brought him out, I was delighted.

— Brroooon! Brroooon!!! — I heard the noise of a sea tractor. My scream compared to Potemkin’s scream is a prank, and that’s all. My nostrils very vividly imagined a powerful fume, as if they were shouting in my nose.

— BBRRROOOOOON!!!

«He’s gone,» Potemkin then said.

I hung up.

It’s decided. I will move to Darkovichi without warning. I can explain everything to Katya or Lyuda — the house needs to be protected from thieves, and all that. Katya told me about this back in March. So what if time has passed? And in May, they say, you can’t steal an oak bed? I even know where to sell it, and at a higher price, and since I know, then people worse than me definitely know. I walked to my home, inventing all sorts of, I hope, unnecessary excuses for Katya or Lyuda… the main thing is not for Lyuda’s husband, God forbid! I hate husbands, I hate all men, I only love myself. I remembered dancing with Katya and Luda, I remembered something else… But what about Vika?

But (here I smiled at my imaginary audience) I’m not going to Darkovichi to cheat. Moreover, I will see Vika once every two days, as agreed. She won’t even understand that I will live somewhere else. These thoughts calmed me down. I slept sweetly, and in this rapidly diminishing remainder of the May night I dreamed of Vika, our faceless but beautiful children, and the whole world at our feet.

5

God’s Day turned out to be empty. No school, no Katya, no Julia with the garage and Ron, no other joys. I spent the whole day writing creepy stories for a future collection. Its name is «Degradant», because in this name the whole essence of the past of me, I hope, of the past of me. I ate little, didn’t leave the room anywhere, well, except for hygienic places, wrote a couple of stories at a time and kept thinking — what’s the best thing to do with my existential novel? Should we name the main character Oleg Rivnik or leave him nameless? I couldn’t decide for sure yet, but in the draft version I left the hero nameless. But sometimes I think that this is inappropriate in this work.

About a couple of stories. The first is called this — «the adventures of a brave soldier of wars with public opinion, his own prejudices and the lustful nature of a meaningless existence with its endless desire for self-destruction and violence against the innocent, who have already truly become guilty.» The second, about Raskolnikov, is called «The Husband in Modern Clothes.» After these torments, in a fit of new insight, looking at night, for no apparent reason, I dedicated a poem to Lena, a neighbor. This is Elena, truly the woman whom I want to forever keep as my mirage!

But then it was dimanche, and today it is lundi, as they say. I’m going to visit the school. To talk with Belchagin.

Perhaps you have a question — why, having learned Alfeev’s address, I did not go to him. If I were asked such a question, I would answer this way: you need to resolve all your issues gradually, first assigning the necessary priority to everyone. Alfeev and Lyandinis with coins, wrestling and children in one direction, the lost pistol in the other. And the pistol, nevertheless, ranks first on the list of my problems — more precisely, it took it as soon as I saw, or it seemed to me, if you like, that Belchagin had a pistol. I don’t know where Belchagin lives, and if I knew, I wouldn’t go to him, because I’m convinced that you need to meet the enemy on neutral territory — and this is a school.

And for greater secrecy, I went there not on a school bus, but on a regular one.

I sat down, as usual, at the stern, if you include a sailor, and a suspiciously familiar girl, similar to Marina, sat down next to me. Red-haired, in a simple jacket and a gray hat with a bell like a star on a New Year’s tree. The hat, of course, was unable to hide the length of her hair — it fell down and barely touched her shoulders. I looked at her occasionally, and when I didn’t look, I pretended to be arrogant, like, I don’t care who you are, woman, although, most likely, she didn’t care who I was. I liked her, but then I saw the disapproving look of some old woman sitting facing me. I don’t rule out that this is my usual paranoia — before important things, I always invent something that doesn’t exist. I understand the whole nature of inflating fears and I still inflate them. It’s likely that grandma doesn’t care about me either. Okay, to hell with it, I need to think about something pleasant, and I began to think about the understatement of those I liked on the bus. Stupid sinking of the heart and the same stupid joy. She will get off at the stop first, or I will get off first, it doesn’t matter — we won’t see each other again. And, it would seem, what could be easier — to start acquaintance? Start in a non-trivial way, and it’s done. But no, even arrogant men rarely do this. And I, moreover, refused the pleasant communication of Anya, which means that for my refusal to have at least some importance, I must also refuse the potentially pleasant communication with my red-haired neighbor. Yes, I will do that. Or rather, it’s not me — the Lord controls me. I am just a tool in his hands. It’s nice to feel like you’re an instrument of God — after all, if you’re an instrument of God, it cannot be unimportant. I peered into the reflection of the sun on the side windows of the bus; the silent beauty of my neighbor glowed with it. Is this really Marina? Then she would have said hello, after all, we hugged near the railway. I promised to help her, but I couldn’t help her. Okay, more to come. I am sure that the opportunity to help her will come to me — after all, Life always reminds us of unfulfilled debts. Belchagin suddenly inserted himself into these thoughts, one way or another connected with women, with my pistol. This is not surprising, because he, Belchagin, is, as it were, vital today. What did I think about him?..

Something thundered outside the window. A minibus caught fire. Naturally, the heads of passengers of all vehicles and the heads of pedestrians of all suffering Bezhitsa roads turned to the fire — just like troglodytes to the primeval fire. I wanted to pointedly not look at the fire and at the same time I was afraid to look at my neighbor. And then, realizing my feelings, I received a heavy blow to the back of the head from someone above, as if saying: they say, what are you, a poet, really? And, having obeyed, I looked at the beauty — and it was not her. Not Marina. And for some reason I was disappointed. I understood why I didn’t want to watch. Because I was afraid to see someone other than Marina. Well, I didn’t see it. Turning away from the red hair to the fire outside the window, making it clear with all my appearance that I was not just another onlooker, all your explosions were boring to me and the like, I suddenly realized that somewhere I had already seen this girl. At school or most likely at the cinema last week. The stranger’s name, vague, only the last letters «a» or «ia» were visible, stood next to Lisa’s name, and it was not I who put this name there.

The burning minibus was left behind. Only black smoke, heavy and not at all feminine, reached our windows. But he fell behind us, leaving behind only the unpleasant smell of burnt food, but this smell was also destined to leave us. If a shadow or any part of a stranger caught my eye, I tried to silently tell her:

— It caught fire, so what next? It might not have caught fire. You too might not have been born. Appeared. It caught fire.

And here is the school. I liked that I got off with a stranger at the same stop. This impressed me so much that only this power of feeling made me understand how stupid everything was — after all, we went our separate ways, each on our own path. She went to see her friend, who was waiting for her under the blue visor of the bus stop. I went to the pedestrian, cross the road and to the fence near which the cars were parked. I saw Kar Belchagin immediately. Again he placed it near Steiniček’s car. On the part of Belchagin, for whom external wealth was something worthy of respect, it was masochism to park his dirty jalopy next to an expensive car. It was far from snowing like March. There was a rather biting wind. A thin layer of snow along the horizon separated the roof of the Zhiguli from the white and impassive sky. I brazenly leaned my elbows on the car — there was no talk of any alarm — and lit a cigarette. I tried to see the blue bus stop over the school fence, and underneath it the stranger and her friend, but I didn’t see any of them. Then he turned to the right and began to look at the red windows of the first floor with the same look with which the nobles challenged other nobles to a duel, but then he remembered that the windows of the eighth office faced the other side. I didn’t know how long I would have to wait, so I got ready to meditate. To dissolve in my trance the future symptoms of standing for a long time and the winter cold that strives to make love to my body, penetrating it under my autumn leather jacket without difficulty or shyness. But the Lord deprived me of this pleasure and displeasure — the snow crunched nearby, and I saw a plump black figure approaching mine like a bear. I felt that it was Belchagin, then rationally I saw that it was him, and then I heard:

— Snislaich said that you were ordered to come here.

— I’m not coming to him, but to you.

