Бесплатный фрагмент - Who killed stand-up comedian Lilya Kolyuki

First chapter

The day before, a girl left me, meanly, treacherously, with practically no explanation. She probably would have said that she didn’t quit, but left in English, but the aftertaste remained. For me, a detective with ten years of experience, it was almost a punch in the gut. If she still went to suffer, it would not be so bad, but she went to rest at sea. Pictures from this vacation flashed through my head, I imagined them, although in order to see them in reality, I only had to go to her social networks. I didn’t want to discuss this with anyone, and there was nothing to discuss here, but I knew one thing for sure: I couldn’t call her and sort things out.

“Goodbye, Malika,” I said mentally, trying to concentrate on my life, but I couldn’t. Every now and then I started thinking about what I did wrong. She had long insisted on living together, but for me, a private detective, it was akin to losing my profession; I cannot live with a woman under the same roof, doing investigations: flies separately, cutlets separately. And yet the feeling of guilt overtook me. It was easier for me to accept the breakup if I knew that she left me not because I was bad, but because she found someone better. Because only in this case did she turn out bad. In order not to stress myself out and not go in circles, I retired to my archive.

The archive was a small room in my apartment, only eight square meters. It was completely filled with small cabinets with small drawers containing files from the time of my grandfather, who was also a detective. When I needed to get ready, I came here.The atmosphere of the wooden, parquet floor and the small boxes filled with cards with handwritten text did their job — I calmed down, caught my breath. When I was feeling particularly bad, I could even sleep here. It was very good to sleep on a warm, wooden floor to reboot. That was exactly what I planned to do that night.

I loved to come here when I needed to think, the very atmosphere created by this wooden floor and these treasures in the boxes made me think correctly or not think at all, but feel, feel, feel. The magnetism of this small room of only eight square meters can only be compared with the evening windows of houses, each of which has its own leisurely life with its own tragedies and moments of truth. Here in the boxes there is the same thing, only multiplied by the fates of people in alphabetical order. And also the smell, it cannot be confused with anything. I could transfer everything that is here into a digital form and store it in the files of my computer, but I will not be able to transfer the smell into a digital form.

On the wall hung a portrait of my grandfather, round-faced, bald, slightly stooped, wearing thick glasses and holding a huge magnifying glass in his hand. He was dressed to the nines: an unchanged three-piece suit and a watch on a chain sticking out from under a dark blue vest. It was a picture that one of his clients painted him in gratitude. I didn’t think that I would ever become as great as him, but his portrait helped me. It was as if he was telling me from a portrait: “Get your act together, you can do it.”

My grandfather was a great professional in his field, my mother’s father, we were friends. He died early, just a year and a half short of his sixtieth birthday, but I remembered him. I was still too young for him to communicate with me on an equal basis about the cases he was investigating, but I learned some rules from him. For example, learning to let go when you can no longer do anything. Now I couldn’t let go.

I comfortably “made myself a nest” on the floor, for these purposes I had a huge checkered blanket in the corner, and began to plunge into the dark kingdom of dreams. “Just don’t dream of me, just don’t dream of me,” I repeated, hoping for a miracle. Sleep began to envelop me, if only for another five minutes I would have fallen asleep like the dead, but then the phone started ringing. I forgot that I didn’t turn it off and left it in the kitchen. I hoped he would shut up now. I closed my last business just a week ago, so I was hoping to spend at least another week to digest it. It was a complex, confusing matter related to money, and always when it comes to money, you have to give it your all.People are very calculating when it comes to money and plan crimes in such a way that we detectives need to try very, very hard to unravel them.

The phone didn’t stop ringing. I waited warily for the phone to go silent, and finally, after two minutes, the long-awaited silence came. I did not want to get up to save the settings for sleep and then move into a new state, freed from focusing on my woman. And just as I closed my eyes, hoping to fall asleep, the phone rang again. I was angry and had no choice but to get up and go see who called me.

Delilah called, it was my new partner. I was introduced to her only recently and, frankly, it was forced on me. It was rumored that our agency belonged to her uncle, but I did not delve into the details. I was almost sure that she would run away from me after the first case.

The code of honor required that I call her back myself; after all, two missed calls were difficult to ignore. I looked at my watch — 21:05. I should have called, but even then she got ahead of my intention. The phone rang right in my hands, and her photograph with her name appeared on the screen: Dalila Dvorzhetskaya.

— Do you know that Lilya Kolyuki has disappeared?! — she blurted out almost immediately.

“No,” I answered quickly. — And who is it?

— Stand-up comedian. Her aunt contacted our agency this morning, I want to take on this case.

I chuckled skeptically.

— Weren’t there any other people willing? This is actually what the police should be doing.

“She’s been doing it, but it’s no good, they’ve been looking for it for a week.” She suspects that Lilya was “removed” by black realtors who were interested in her apartment.

I sighed.

“I don’t want to take this case,” I said firmly. “I think the police are doing a better job of investigating it than we are.”

I was about to hang up, but Delilah was not going to give up.

— Let me come and we will discuss it with you. Don’t rush to conclusions until you know all the details.

“Well, come,” I said sadly, but immediately regretted it. The spoken word is not a sparrow; if it flies out, you won’t catch it.

I decided to get ready. I remembered the name of the missing woman that Dalila said, but initially I thought that she said Lilya Kalyuka, because kalyuka was the name of an ancient Russian musical instrument, something like the current flute.

I went online, and indeed the news that a stand-up comedian had disappeared had already leaked to the media, it was Lilya Kolyuki. She, apparently, was not a famous comedian, and even the news of her disappearance did not cause much public outcry. Through a search engine, several videos surfaced where she performed not alone, but as part of a group called “Fifteen Shoes.” It was a comedy show consisting of eight participants. I was especially struck by the screensaver of this show, where multi-colored shoes fell from the ceiling, participants came running, hurriedly put them on, and one of the participants was missing a shoe. She looked around and grabbed her head, eagerly feigning confusion. This is where the cutscene ended.There were few comments under the video, mostly written by the participants themselves, but there were also those who expressed genuine sympathy that Lilya Kolyuki had disappeared. These were isolated comments.

I took a break from the video and needed a break. I turned on the coffee machine to make myself a cappuccino. The time was late, but I didn’t feel it. Looking at the clock built into the coffee machine, I saw that it was already 22:15.

“Is Delilah really coming this late?” In my mind I imagined her getting into the car and driving towards me. Her portrait began to emerge little by little. This means that, after all, investigations are not just a whim for her, but a matter of life, since she is ready to come to me at any time to discuss the details.

I looked around the kitchen room. I wouldn’t say it was a mess, but it was still worth cleaning up. I love doing it myself, it allows me to relax and concentrate on the task at the same time, but at this moment cleaning was not part of my plans. In principle, I don’t like it when women come to my house, this is not the place where I would like to see them, but Delilah was not really a woman, or rather, I did not perceive her that way, she was my new partner whom I wanted to get to know better. Initially, when it was presented to me, I was not delighted. She seemed very pompous to me, poking her nose into everything and very young, as if she was not yet twenty-five. With what surprise I learned that she was thirty-five, that is, she was three years older than me, but she looked like a desperate teenager with her ultra-short haircut and voluminous ripped jeans.

Taking a sip of a freshly brewed cappuccino, I sat down on a chair and fell back on the laptop, trying to make inquiries about Lilya Kolyuki. I clicked the arrow under the video again and rewinded until her performance began. She competed sixth. Her exit was accompanied by applause, which was clearly superimposed on the video. Lilya looked impressive. She contrasted strongly with all the other members of this female group, and despite her young age — twenty-nine years old — she looked old-fashioned. She looked as if she was very concerned about this topic: she spent half a day steaming these trousers with a crease, this light green jacket, this purple blouse. In addition, she was wearing shoes while all the other members looked more relaxed in sneakers and sneakers. Only one of them was wearing high heels.

I didn’t understand whether this image was a stage one, or whether she transferred it to the stage from life, but she clearly stood out from everyone. Lilya was very large and joked about being overweight, like all overweight stand-up comedians. The first performance I saw of her was jokes on this topic:

— Hi people! — she joyfully greeted the people in the hall. — So, now it will be about “feeling sick.” Who knows what “feeling sick” is?

Laughter and exclamations were heard in the hall.

— What? “Trough”, “cattle”? No, I’m talking about crying today. In fact, you all know what crying is. In short, I’m sick of it. A friend said: I want, she says, something grass-colored, it’s the hit of the season. This is what I think: she can still choose something, the reptile. Here I am, for example, what grass color do I need? “Take whatever you can fit into” is my motto! There is no time for choice anymore. If it’s fastened, thank the Almighty; if not, hi to the suppliers and the store director. So I say to her: “is it May now?” She says: “May”. So go ahead, I say, don’t be foolish, roll around in the grass, you’ll be grass-colored, and you’ll save a lot of money, and it’s all natural. She looked at me like that! Well, at least I said that I had some herbal tea left, just brewed it, pour it over it — and it’s immediately on trend.