Belchagin looked at me cautiously and defiantly at the same time, as if his slow-witted gut felt that I had killed Rory.

— Well, come on, tell me, why are you here?

I tried to see the pistol in Belchagin’s belt, but I didn’t see it or anything shiny.

«And this, away from my car,» Belchagin added, both angry and embarrassed.

I obeyed and remarked out loud:

— You’re kind of unfriendly.

— Yeah, you’ll be friendly! — Belchagin laughed with the laughter of an enemy under fire. — You cut Sasha. Right in the school toilet! Will you order me to be nice to you?

«It wasn’t me,» I said sincerely. — But I know who.

Belchagin did not believe it.

«Dad dad stabbed him?» Snislaich? Well, you’re an oak tree! Just like the Sledaki.

«The investigators don’t know anything,» I said, «otherwise Lindyanis would have been imprisoned.» But I know more, and I can tell him, and you too, if you want.

— And who? — Belchagin asked incredulously, but not categorically.

— Grisha, this is not why I came to hug your car! I want to ask something, you know? At your place!

— Well, ask then!

— Do you have any weapons with you?

— Why do you need it?

Then he cried out dramatically:

— YOU?!!

I groaned in annoyance.

«I didn’t kill you, fool, relax.» In short, Grisha, I had a pistol, but it was stolen. And there was no one to steal except you. Give me the gun, and I’ll tell you, and even Lyandinis, if he hasn’t left, who killed Sasha, and how I know all this.

— What do you think I killed, or what?

I lost it.

— Yes, they stabbed Sasha, you understand, they stabbed him with a knife! And not with my pistol, they don’t cut people with a pistol, but shoot at them…

— I’m not stupid, don’t chew it…

«How else can I explain to you that the theft of a pistol and this damn murder are not connected with each other?!»

«I don’t know whether they are connected or not,» Belchagin began unexpectedly calmly, «but I know that it wasn’t me who stole your baked goods.» Why did I give up yours when I have mine?

He pulled down the top of his jacket, and behind his belt I saw the handle of a pistol. I looked around — I didn’t notice any strangers on the school grounds.

«Let me see,» I asked.

Belchagin himself looked around, more attentively and more predatorily, and then thrust the weapon into my hand. I love weapons, they’re not machines, they’re really a man’s thing. And, I hope, you can imagine my surprise and disappointment in my own intuition, and the feeling of being hopelessly stupid when you find out that Belchagin’s man’s thing turned out to be anyone and everyone’s, but not my pistol. I froze, amazed. As if frozen from cold. And Belchagin, taking advantage of my stupid appearance, snatched the pistol from me, as if from the hands of a wax statue, and put it back in my belt.

— Are you sure? — Belchagin asked coldly.

«I’m sure,» I answered stupidly.

«Now tell us what you know about the murder, otherwise we’ll hand you over to the investigators!»

— And how?

— I know where you live, donkey!

«Well, yes…» I agreed detachedly. I looked at the red pipes behind the fence in the snow ripples and realized that as much as the red color can be beautiful, it can also be disgusting.

— Is Lindyanis at school? — I asked Belchagin.

— Where else could he be?

«Let’s go to him, I’ll tell you everything, and first of all, I’ll tell him everything.» Who else is there besides him?

«All of us,» Belchagin answered, deliberately keeping me in the dark.

«What to do? What to do? What to do?»

I pointed at the school as if inviting:

— Forward?

«Go ahead,» Belchagin grinned. «But keep in mind, buddy, I have a gun, and you blew yours.»

I ignored Belchagin’s verbal attack.

We entered the school. Belchagin told the guard the password and added «again» to the password, and then I, as if remembering some kind of loss, again, in my case, quietly said to Belchagin:

— I need to go to the toilet.

There was only one men’s toilet at the school — the same one on the second floor. And therefore, Belchagin seemed to smell of evil mysticism, I directly felt it in Belchagin’s voice when he said:

— Well, let’s go.

Our shared otherworldly feeling of not being trusted followed us into the toilet. This feeling, intuition or something else, in general, no matter what word this feeling is called, it is unlikely that this word will be able to convey to the reader the tension, rather vile, with sweet notes in it, if you look for these notes, of course, and with a cloud around this state that makes everything unreal. I suddenly got goosebumps, although it wasn’t cold, I would even compare it all to love, but instead of the excitement that makes you fully alive, I felt some kind of disgust. We reached the toilet. Belchagin stood behind me like a warden, but I was physically tormented by his gaze at the back of my head, as if he were a voyeur. I tried to let Belchagin understand that I wasn’t lying, and I really needed to go to the toilet, but my body decided not to support the deception.

«I can’t when they’re watching,» I said.

In the squares of tiles near the barrel I saw the vague outlines of Belchagin turning away from me.

An uncomfortable minute passed in anticipation of the impossible. I gave up.

— It’s not meant to be.

I saw that Belchagin grabbed the handle of the pistol — rather not like a man in his conscious insight, but like a cat extending its claws. I had to put my hand in my pocket.

— Well, shall we go? — Belchagin asked calmly, but this calmness made me understand everything.

— Yes… But just one question… — I took my hand out of my pocket and scratched my nose. — Tell me, Grisha, why did Lev Stanislavich kick me out?

Belchagin answered, and I stabbed him.

Stabbed. And then it was Monday, and today. Lunar day maniac.

Forgiving enemies is a strange bad manners…

Jesus’ line about the right cheek may have been ironic.

I’ve never jumped with a parachute. But I heard from different people, and from those who have not jumped, like me, that the second jump is always worse than the first. I can’t say anything about parachutes, but I can say about murders. Yes, it’s worse to kill the second time. Perhaps this is just my experience, but I ask you to trust me completely and not test it in practice to understand whether I’m lying or not. I’m not lying. Killing someone is quite difficult. Maybe I feel this way because I’m not a killer, I don’t know. Or the circumstances for the murder, frankly speaking, do not justify me — I did not defend myself from either Sasha or Belchagin, who were trying to kill me. No. I just killed each of them for giving the same answer to my same question. But today, thank God, I didn’t get dirty — I tried to let the blood flow straight into the toilet, and not onto my essence. My essence will come to terms with it, but I don’t want to wash my jacket again, especially since it’s my favorite leather jacket. I washed off what I could, immediately opened the window, stood on the windowsill like a proprietor and looked down. It’s so good that the snowdrifts are rising under me — Nature is helping me. It makes, despite the middle of March, a convenience, albeit small. I jumped down and again did not feel in my legs a drop of that vertical and ringing echo that comes from the ground when you jump from any heights. He cleaned his dagger from the blood of the enemy in the snow mound and quickly began to walk around the school. And I don’t know why, but I was stupid, I was very close to the windows while I was walking around the red school building. It was the devil who pulled me, not God. And the same devil reminded me of my stupidity and made me look with fear at the window closest to me, which, unfortunately, turned out to be the window of the eighth office, precisely the eighth, because even through the falling snow and sweaty windows I saw the face of Lev Liandinis.

I moved away from the windows and quickened my pace. I didn’t start running because I stupidly considered my running to be cowardice. I didn’t hear Lindinis calling me, I didn’t hear anything except the March snow, I just walked and thought, I was sure that Lyandinis was shouting after me. It seemed to me that the whole world, every detail of it, was imbued with the consciousness of what I had done, and was cursing me for it. I tried in vain to calm myself down, saying to myself that everything was right, but what was my consciousness in comparison with the consciousness of the world?