Artificial laughter and applause were heard in the hall. And at the same moment Delilah rang the doorbell, several times, as if she was afraid of being late for the meeting.

I opened the door.

In front of me stood a very energetic, short-haired Dalila Dvorzhetskaya, a slender brunette, in whose appearance everything betrayed a perfectionist. She had a pizza in her hands, as well as a package, a small suitcase and a shoulder bag.

— Hello, Wilhelm! — she said joyfully. — So, I decided to take pizza with me so that I have something to munch on. “Sit all night,” she puzzled me from the doorway. “And there’s a change of bed linen in the suitcase, because I’ll have to spend the night with you.”

“However,” I thought, trying to maintain equanimity.

I got the impression that with such a large amount of things she decided to stay with me for at least a week. In addition, she was the only one who called me by my full name — Wilhelm, because my colleagues called me Willie, and my relatives preferred to call me by my fatherly name — Gena.

Delilah looked asthenic: a short but fashionable woman’s haircut, constant stud earrings, one on her left ear and many on the other, a small shiny piercing in her nose. Apparently a diamond, but I didn’t confirm that with her. It was generally strange to me how this small, fragile, short-haired woman contained so much femininity, especially when she began to speak or gesticulate. And she gestured a lot, which spoke of her intense emotionality. Her eyes were dark, narrow, but very moving, in them I saw thousands of shades of feelings when she began to tell something.

“She probably takes sleeping pills before bed,” I thought, “after all, she needs to somehow tame her emotionality.”

But even here a surprise awaited me. As it turned out, Delilah pacified her in a different way: she was also a runner who participated in athletics competitions. And I just don’t know how many kilometers she ran. Apparently, it was extremely large, but with such a complexion it was not surprising. It seemed that if she walked faster, she would take off, despite the lack of wings.

One day recently in the office, she looked at my colleague, who had the imprudence to boast about the number of steps taken per day. This step note was on his phone. Delilah didn’t say anything, but her very emotional face showed that this was just childish pranks. We must give her credit: she didn’t even smile contemptuously — this was due to her good upbringing and the self-restraint that she had cultivated in herself.

She was not like me, a voluntary homebody. I tried not to spill my energy: “Well, why? I’ll go out into the street, they’ll kill me, and a lot of cases will remain unsolved, and I won’t be able to help people.” I’ve invested too much in my brain and my detective work to take that risk. Therefore, I considered even going out to buy bread an exhausting procedure that did not require my attention; I ordered everything home. Let the courier leave it near the doorstep, then I’ll pick it up.

***

At my home, Delilah behaved like she was at home, but without violating my boundaries. She did not look for anything, did not examine anything in the apartment, but behaved simply and naturally. She put the pizza down, quickly took off her shoes, and went into the kitchen. I offered her coffee and she agreed. In the first fifteen minutes spent at my house, she managed to briefly introduce me to the situation, telling me about Aunt Lily Kolyuki, who contacted our agency.

“I was surprised that none of our detectives want to take on this case,” Delilah said indignantly, throwing up her hands.

I shrugged, although this was not at all surprising to me, because the detectives in our department preferred something more attractive in terms of complex moves and intricate stories. And here is something incomprehensible, or rather indistinct. It was quite possible that in a week or two the girl would have turned up on her own, because there was no body or signs of abduction.

— What attracted you to this business? — I asked.

“It seems to me that she has a complex character,” Delilah answered unexpectedly.

— From the missing woman? — I asked again.

“Yes,” Delilah answered firmly.

“She’s not as simple as she seems,” I thought about Delilah.It wasn’t what she said that attracted me, but the fact that she answered my question without thinking for a second. She didn’t pause for long and said what she thought. Unexpectedly for myself, I noticed that I would feel comfortable working with her.

And the more I talked to her, the more I realized that I would take on this case. My grandfather, a great detective, told me that cases are attracted to us by distribution from above. If a case is attracted to you, it means you are ready, you need it.

All the following time, we watched videos with Lilya Kolyuki and analyzed her behavior, trying to create a psychological portrait. I especially remember one video:

“So, I won’t be a stand-up comedian if I don’t talk to you about sex,” Lilya Kolyuki said from the stage.

(Laughter)

“Yes, yes, the eternal topic, His Majesty — sex. Come on, clap, who has it?” — a roar of applause was heard in the hall. — Thank you, I have never been applauded like that. Maybe I went down the wrong path? (Laughter in the hall) Well, there is a lot of applause. You live well! Now clap, whoever doesn’t have it.

(Pause, rare applause)

— What’s so weak, huh? Here’s a girl, why don’t you have it? What? Are you waiting for love? That’s good, and how long will you wait? Ah, there’s still time… Well, our problem is that we think there’s still time, that we’ll still have time to do everything. But what if we suddenly die, and we haven’t had a single rest.

(Laughter in the hall)

Delilah and I looked at each other. This monologue did not evoke much sympathy; there were few comments and few likes under the video; they mostly discussed the other participant. But considering that Lilya Kolyuki disappeared, these words now sounded mystically honest, although not at all funny.

Chapter two

I didn’t have to luxuriate in my warm bed for long. Already at eight in the morning Delilah woke me up, dressed and ready for new challenges. This was surprising to me, because all my women — who had been here before — got up with a roar, with the buzzing of a hairdryer, with the clinking of cutlery, the sound of water in the bathroom, with the rustling of plastic bags. Then we put on makeup for another half hour, then looked for something to wear and rattled our steps. That is why I was not ready to let any female into my apartment. Delilah got ready without noise or dust. I didn’t even hear her do it. Until three o’clock, she and I discussed Lilya Kolyuki and watched her stand-up performances. Then I went to bed, leaving Delilah to sleep on the sofa, which was located in the kitchen. And at eight in the morning she was ready to leave.

We wanted to go to Lily Kolyuki’s apartment to collect as much information as possible about her, then we were going to meet with her aunt, Tamara Isaakovna Manulova. It is noteworthy that Lily herself had the same last name, and Kolyuki was her stage name.

“I made coffee,” Delilah said, standing with a mug of black coffee that was still steaming. — I did it to you too. Do you like cappuccino?

“Yes, thank you,” I told her, still lying in bed. I can’t say that it was awkward for me to appear in a lying position in front of a colleague, but still an element of awkwardness remained. And only she behaved relaxed.

“I’ll get dressed and go out now,” I said.

She nodded.

There were no doors to my room initially, no one expected that my colleagues would spend the night with me. I quickly took a shower and got ready. But then Delilah shocked me with another piece of news:

— While you were in the shower, Artem Tomich called me, well, the one from the forensic department, remember him?

“I remember,” I answered.

— Well, in Lily Kolyuka’s apartment they found traces of blood on the desk, a little, and a farewell note. And while we won’t be able to get into her apartment, investigative actions are ongoing there.

— What’s in the note? — I asked.

Delilah came up to me and showed me a photograph of a piece of paper on which two strange lines were written, and it could not be said that it was a coherent text, because each of the lines seemed to live its own life.

We were confused, not knowing what to do next. But they decided to call her aunt anyway.

— We need to talk to her aunt, — suggested Dalila. — We’ll also ask where else Lilya has been, besides her apartment.

— Excellent idea, — I answered.

The conversation with Lilya Kolyuki’s aunt didn’t last long, although we managed to get through to her on the first try. She wasn’t ready to meet us, saying that she was leaving for another city on business right now. She answered briefly and wasn’t in the mood to keep up the conversation, as if we weren’t talking about her niece, whom she was looking for, but about a stranger.

— Lilya only owned one apartment, where she lived? — asked Dalila.

— Yes, only this one, — answered Tamara Isaakovna.

— Did she often visit her relatives? — asked Dalila.

— She hasn’t been there in the last ten years. She only talked to me sometimes, and she hasn’t talked to her mother for a long time. “I’ve already answered these questions,” Lili’s aunt muttered discontentedly.

“Ask if there is a dacha, a country house or something like that,” I quietly said to Dalila.

“Does she have a country house or a dacha?” Dalila asked, prompted by me.

“Yes,” her aunt answered after a pause. “Only no one goes there. They are her grandmothers,” answered Tamara Isaakovna.

The conversation with her aunt was difficult, and when it ended, Dalila breathed a sigh of relief.

“What a difficult person!” Dalila said about her. And nevertheless, as a result of this dialogue, we had the address of the dacha where Lilya Kolyuki, or rather Liliya Manulova, could come.