04. Untitled #1 {۞} 08:23

A speck of dust that is only important to me. I didn’t turn around, I was afraid of anyone I met. But fortunately, there was no one ahead. Even the grandmother that usually happens. I thought that in this way God was sparing my nerves, and I felt a little better. And this was just enough for me to turn around and look back, and I saw three people. I saw Krivko-Gaponov immediately, he was in the center, next to him was someone similar to Skopin, my classmate, perhaps Skopin himself, but I’m not sure. The third one had no one to compare with, and there was no need to, his face — rude and southern and unpleasant — was etched into my memory as a special, one-of-a-kind picture. An exhibit of the Kunstkamera, the devil whispered to me disdainfully, and I smiled — why am I really worried, what if the trio isn’t following me? I left the school grounds and finally had the opportunity to check my suspicions. I went down to the dorms, looked back — the gang was following me. She didn’t rush, didn’t call out, but didn’t lag behind either. I made an unnecessary turn to the left — it’s unlikely that the trio needs to repeat my ridiculous detour if she’s just going to obscurantize the punks with obscurantism, and not after me, but she repeated my trick. And then I became scared, I squeezed a knife in my pocket, tore it through the pocket in my jacket, my sweater, and then my skin felt a sharp pain. It’s not a dream. They’re coming for me. I don’t have a gun. Belchagin had it, which means Gaponov and the others also have it (they!). I took a shaky breath. I felt like just a reptilian spasm. A snake that the Magi are chasing to see if it has poison.

The milky snow crunched underfoot like bones. I saw on its surface a huge head of a garbage cat. No, I took a closer look, it was a red kitten, a cute tramp, whole, and not a separate head. Enough, I told my conscience. Enough! I couldn’t kill good people. Those two were really bad. I don’t want to justify myself to the readers once again. Yes, to hell with my conscience, my main task is to escape persecution, and not to pretend to be Raskolnikov.

Forgiving enemies is a strange bad manners…

This is neither strength nor weakness.

Walk in blood through the consciences of the damned in unison,

Having hated the righteous joy…

6

On the days of Saturn, Julia and I went to the cinema or even to hot spots, but on this day of Saturn, for obvious reasons, I was deprived of such pleasures. Often, Julia and I didn’t go anywhere, but sang old funny songs in the garage to the accompaniment of Ron’s bass guitar. Sometimes she knocked on the plate, trying to play along with Left and looking at him too deeply, well, not as a philosopher, of course, but as a woman wanting to understand the complex and metallic structure of a man. What if Yulechka, after breaking up with me, gets together with Lev? It would be very good — I don’t want her to suffer. I admit, I sometimes liked to mock her — like an evil hunter, I mocked her like the corpse of a shot deer. Although if I had not realized that my cold-blooded mockery for Julia was much more expressive than any tenderness, I would have treated her like a little girl and would always have fed her pink cotton candy. While I was walking to Lesoparkovaya — Irina and Anya, who I need today, rent an apartment there — I asked myself: how will our separation with Julia affect the embryo of the group? Abortion? Or a full-fledged pregnancy complicated by late labor? I didn’t care about this, but rather was interested — such was my nature as an experimenter. Will we have to look for a replacement for Julia — there must be a woman in our group, for aesthetic and even commercial reasons — or will Julia bear my blow wisely, without carrying out her promised revenge? I really wanted Julia to just replace me with Left and treat me like Ron — then I would have a chance to hear her perform the first verse of my very first song again:

I don’t see any light.

My thoughts are sad.

Summer would come

I’d start all over again.

But winter or summer

Doesn’t matter.

We’re moving forward

And this is our decision.

Or the last verse — symbolic, given Julia’s and my capitulation:

I don’t see any light.

My thoughts are sad.

My evil secrets

On the blood initially.

But now there are no secrets

Life is getting worse.

You are gone, I am alone.

Nobody needs me.

God grant that it is not prophetic.

I liked the way she sang «rhymes from fifteen-year-old me» from the perspective of a man. You can sing about your sorrows in rhymes, and if you don’t want anyone to guess that your sorrows are yours, then you can simply brush them off, saying that I am a woman, and the experiences in this song are masculine (boyish) and to me, a strong woman, they are not characteristic. And to finally convince everyone, you, Julia, point to me, standing to the side, and say:

— All complaints are against him. These are his tears.

I’ll lie and say that yes, they are mine, and I won’t be offended by Julia. She and I will continue to sing together, and for her voice I will write much better poems than these.

I really like your voice, Julia…

But lyrics aside. Lindyanis, struggle, children and coins.

I went into the right entrance and began to look for the twenty-ninth apartment. She was on the fifth floor. Opposite the desired door there was a staircase leading to the roof — I always felt the desire to climb such stairs to the roof, walk to the very edge and freeze over the pale Bryansk panorama. But I’m already an adult, and now it’s not respectable to indulge my desires as in childhood, although the desires, in essence, remain the same.

I rang the doorbell. A sleepy, brunette, with a long bob and pink slippers, appeared on the threshold. She was not surprised at my arrival, as if she had been waiting for me, but she did not preen herself at all — and Irina probably told her that the purpose of my visit was romantic. She, that is, Anya, seemed to be saying with her unkempt appearance: they say, if you want to get to know me, then know right away that I am like this, and I don’t want to be anything else. But untidiness suited her, it doesn’t suit all women, but it’s just right for Anya.

«Good morning,» I said to her toes. The index finger was slightly longer than the thumb, but Anya’s languid, sleepy face had already neutralized this point of mine in advance.

— Kind. — Anya suppressed a yawn. She reminded me of Ron’s dad when he was hungover, but I could swear Anya didn’t drink yesterday. I have an eye for this.

«Ira said you would come,» said Anya.

And, thinking about it, she added:

«No one has ever met me like that before.»

She looked me up and down, not arrogantly, but even timidly, so that I wouldn’t think that she was primitively assessing the male, and asked:

— Are you sure you’re not a maniac?

— No. I’m only a maniac for even numbers.

She thought again and said humbly:

— Today is the sixteenth.

I spread my arms to the sides.

— Well… Not fate. Nothing personal.

Instead of smiling, Anya nodded contentedly:

— Okay, come in.

I walked in, took off my shoes, hung my jacket on the only free hook and followed Anya into the kitchen. Anya opened the window and lit a cigarette.

— Sit down. «She pointed to the stool. — You can light a cigarette if you smoke.

I rarely smoked and didn’t want to now, so I just sat on the stool. Two shelves hung above the gas stove. One, without a door, was half empty, but in the other, with a translucent door, I saw a bunch of plates, pots, pans and even a juicer. I realized that the first floor belonged to Anya, and the second to Irina. I wanted to ask something harmless about Irina’s absence, but Anya beat me to it:

«Ira and her husband went to Kletnya. It was the first time they had the same weekend.

— Irina from Kletnya?

— No, from Trubchevsk. Her husband is from Kletnya.

— Yes.

I wanted to get straight to the point, but here’s the thing: Anya was curious.

— Tell us about yourself, who you are, why you are here, and so on.

Hoping, but little believing, that Anya’s curiosity was connected with a lack of insight, I briefly told about myself and at the same time said that Irina told me something about you, Anna, but at the same time she behaved not like a talker, but like a woman who respects the secrets entrusted to her by her friend. My story probably took about two minutes.

Anya, shaking the ashes into a mug with an erased drawing of a dragon, looked at me like a poetess dismembering me into rhymes for the next poem. She either didn’t care that her story with Alfeev was known by a guy who didn’t know her, or her attitude towards this was skillfully hidden in her heart, I can’t say. But in any case, Anya had already managed to impress me as a smart girl who didn’t give a damn about talking about herself. I finished and began to wait for Anya to dump on me everything that she wanted to dump on me. I needed that before my questions Anya could learn everything and even more from me, so that she would then, feeling obligated, answer my questions, and so that, of course, she would have something interesting to answer. I secretly, protected by the table, looked at Anya’s good thighs in old and therefore homemade jeans, while I listened to Anya and periodically inserted banal remarks into her monologue.

Anya talked more about Irina. I would call it friendly revenge. I learned a lot of things about Irina — I had no plans for Irina, and I definitely didn’t need such things. I found out that her husband’s last name was Adonaev before I learned that Irina’s last name was Lipina, and Anya presented this information as if these last names alone said everything about the character of people (sic No. 1!).

«Irina Lipina,» said Anya. — I love such combinations. You don’t even need to invent a nickname. Even without him, the parents did a good job.

I understood why she was talking about Irina. She was simply our common theme. A bridge between us. I was embarrassed to say that if Anya is interested in art or war, the stars above her head or the contradictions of the world in a person’s head, the joy of living in a terrible place or overcoming the fear of seeming misunderstood, then there are many more such bridges, much more important, interesting and less vulgar, between us more. Just by her poet’s face, I understood that some of the above was definitely on Anya’s mind, but I didn’t take a step towards an interesting conversation. Why? I didn’t come to meet her, but for work, to build a case according to Lyandinis, so to speak, and questions about stars or poetry may seem intimate to good people, and they may ultimately be offended when they realize that these questions were asked not for anything more, but just for idle interest.

«Ira and I walked along Novosovetskaya, took a walk,» Anya said at that time. — We went to the store to buy food. She, a clever girl, fed me then, I had no money then, thank her very much, she was not at all obliged to do this. So, at the turn to Pochtovaya we saw a group of gypsies. The horse was nowhere to be found, only the cart, which was broken along the way. The cart was dirty, you know, an ordinary gypsy cart. And there were about twenty gypsies, like in a Russian nightmare, and most of them were gypsies. This is the only time I’ve seen so many of them in one place, and you?

«I haven’t seen more than four at a time,» I answered without thinking, «And let’s face it, I’m not gray-haired yet.»

She, deciding whether she should smoke more or had enough for now, began to peer into my hair, as if looking for at least a hair for further and already funny calling «you», and, it seemed, she didn’t find it, since she said:

— On you, so on you, come on. And in general, Ira, a kind soul, not only fed me, but also wanted to feed these gypsies. I wanted to give them five loaves of bread and two fish, pollock, I think — then we bought for the future. In short, I barely talked her out of it.

I remembered «Big Snatch» and asked:

— Do you hate gypsies?

— Why? In beautiful clothes, with guitars, like in that film by Ryazanov, what about it…

— «Cruel romance».

— … yes, he is — I treat such gypsies normally, even with interest. And these grimy, beggars, thieves… oh, how can I say… I don’t even like cockroaches, everyone hates cockroaches, but it’s not their fault that they were born cockroaches… All this is difficult.

«A very interesting girl,» I thought at that time. — «Shouldn’t I get to know her better?»

I weighed the pros and cons for quite some time, but in the end I decided to say:

— My Lisa is just like Irina. She is also the mother of all the animals and kittens, all the humiliated and insulted.

— Your Lisa? — Anya asked with an inscrutable face and lit a cigarette.

— Yes… And, Anechka, just don’t laugh, I’m like a real detective — I investigate impartially, I even throw aside the sympathies of the ladies I’m interested in. I came to you as a different person.

— Alfeev? — Anya guessed.

— Yes… but rather Lindyanis. What else do you know about his children’s sect? Apart from what you already told Irina?

— Why do you need to play detective? — asked Anya. Curiosity made her face childishly intelligent.

— Did Irina tell you about the murder at school?

— Still would! Yes, there’s no need to talk about it, it’s on the radio and on TV, and they talk about it at every turn!

Honestly, I didn’t know about this, I didn’t have a TV or radio, but there’s nothing to be surprised by the conversations. Murder is always interesting. And Bryansk, not spoiled by mysterious killings, is doubly interesting.

— So, since you know about the murder, it means you know that they killed Sasha Rory — and this is Lyandinis’ son. His murder is a strange thing. His dad’s incomprehensible sect is also a strange thing. And it seems to me that these strange things go back to one thing, and I really want to understand why.

«The main thing is, don’t push yourself,» Anya advised me with unobtrusive concern that was pleasant to my ear.

— Thank you. I’m always careful. — Having said this, I thought about Belchagin. I had no doubt that it was he who stole my gun. But how?

He’ll tell me how.

— Since you want to cleanse the city of criminals, I can give you a fly swatter. — Anya pointed to the kitchen table, behind which the fly swatter, invisible to my eye, was probably hiding. — You will be Spider-Man with a fly swatter. «She said this and laughed, like an off-screen laugh, like, this is where you should laugh, and not somewhere else.» I remembered my quarrel with Julia over a mole and, in addition to it, Ron Plotnikov, my faithful friend — such absurd things were quite in his style. I smiled, rather, not at Anya, but at something of my own.

— What did Ira tell you about Alfeev and the sect? — she asked sympathetically, as if encouraged by me.

I briefly told her everything I remembered from Irina’s story. I’m sure I didn’t tell everything, I definitely forgot something.

— Well, sir. — Anya put her elbows on the table and her head in her palms. — Alfeev betrayed me, it’s true. He did some fraud with documents. To be honest, I couldn’t even think that he was so smart and so cold-blooded! According to the documents, he turned out to be the only one registered in the apartment of our… my, more precisely, father. And then, at one point, after a particularly difficult quarrel, with which he, as I later realized, seemed to be preparing me for what would happen, in short, he declared that I was in his apartment illegally. And he poked me in the nose with his papers. I tore them, naturally. But he wouldn’t be so… (Anya swore, and very well) to give me the original! No, it was a copy! And someone as thoughtful as Alfeev could make a thousand such copies to exactly achieve his goal. Well, in short, he called the police. They jumped up and said: «We’re sorry, Anna, but he’s right, the article is such and such, you should leave, and so on, so forth…» Now I’m calm. But then I cried like crazy…

Then, as if coming out of a daze, Anya asked me:

— Why am I telling you this?

— Continue.

Anya sighed and lit a cigarette again.

— Don’t think that I’m a crybaby and all that stuff. Now I have a stone where Alfeev was. This is probably bad, but it’s even easier. I can now talk about this reptile as calmly as about the weather. «She looked out the window. — When will all this melt away?

She shook the ashes into the mug and continued. I looked at the pale dragon and saw Lindyanis and Belchagin in it.

— At first I followed Alfeev. At the very beginning he behaved as usual. He came to his place and left, he didn’t take girls around — he’s not that kind of person. But then, a week later… — Anya began to bend her fingers. — One day — one child, the next — two children, the third — three, and so on. I didn’t know what to think. The children left the apartment not tortured, so there was no reason to think about the worst. And if there was, I thought. You understand, at that time I could attribute anything to my bastard brother!

I nodded and said, «I understand.»

— In short, I walked like this for ten days and saw exactly ten children.

«Perfect,» I said to the dragon. — Perfection is exactly what they pierce.

— One of these days I saw this Lyandinis with the children. I remember him from school. I recognized it right away. And then I experienced what is called cognitive dissonance. I immediately told Irina about everything. I had already rented a room here and knew that Ira was a music teacher at the same school where I studied, and where Lindyanis was the director.

«You studied later than me,» I said. — Because when I studied, Vera Stepanovna was the director.

— Yes Yes i remember. And Liandinis became the director when I was in the eleventh grade. You had probably already graduated by then.

— Yes. It’s a pity I didn’t see you then. I would remember you.

— Perhaps I would not have lived with Alfeev…

I realized that Anya and I were similar to each other in some ways. Like parallel lines close to each other. But these lines, despite their closeness, could not intersect.

«My only one, and there is no one else,» Anya rushed at Alfeeva, not allowing even a hint of intimacy between us. — I think he will burn in hell.

«But before he burns, I would like to talk to him,» I began, but Anya interrupted:

— If you see him, spit at him!

«After all, you’re not exactly a stone inside of you!» — I said mentally, and added out loud:

— Yes, but for this action I need to know his address.

Anya told me the address. I thanked her and asked in the most genuine tone of an investigator, truly accidentally:

— I have already interrogated Ilze, Lindyanis’s daughter. So she said that her father wanted to lead a wrestling club. Do you know anything about wrestling?

— Struggle? — Anya perked up. — Why didn’t you say it before? I too, understand, I want to know everything about it!