This house, as we managed to find out, belonged to her grandmother, with whom she lived. Four years ago, her grandmother died and bequeathed her apartment to her.The country house was divided between her and her half-brother, who lived with her mother and stepfather in another apartment. The country house, according to her aunt, was abandoned and no one needed. The land on which it was located was also not of particular value. And yet, Delilah and I decided to go there, since we could not get into her apartment for several more days.

***

Delilah was driving, which made me happy because I needed to think. And I would have succeeded if Delilah had not kept interjecting her questions into my thoughtful silence.

— I wonder what we want to see there? she asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered after a pause. — There are some things that you just have to do if you have the desire for it.

— I wonder if we have it? — Delilah asked.

— What?

— Pursuit.

I waved my hand casually, ending the topic.

— Better ask if we’ll get there, after all it’s March, snowdrifts and snow, — I said.

— We’ll get there, I have a jeep, after all, — smiled Delilah.

It seemed to me that she wanted to show herself off as a really cool driver, but I didn’t want to see it, much less participate in it. So I asked her not to “drive recklessly” and not even try to drive where it was impossible to drive because of the snowdrifts.

— What do you think of her “farewell” note? — I asked.

— I don’t know. It’s kind of strange, — answered Delilah, confirming my thoughts.

— That’s true.

Two strange lines, written on a torn piece of paper and left on her desk:

“This world is like a ball filled with reinforced concrete.

It haunts me.”

It was hard to understand from this note what she was writing about and who was stalking her. Since Lilya Kolyuki was a stand-up comedian, she could well have written something else, for example, poetry or something similar. These are just two lines that hardly qualify as a farewell note, but since Lilya Kolyuki had disappeared, all versions were considered.

***

Surprisingly, we arrived safely, without getting stuck or stuck anywhere on the road. This happened by pure chance, because the road had been cleared literally a day ago and had not yet been covered with snow, and this, as I learned from the Internet, rarely happens.

“Is this the same house?” asked Dalila, getting out of the car.

“I think so,” I said, looking at the navigator on my phone.

I prudently took a shovel from home with me to clear the road or dig it to the house. The house was small, one-story.It was clear that no one lived in it. To get to him, we had to jump over the fence. Delilah did it easily, but then fell into the snow almost waist-deep and immediately emerged from there. Her light lilac down jacket looked like a bright spot in the middle of the white snow.

At first I threw a shovel over the fence, because pole vaulting was not part of my plans. I myself, however, also jumped over the fence quite deftly, but only so as not to lose face in front of Delilah… and my shoes, which I was afraid to leave in the snow.

We tried to walk around the house, drowning in the snow, to get inside. The matter seemed stalemate. If in Moscow the weather was almost above zero, and there was almost no snow, then outside the city the picture was completely different. Delilah was frozen, and so was I. But none of us were ready to give up.

“We need to break the window,” said Delilah. “Give me a shovel,” she said peremptorily.

The house was made of wood, as if it had been warped, the windows were kept on the word of honor.

“Let’s try to enter through the door,” I said, not realizing at all that this was a brilliant idea.

We probably could have found the keys to the house in advance, but it would have taken a lot of time, because Aunt Lily Kolyuka didn’t have them. Our stay here was also marred by the fact that we could be arrested for breaking and entering private property, although this was unlikely.

I went to the door and knocked on it. It was closed, but held on flimsily; I pushed it more than once. Delilah shouted to me: “Get away!”, and with a running start, which she could afford in view of the snowdrifts, she attacked her from her feet. It didn’t work out. I knocked on the door again, and then again and again, and in the end the dilapidation of the structure did its job, the door gave in under our common pressure.

***

It was quiet and cold inside, but quite clean, as if someone had tidied up the place. Closer to the window there was a wooden table, next to it there was a refrigerator, and on it was a microwave. We were surprised that there was electricity in the house. It looks like someone has been here, albeit rarely.

We had little information; we ourselves didn’t know why we had come specifically, because there was no one here. We may have acted on a whim, because we didn’t have any other options yet.

“It’s cold,” Delilah said, shivering from the cold.

It really wasn’t much warmer here than outside.

— Maybe we should go down to the basement? — I suggested.

— Is he here? — Delilah was surprised. – Well, there must be something? — I said, meaning that the size of the house is too small and such houses usually have some kind of continuation below.

We searched around the house and indeed found a small door on the floor leading to the basement. I was afraid to let Delilah there. I pulled the wooden door open and looked into the dark space below, illuminating it with the light from my phone flashlight. Delilah sighed, and through her sigh I could sense that she was very tense.

“There’s probably nothing there,” I suggested. — It is very small, but there is a wooden staircase. I don’t know how reliable it is.