— So you don’t know anything about wrestling?

— No. But I can say for sure that the children were without bruises or scratches. I looked at them carefully. Also, you know, I was collecting evidence.

— You didn’t talk to them? With kids?

«My ex-brother was with the children, where is that…,» Anya said sadly.

— All. Fine. Thank you very much, Anya. «I realized that there was nothing more to get out of Anya, but, unlike Irina, I wasn’t upset about it. Don’t find out everything right away!

— If you learn anything from Alfeev, come on the day of Ares, I have you… No, no, on the day of Odin I have a day off.

«I’ll come,» I lied.

I don’t want to expose myself to temptation. Anya is too much my type, but I feel that God has other plans for me. And I can’t do what I did with Katya. Katya is nothing like me — my dear mirage, she is my «woman friend». And I know that if I want, my communication with her will not end in anything serious. Anya… she is a «female enemy», they go down the aisle with such people, and here I am not sure that I have enough strength to retreat from mutual bloodletting.

Anya, or rather, her blue, almost Yulina, eyes seemed to read the shadow of these thoughts in my eyes. She looked at me very strangely while she said:

— I’m such a fool, I didn’t offer you tea or coffee…

— No, thank you, Anyut. «Only now I saw that there were three Tula gingerbread cookies on the table, one evenly cut with a knife. — Next time. I really have to go.

— Bye…

— Love and be loved…

And eat gingerbread, I added to myself.

7

«Here you are,» Irina reminded herself, appearing as soon as the bell rang. In order to appear like that, it was necessary to let the children go early; I think Irina did just that. — Remind me, what is your name?

I reminded you. She asked quietly:

— Do you promise that you won’t tell anyone my words?

And she looked back at the guard as if at a strict father.

I was not surprised, but rather confused by the tone of her voice, with which partisans communicate with each other behind enemy lines. Irina’s eyes were flawlessly blue. Like Gzhel, only many times brighter.

«I promise,» I told Irina.

And no matter what she says, I know that I won’t keep my promise. I have not yet matured to my own morality. But, nevertheless, I liked Irina’s transition from an inscrutable teacher to a timid woman, the transition seemed to be proof of a life hidden in clothes. Irina treated me like unexpected air caught in a boring vacuum.

— Shall we go outside? — she suggested.

— Fine.

Leaving behind us the noise of recess, we left the school. And only now, in the light of the morning sun, my eyes caught the ring on Irina’s ring finger. It bothered me. No, it’s not about her marriage — Lyuda Vedeeva was also married, but that didn’t stop us. And it’s not even about the ring that I found in Darkovichi; According to the note, I hid it in my pocket, although how would I know where to hide it and whether it should be hidden at all. No. It was the glare of the sun that ricocheted into my eyes. He reminded me of the shine at Belchagin’s belt, and both of these shines were associated in my head with my lost pistol, giving me an illogical and convincing guess. The court, consisting of only my neurons, rendered a verdict: yes! My gun was not where the synthesizer was. Belchagin had my pistol.

— Are you ready to listen?

«Yes,» I assured Irina. At this time, my court sentenced Belchagin to capital punishment.

We stopped at a shooting range, where physical training was sometimes held, and where no one ever shot, and Irina began her story:

— First, you need to know about Anna. From her I learned something about Lev Stanislavovich that still makes me uneasy. Before the death of her father, Maxim Fadeevich, it was decided to divide his rich property equally between his children. Maxim had many children, either six or seven. But the last one was not his — his last name was Alfeev, and I still don’t remember his name. Anna, her brothers and sisters, and, directly, their father, who had already died, were Yakovlevs.

I, busy with my mental reprisal against Belchagin, did not understand anything from the monologue, I only realized that there was not a word in it about Lyandinis and the coins.

— Why are you saying this? — I asked.

— Wait, don’t rush, it’s better for you to hear the background story in advance so that you can understand what I’m talking about later. So, Maxim Fadeevich died, and the three sisters, together with Anya, only three children out of six or seven, for reasons that Anya did not tell me, received an equal share of the inheritance. And Alfeev, adopted by the Yakovlevs, did not receive it either. The sisters, yes, quarreled with each other over one or another of their father’s things, which they wanted to see not in the other, but in themselves, but they had quarreled with poor Anechka even earlier.

— Anna wanted Alfeev to receive a share of the inheritance? — I suggested.

— Yes you are right. Anya did not achieve her goal, but since she loved Alfeev not as a half-brother, but as a full man, she gave him her inheritance. They began to live together and were even planning to marry. But can you imagine what happened next?

— What?

— He, the goat, abandoned her. Kicked out of the house. She now lives with me in a rented apartment, we rent different rooms, I and my husband, and she — well, if you ask me, I’ll say that it’s better without than with people like Alfeev. An orphan, you see, deprived. Anya, when we began to communicate well, told me a story about her father’s inheritance, but at the same time she was so offended by Alfeev that she even disdained mentioning his name.

— Fine. I understand. Alfeev is a goat, and Anechka is a great guy. But where is Lindyanis in this story?

— You didn’t listen to the end. Alfeev, according to Anya, began to gather in his apartment, perhaps, a sect of small children. Can you imagine? And one day she saw Alfeev, Lev Stanislavovich… and children coming out of the entrance of her former house! — Irina gasped with indignation. She panted a little and fell silent, waiting for my assessment of what she said or something else. But I, having become convinced that this was the whole story told after the absurdity that Irina called the prehistory, felt disappointed. I reasoned according to police criteria and waited for evidence with elements of crimes, but here are unfounded accusations, far-fetched by Irina’s female solidarity towards Anya’s female failure. Well, Anna was unlucky, so well, there are plenty of good men, and among the best, the best is me. Live and be happy. Well, and the children leaving the apartment of the deceiver Alfeev with Lyandinis — maybe this looks suspicious, especially in gossip-loving little heads, but it is almost impossible to rationally blackmail with such information.

— What if children are taught good things? — I decided to go against Irina. — Is it necessary that a sect is bad?

— Are you seriously? — Irina was taken aback.

— And by the way, why are you and Anya sure that this is a sect?

— Sect, not sect — what’s the difference? And what else, if not a sect, can you call a place where children are brainwashed?

— School?

Irina didn’t understand whether I was joking or not, she continued talking. I decided not to interrupt her, so that in the unmusical flow of her words, spoken in the pathetic tone of a wrestlerwith the injustice of the world, to hear the meaning I need.

— Good or bad, this is being done, and Alfeev Ankin and Lev Stanislavovich are involved in all this. And we, teachers, need to know what exactly they are involved in, and I know, yes! I certainly know more than others, and I know this from Anya. And Anya will not lie out of resentment or hatred for her unfaithful person — and even when offended, people want to stab the offender not with fiction, but with the truth.

«You said it well just now,» I praised Irina and almost asked: «What book did you read that in?» I figured out what she answered, and then: «Please bring her… uh… to the bistro on Mechta. It opened there recently… What?.. Yes, I’m inviting you on a date…»

«And to them, the teachers,» Irina continued in the voice of the radio, capable of picking up only one, and even then an unnecessary radio station, «to them,» as Pyotr Pavlovich said? — «scribes, sometimes distracted from filling out journals to teach children,» I told this truth more than once or twice, to these incomprehensible teachers, but can you imagine how they all react? They don’t react at all! As if a bunch of children in one apartment with a scoundrel and a school director is a common thing for Bryansk! Knock on any door and you will see a sect, like those who walk around with brochures about Christ…

«… no, what are you talking about, you don’t even owe your husband anything… Yes, God have mercy, I don’t want to… Don’t be angry, not at all…» I answered the fictional Irina in my head, adding to her quiet, to a non-existent, but clearer voice, those intonations that Irina had identified in the indistinguishable phrases in the flesh.

Why did I think about something abstract? Yes, because I realized that everything I could learn from Irina about Lyandinis, I had already learned and would not hear anything new. Thanks to Irina for at least mentioning Anya. As soon as I heard such a wonderful name, whose full version I always read backwards, I realized that I needed to see Anya. No, I’m not going to fall like a meteor into the crater from Alfeev, still smoking in her heart, unknown to me. I hope that from her I will hear about Lindyanis or his «sect of children» exactly what Irina did not hear from her, or maybe she heard, but did not attach importance and therefore forgot, and this forgotten may suddenly turn out to be the most important, in in general, to put it simply, I have to thin out all the beds and look closely at every weed in pursuit of the truth. And Anya’s mental portrait, which may not correspond to the truth, since I relied only on Irina’s words, was already exciting my imagination. I imagined an honest and naive girl who was undeservedly offended and continues to be offended. It is not necessary and even undesirable to confuse her image with something physical — with Katya’s mirage, after all, it was necessary to be more careful — just look at this image, like a birch tree, which is being bent by a black wind drawn by Soviet cartoonists, with puffed up cheeks, like the wolf from The Three Little Pigs. Look at the unyielding birch tree and be moved. And, touching, interrogate her about Lyandinis.

Above, in Irina’s voice, Pyotr Pavlovich was mentioned. This is the first and patronymic of Steiniček. She mentioned him again, and at this mention I again returned to the real Irina:

— …whether he’s a friend or not, I don’t know. Their relationship is strange. I wanted to ask Pyotr Pavlovich to ask him directly about the children, but then this happened! And this is really shocking, I’m surprised that classes weren’t cancelled… Lev Stanislavovich’s son was stabbed to death in the toilet…

«Yes, I know,» I responded somewhat cynically, as if we were talking about a stabbing in Pakistan.

«And he’s not a student at all, he just came to school to say something to his father.» Important, probably, otherwise it could have waited — and then, as if they were waiting for his son, they took him and stabbed him to death! Well, it’s scary! I even sinfully thought that it was Lev Stanislavovich, but it’s wrong to blame one person for everything.

— This is right. — And, intensifying the bad pun, he added:

— What is wrong.

— And Pavel Petrovich (Irina misspoke) is also good. He said the day before yesterday that now everyone will want to study at our school. Can you imagine what he said? That children are interested in who will be killed next. — Irina was dissatisfied with Staynicek’s blasphemy and at the same time admired the aphorism of his words. — And he said that it’s like a lottery, it can happen again, and everyone is waiting for it because it gets the blood pumping…

It was heard that Irina was distorting from memory what Steiniček had said — he, I know, expressed himself more eloquently. And Irina kept telling me about other people’s things, and about her own attitude to the murder, she talked and talked and could not stop, as if she were talking to Anya, and not to a beggar who had come after Larisa Vasilievna’s soul. She shouldn’t trust me… I looked into Irina’s amazingly blue eyes, at her long and somehow irregular nose, which, I’m sure, suits Irina much better than an ordinary pretty pimp would have, looked and thought — yes, she’s from high society. That’s how I felt about her. But no, she was from the village, the most ordinary one. With each of her next words this impression only intensified. It was as if with these words she was tearing up the ground around the tree, eventually exposing its roots. Her appearance, attracted by the capital, left a trace of her vulgar, in general, aspirations on me — she wanted me to think of her as metropolitan, but inaccessible, so I thought of her, and even despite the received from her and, frankly speaking, undeserved frankness. Yes, Irina was married, there was no prospect of anything with her, but I wanted her possible children to be like me. Let their father be that man, her husband, with a solid income and bald heads, respected, understandable, simple, and, most importantly, who laid claim to her, let them love each other, without any buts, but their children should be mine. Her children, and not only hers, must build the world that I drew for myself, a world that I will never see in my life, life is too futile in the rapid implementation of my, possibly erroneous, ideal picture… of life. Sorry. I’ll try not to be smart anymore.

At one point, I interrupted Irina’s speech and advised her, like some student smoking behind the shooting range, to hurry to class — by the way, we were standing at the shooting range, the comparison couldn’t be more appropriate, and Irina, grinning, said that she had In general, there shouldn’t be any lessons, she was called to school just to replace Larisa Vasilievna, who also had this Venus day, as Irina put it, «not a particularly good one.»

«And I think,» added Irina, «that Larisa Vasilievna said she was sick for some purpose.» Today Lev Stanislavovich is here, and Larisa Vasilievna is probably looking after the children of this Alfeev. The children love her,» she finished with some resentment.

I was touched by Irina’s manner of calling people who were obviously unpleasant to her by name and patronymic, even behind their backs. Teacher’s habit? Don’t know. Be that as it may, I realized that Irina guessed that I did not come to school for food from Larisa Vasilyevna. It seemed that it could not even occur to her that I was connected with «Lev Stanislavovich» in something compromising; it was much more important for her to share her observations with me. She didn’t hit on me, that’s for sure, but for some reason she wanted to talk to me, although I was silent most of the time. And the more sudden this question was for Irina:

— Where does Anya live?

— Well, it’s still interesting what’s going on here, right? — Irina asked with the air of a person who has heard what she wanted.

«No,» I lied, «I just want to meet Anya.» I’m lonely.

Initially, I wanted to say a phrase about «a real detective who studies everything impartially,» but still, for a change, I decided to lie.

«Well…» Irina seemed to look at me through Anya’s eyes, appraisingly, the way they look at pants on sale. — Come tomorrow, after eleven. Morning. Anya has a day off.

And she gave the address. Two stops from my house.

«Blessed again by fate…»

«Okay,» I said. — I’ll come.

And he left silently.

8

Finally!

My day was unusual — a rare pleasure!

But first things first.

Everyone wanted to go to our school. Everyone was wondering who would be killed next. It’s so interesting, as if everyone was given a guarantee that there will definitely be a next one, and that next one will definitely not be him. And even without guarantees, the desire to go to school can be explained. The possibility of being killed makes the heart beat faster. Makes everyday life an adventure. The probability of dying for everyone was not that many percent. If it had been at least one in four, then the schoolchildren would hardly have studied so zealously. Steiniček was the first to understand this truth, and Irina conveyed this truth to me.

Joyful little girls in uniforms with huge pink backpacks. White bows. The uniform is a jumpsuit in green and red checkered fabric on dark green fabric. Innocent creatures in stockings and dark shoes, and among all this Irina is a teacher. This is how I remember Irina.

But first things first.

I left Darkovichi early in the morning. There I slept like the dead. Katya admitted that she even wanted to splash boiling water to wake me up.

«Not just boiling water, but hot water,» she justified herself.

Luda has already left for work. So Katya heroically woke me up, finally achieved her goal, put me half-dead in the car and finally drove me to the hostel. I can’t even tell if I gave my address. Like a drunk, I went upstairs, met in the section the same half-asleep neighbor Lena, whom I had been partial to for a long time, but whom I was afraid to approach, crawled into my room and died on my bed in my clothes.

05. Sensitiveϟ♥04:35

About three hours later he woke up, as if nothing had happened, and went to school. What prompted me to do this? The desire to contradict Lyandinis, of course.

I told the driver of the yellow bus the cherished phrase (To Lev Snislaich), and this phrase worked. And if it works for me, it works for Belchagin and Krivko-Gaponov, I decided cheerfully and got a free ride to school. By the way, for the first time I was not traveling on an empty bus, but with children rushing to class. They, of course, looked at me as if I was overgrown, hopelessly stupid and therefore, for the eighth year in a row, repeating the second year. I, inspired by yesterday’s dancing, smiled carelessly back at them. Some of them smiled too, answering my smile. It’s nice when it’s not evil, but goodness that goes in circles in this world.