— Maybe we should go down? — Delilah suggested to me.

I was afraid that the ladder would not support my weight, or Delilah’s weight either, so I abandoned this idea.

“We’d better inform the police,” I told her, “and they’ll check everything themselves.”

We were about to leave, but for some reason Delilah hesitated. Finally, she decided to look around again.

“Wait,” I heard her say muffledly as she approached the second part of the house, divided by a closet. — This can’t be! — she exclaimed.

I immediately approached her. Delilah was sitting on a wooden bed, which was covered with an old blue checkered blanket without a duvet cover, and she had two notebooks in her hands.

— These are notes from Lily Kolyuka! — Delilah exclaimed.

I looked around the room.

— Where were they? — I asked.

“Right here, on the bed, under the covers,” she said excitedly.

And indeed, everything looked as if no one was hiding these notebooks. They just lay there, as if Lilya herself had put them there in order to reread them for bedtime or write something down in them.

We never understood whether these were diaries or drafts, because everything was mixed in there, but sometimes there were dates. The last one was December 23, 2023, that is, two months before her disappearance, which means she was here quite recently. Now we had such valuable information in our hands that still had to be studied and deciphered.

One notebook was caged, on a spring, there were ninety-six sheets, but some of them were torn out. The cover was dark red with a huge lime green car that was blurry because it was going at high speed.Most likely, Lilya bought the first notebook she came across that suited her in size, because the cover was quite standard, except for the color of the car, which was exactly the same as on the screensaver of the show “Fifteen Shoes”, where she participated. And the second notebook was half the size, with a green cover.

They were all covered in her uneven handwriting. Very often her name was written in the notebook. Probably to relieve tension, she wrote her name. But I was more attracted to the first page, where next to her stage name — Lilya Kolyuki — there was another one — Lilya Manylova, that is, her real name, where the first four letters of her surname were underlined with two lines, as if she wanted to cling to the money she had she wasn’t there.

“She probably wanted to write a monologue and joke on this topic, but didn’t come up with anything,” suggested Delilah, looking at this entry in her diary.

“Maybe,” I said quietly.

Delilah and I hovered over her diary, forgetting about time.

Lilya Kolyuki, apparently, wanted to write a text for a stand-up performance, but it was difficult to make out her notes, because she wrote it for herself, and not for us. Her handwriting was uneven, but sometimes it became almost perfect, as if she tried and wrote at the table in silence, alone, when no one bothers her and there is nowhere to rush. Sometimes the entries were interrupted, crossed out, even painted over; in some places we saw ordinary girlish drawings in the form of patterns, hearts and emoticons drawn with a blue pen.

— Why did she take such a pseudonym — Kolyuki? — I asked Delilah. — I know that the kalyuka is an ancient musical instrument. Do you think she meant it?

“I don’t know,” Delilah shrugged. “Maybe she wanted to emphasize her “prickliness” with them. Or the fact that her “thorns” in good hands can become music for the soul, huh? — Delilah looked at me very naively.

“You’re digging too deep,” I smiled. “We’re unlikely to be able to get into her head.” It is quite possible that she did this without any idea, but simply thought the name was “cool” or funny or memorable. In general, in her pseudonym — Kolyuki — I hear a consonance with the surname Pataki or Swarovski. Perhaps she just wanted originality, to be different from everyone else.

***

On the way back, I was already driving, and Delilah was sitting in the back seat, clutching Lily Kolyuka’s diaries to her chest. At first we drove in silence, trying to comprehend this event, and then she opened the diary and began to read out the entries that she could make out.

“It’s cold today,” Delilah read. “I need to come up with a text, I need to tear up the hall, but nothing comes to mind, although I try my best.” Sometimes I watch Bertha or Lillian write their lyrics and I feel uneasy. No, I don’t hate them or envy them, I’m much worse — I start fawning over them, they feel it and quietly despise me. Nobody likes to be fawned over.”

“Everything is clear,” said Dalila, commenting on this post, “all stand-up comedians are sad people, they laugh through pain.”

I remained silent significantly, not wanting to discuss stereotypes.

— Do you think that this is not so? — she asked me.

“They sell it,” I concluded. — Read on.

Chapter Three

Studying the diaries of Lily Kolyuka, we noted that almost nowhere does she write about her family, parents, even about her grandmother, with whom she lived since she was ten years old. The only mention was of her younger half-brother, whom she called “that major” and gave him a very unflattering description.