Having run to the school and repeated the treasured phrase to the guard (I won’t add, you already understood that it worked), I slowed down the pace and confidently walked towards the eighth office. Along the way, I ran into a bunch of underclassmen. They, a fussy crowd of pink jumpers, jostled around the green benches and wanted to know who would replace Larisa Vasilievna, and whether there would be a music lesson today. The familiar name and patronymic made me stop and think — where did the beautiful Laura go? Are you sick? God forbid! What about the information about Lindyanis? I hope that Katya will be able to visit Larisa if she is really sick, and extract from her everything that I want to know.

Having calmed down for the last time, I resumed my path to the eighth office, but a beautiful blonde in a strict uniform, like in Victorian girls’ establishments, came out to meet me. I walked past her, and then I heard a childish and uneven: «Hello, Irina Alexandrovna!» and the strict uniform voice of the teacher:

— Hello. Fifth «B»?

The students muttered affirmatively. I stopped, listening.

— Larisa Vasilievna is ill, I will teach the lesson with you. Go up to room thirty-eight. I’ll go to the teachers’ lounge to get a magazine. And don’t make any noise.

The children went in my direction, and Irina Alexandrovna — in the opposite direction. I remembered that the teachers’ room was on the second floor, so I quickly walked, as if running away from the approaching fifth «B», to the stairs to take advantage of the circular layout of the school to intercept Irina Alexandrovna BEFORE she entered the teachers’ room.

While I was walking, the bell rang for class. This played into my hands — the corridors were empty, no one could see me, and even if they could, my cherished phrase would have been right there. I was already preparing to voice it to Zhanna Alexandrovna, who turned up right next to the teacher’s room, but she did not attach much importance to my figure and simply walked past. I froze at the very door, waiting for a stern figure around the corner. From the primary classes — they were the only ones near the teacher’s room — there was an indistinct rumble, sometimes it was cut off by the teacher’s voice covering this rumble, like a fire alarm. I didn’t want anyone to leave the classes — I understood that this would ruin my mood. I was so focused in my gut on the expectation of someone’s intervention, for example, an Israeli guard catching my hand, that I overlooked Irina Alexandrovna. She had already entered the teachers’ room. Realizing this and hoping that there was no one there except her, I entered there and almost crashed into Irina, who was already about to leave. There was a magazine in her hands, and in her blue eyes there was an incomprehensible feeling, similar to disgust.

— Are you a student? — she asked incredulously. — Or a teacher?

She saw my leather jacket, which was not the cleanest, to be honest, and my hair tousled from sleep, and she herself answered:

— Student.

«You didn’t guess,» I said. — I am poor. The wind tore the crown from my head, crushed the throne, thereby depriving me of power. And others took my glory.

The blue eyes demanded an explanation, and I gave it to them:

— I’m visiting Larisa Vasilievna. She fed me often.

Irina Alexandrovna did what I least expected — she smiled.

«You’re lying, young man,» she said. — You don’t know Larisa Vasilievna well. How did they even let you in here?

— As usual. I told the guard: «To Lev Stanislavich.» And that was enough.

The hands holding the magazine trembled, and in the blue eyes I saw stupefaction — or fear?

«Larisa Vasilyevna taught me to speak like that,» I added.

The vague shadow disappeared from her long-nosed face, and its absence softened the lines and wrinkles, making them freer.

«I… I can talk to you.» You wanted Larisa Vasilievna, didn’t you?

I nodded.

— Yes. As for feeding — sorry, I can’t. But to talk about Larisa… Vasilievna — yes, quite. But now I have a lesson, the children are waiting, sit in the hall, or something… yes, in the hall, I’ll find you there.

I nodded again. She asked me to say my name. I called.

We left the teachers’ room. They parted at the very staircase — she went upstairs to room thirty-eight. I go down to the corridor, which she euphoniously nicknamed the «hall.» I sat down on the green bench where students usually sit when the teacher doesn’t come to class, and stared blankly at the board on which hung school drawings dedicated to the first days of spring and the eighth of March. The guard, an old mustachioed man without a hint of gray hair, sometimes looked up from his crossword puzzle and looked at me with suspicion, but never said anything to me. I thought about Irina Alexandrovna, an obviously strict teacher, who, having heard «To the Lion…» and so on, immediately turned into a touching student with a pink briefcase who had not learned her lesson.

Belchagin came to school. I buried my face in my hands so that he wouldn’t notice me, and, it seems, yes — he thought that I was just another eleventh grader who called in sick. I heard the cherished phrase uttered in his rough voice and heavy steps sounding on the school floor, as if on a barracks. The plump figure of Belchagin from the back hardly looked better than from the front, and the route of this figure made me understand that it was moving towards the eighth office. What are they doing there, I wonder? Do they remember Sasha Rory? Are Liandinis and Steiniček arguing over counterfeit coins? Or, having gotten rid of me, are they doing exactly what they were called for? Perhaps a fight? I chuckled out loud. The guard glanced at me in a way that hardly caught my eye and again bent over the crossword puzzle. The movements of his mustache seemed to be digesting a very complex thought. Belchagin could not hear my chuckle — and for me his figure was already out of reach. True, at the very last moment I saw some shine behind Belchagin’s belt, but it immediately disappeared, so I thought that I had simply imagined the shine. A technician in a blue coat was sweeping the floor. The clock on the wall said 8:45, but I remember the school clock was always slow. It was quiet. There was no one else.

I confess — I really wanted to follow Belchagin, jerk open the door of the eighth office in order to walk past the boys shocked by my appearance, stand in front of Lindyanis’s boss’s profile and spit at him with the words: «What’s going on here?», but this, I thought, I’ll put myself first. I am sure that my new meeting with Lyandinis will be proof for him that it was I who killed Sasha Rory. I knew that even now I was the first to suspect him, especially after that poem I deliberately screwed up, and I thought that Larisa’s illness was not a disease at all, that her absence was connected, if not with the death of Sasha Rory, then with the activities of Lindyanis. Irina Alexandrovna made this clear to me. Most likely not her, but her reaction to the words «To Lev Stanislavich.» In this reaction I saw a hidden protest directed against teachers who indulge Liandinis. And all of them, the teachers, and with them the security guard, and the bus driver, and even this technician sweeping the floor now — everyone knows about Lindyanis’ secret activities and even if they don’t know its essence, they know for sure that this activity is taking place be, and do not interfere with this activity. And this activity is definitely abnormal, in the bad sense of the word, otherwise, why hide it?

— Will you help? — the guard called out to me.

I looked at him blankly.

— With what?

— One of the twelve minor prophets. Small — in quotes. He was exiled to Judea at the request of Amaziah. Four letters.

I looked at the guard as if he were an enemy. He did not see hostility in my eyes — but explained the reason why he decided to ask for help in solving the word:

— There was no «Mole» in Soyuzpechat, there was this sophisticated scanword and teawords — shouldn’t we take teawords?

I imagined all the activities of Lyandinis as a huge forty-legged monster covered with yellowish mucus. If Lindyanis was the head of this monster, then the guard was one of its legs. And brainless legs, by definition, must be held accountable for the blame of the head.

«Amos,» I answered the guard.

9

I arrived at the garage on time. Tight to tight. Why couldn’t I be so punctual with Julia? I approached the garage; at the same time Katya drove up to him. She drove up in her car. I won’t tell you the brand, I didn’t look for the badge, I can only say that it’s a small green economy class foreign car.

— Hello! — I said, sitting down next to her.

— Hello, Lieutenant! Learned anything about coins?

I shook my head and added:

— Well, since you mentioned it, I saw Ilse today. She is very beautiful. And I’m not kidding.

Katya, having lit a cigarette (yes, she smoked), responded to this with a shrug, saying that everyone has different tastes, and I continued:

— Listen, Lev… Stanislavovich… — for some reason my speech began to sound like Ilse’s, as if speech were contagious, — did I tell Larisa about… struggle?

At that time the car started moving and bounced on some hole — there were plenty of holes here. Katya and I jumped, synchronously, not wearing a seat belt, and I, as a tall person, hit the back of my head on the roof of the cabin.

— Buckle up, we haven’t hit the road yet. Yeah… and me now…

She probably just got her license. She drove the car very carefully, pedantically in German. We buckled up and headed out onto the road. Then Katya remembered my question, which I did not repeat, since Katya was probably completely focused on the road. But Katya herself remembered him, and that’s good.

— Sorry, Lieutenant, I was just lost in thought. You asked about wrestling… Hmmmmm… Wrestling? — only then she was surprised. — No, Lev is not a fighter, that’s for sure.

— But what if he wanted to learn wrestling?

Here we had to turn. Katya turned and said:

«Maybe he talked about wrestling to Larisa, but Larisa didn’t tell me anything about wrestling.»

«Can you ask her about fighting for me?» — I said and cursed.

— What are you doing? — Katya was confused.

— Sorry, «for my sake» came out of habit… I’m a complete egoist.

— Hmm, you’re kind of strange. Okay, I’ll ask. I really don’t know what’s the best way to ask. There is no necessary reason.

— You can invent reasons, I’m not pushing…

«You selfish person, did you do what I asked?»

I didn’t immediately, but I realized that Katya wanted to know if I had written poetry for her.

— Yes, but I’ll read it late in the evening. It’s more appropriate.

— Intrigued! — said Katya.

Here we found ourselves on the 50th Army, then turned onto Liteinaya, and along it, in ten minutes, if not less, you can get to Darkovichi.

As I watched the gas station, I heard:

— Did you learn about wrestling from Ilse?

— Yes. «My stomach growled loudly. I hoped that Katya didn’t hear anything, I reassured myself that the car engine and the noise on the road were loud enough to drown out my warlike urge, but nevertheless, I decided to say the following phrases louder than usual.

— Will you feed me on the way?

— I’ll feed you, whatever we’re talking about. I’ll fry some potatoes with pickled mushrooms and cucumbers. I can even pour vodka.

«Even so,» I nodded importantly, «well, I’m not much of a drinker, it’s not worth it, but thanks for the potatoes.»

We would have talked further, but we, having crossed the bald forest, had already found ourselves in Darkovichi. Katya promised that the desired house would be in two turns, and in three turns it really was. I recognized him immediately. It’s unlikely that the roof was stolen along with the service; most likely, it simply fell off, and there was no one to fix it. Near the house there were wooden boards, some kind of gray lid, the size of a hatch — after looking closely, I realized that it was the lid from a very large saucepan. There were no neighboring houses nearby, but the house without a roof did not stand on the outskirts, no, it looked as if the other houses had moved far away from it, like from a leper. We got out of the car, and Katya immediately entered the house, and I hesitated, peered into the house, thinking that it was very funny. Caricature. And with this roof, he left me with the impression of a child’s coloring book, where the child painted the whole house, but didn’t paint the roof, because his parents bought him another coloring book, better, with cars.

I entered the house. Narrow and musty for some, I, with my disdain for comfort, seemed quite comfortable. There were only two rooms in it. The bedroom, far away, I could only see the corner of a sagging bed, but an expensive bed, large and maybe even oak. And the next room is where Katya and I are now. And the kitchen, and the living room, and the sofa, opposite which there is a TV on a tripod, and everything in the world is here — the refrigerator is there, there are jars of seaming in it, meat in the freezer, and even something similar to glue, a shovel at the threshold, next to the door and next to the thing used to pull cast iron out of the stove. There was an icon hanging in the red corner, a carpet on the wall and on the floor, a black kettle and pre-revolutionary frying pans on the stove. Cute.

«It’s a pity there’s no stove,» I said, pointing to the grip.

«It’s a pity that there is no roof,» Katya corrected me and lightly wiped the floor with a rag. -Have you taken off your shoes? And okay, don’t take off your shoes. It is cold here. I’ll peel the potatoes now, fry them, and we’ll have lunch!

— Mistress, may I go to the bedroom? I am curious.

— Go, but there’s nothing to see there. The bed is oak, good, the gun and the service, which was stolen — that’s all that’s valuable here.

— A gun? — I perked up.

— Named. Dear. Doesn’t shoot. And I won’t say where. Sorry, you’re not Lyuda after all.

— I’ll find him.

— Ah, ha-ha, this is a moot point! — Katya waved her hands with a small knife while she spoke. — The gun seems to be here, but it’s as if it’s not here!

— Intrigued! — I curtsied.

Katya continued peeling the potatoes, and I went into the bedroom. Near the bed there was a wardrobe, on the door of which hung a jacket, once blue or black, now it was an earthy color. Dusty, I even sneezed a couple of times while I was looking at it, and Katya shouted to me a couple of times, «Bless you!» from another room. In response, I shouted «thank you!» to her a couple of times! and continued the inspection. Yes, there definitely couldn’t have been a gun, especially if someone had already stolen from here. I ran my eyes over the empty shelves of the closet — really empty. Almost empty. Some kind of paper ball lay on the penultimate shelf from the top. I took it in my hands. Very small, it felt like there was a ring lying there. Some piece of paper was flying in the air — I grabbed it and read the inscription in block letters:

«The ring must be hidden»

I put the ring in my pocket.

— Katenka!

— What, dear?

— Wasn’t there a ring here?

— Ring?

— Here.

I handed her the piece of paper. She took it with wet hands, and I took my knife out of my pocket and began to peel the potatoes.

«Do I need to hide it?» Katya looked at me and chuckled. «Are you joking, Lieutenant?»

— No. The note was in the closet.

— Wasn’t there a ring in the closet?

— Did not have. Perhaps the robbers hid the ring?

— Or Luda. But still, all this is strange. «Then she noticed in my hands a tuber from which the skin was falling off. — Thanks a lot!

Katya was frying potatoes and mushrooms in frying pans that were terrible, even by my forest standards. We ate at a narrow table together, I quickly and roughly, she like an English lady. I volunteered to wash the dishes. While I was washing, Katya pulled out an old radio from the car and inserted a plug into the sparkling socket to start playing songs that I deeply hated. I didn’t say anything out loud out of respect for Katya. I will not mention the names of the «singers with their mouths» — out of disrespect for them.

It was raining and snowing outside. Katya and I, well-fed, sat on an oak bed. We looked out the window and listened to the radio. During the meal she drank a couple of glasses of vodka, which was enough for her to be cheerful. I pressed myself against her body, warm and heated. I began to compare Katya, with her gray eyes, straight figure like a ruler, and exciting pores on her rosy cheeks, to a blue woman. Mirage — yes, a mirage. I was proud of myself for the fact that everything was moving towards intimacy, but I did not think of Katya in the freeze frame of my vision. There was something of her in the blue woman, but not all of her.

Kate. Her eyes. Hair. Delicious lips. The place under the blouse where the sun did not reach. Beautiful pallor leading to breasts hidden under a blouse. I want to eat her like a dish she prepared.

While I was putting my desires into action, in my head, through the sweet foggy waves, a plan for further actions lit up: «Lindyanis, Lev Stanislavovich… He loves Larisa. I need to sleep with Larisa. I, who is ten years younger than Larisa? In Bryansk It’s not accepted that way. But I believe that she has modern views, that’s how she looks anyway…»

The color I love has become fire. And Katya’s red lips are on fire. There are also two wonderful dimples on the lower back. I wanted to press my lips to each one. Inside myself I felt narcissistic delirium:

— Smart and beautiful, and what can we say, even I, who am the personification of these qualities… Look, above our bodies are orgiastic paintings of Ancient Rome!

When everything happened, I said monotonously:

— I wrote a poem about love in the night for a strip of forest and about you…

«Come on,» Katya said, but I didn’t have time… didn’t have time…

My eyes were drooping. I felt huge, like I had the whole world at my mercy. The chair standing by the bed seemed small — because the distance from it to my eyes, surrounded by the dark blue of the starry sky, seemed enormous. Lights were burning everywhere, imprints of figures on the retina, but I immediately closed my eyes. A black or blue dot wandered in a trembling or blurred background of a reddish hue.