Alexander Kramer literary almanac stories. Alexander Kramer

Widow

My wife and I have long enjoyed traveling without any purpose. We were rolling along like this one day, aimlessly, and suddenly we saw a wondrous wonder: a stone young lady was running in an open field and waving her headscarf with all her might at someone. There are ravines and gullies all around, no housing, no living people in sight either. Where could a sculpture come from in such a place? Did the beautiful maiden run somewhere and turn to stone? A miracle - just like in a fairy tale.

The road curved around a huge ravine in a wide arc, and the stone runner remained in front of our eyes for so long that we were finally overcome by active curiosity and wanted to take a closer look at the sculpted artifact. In an ironic mood, we got out of the car, over rather rough terrain, we came close to the strange sculpture - and froze: the face of the young woman looked so mournful, so unbearably sad up close, that the causeless joy instantly flew away from us. And suddenly my soul felt so vague, as if some unknown misfortune had happened to us.

The pedestal of the sculpture was very low, hidden by thick grass, so it seemed that the woman was running straight across the field: with the last of her strength she rushed after someone in a reckless, hopeless pursuit. A silent, desperate cry burst from her chest, a sharp wind whipped her face in gusts, mercilessly ruffled her thick long hair, her sundress blew out, her legs were tangled - she slowed down, did not allow her to walk... And the foot of the sculpture - everything was strewn with flowers: and dried flowers lay around , and still quite fresh.

We stood for a while and slowly walked back, climbed into the cabin and sat in silence - we didn’t want to utter any words.

“You know,” my wife said when we had been silent enough, “let’s find out at least something.” Surely the locals can tell you something.

Okay, I said. - As soon as the first houses appear, we’ll turn around. Maybe we'll really find out.

That’s how we ended up at the old teacher’s house, and this is what he said.

It means that I couldn’t see the beginning, because at that time, as they say, I wasn’t even included in the project. But my father, Stepan Porfirievich, may he rest in peace, told me about this several times, so, therefore, I know the foreplay.

Well, yes, on the one hand, those were terrible, “cursed” times, but on the other hand, such creative restlessness suddenly awoke in people!.. All sorts of ideas just flowed like fountains. Someone in our area implemented one such idea.

Activists here even formed a group. They tried with all their might to find out who sculpted the Widow. They even invited some major specialist from Moscow. He arrived, spread his arms, clicked his tongue, and turned back and forth. So nothing was found out during all this time.

The water in our region is healing, mineral springs flow everywhere; So the authorities decided to build a sanatorium for sick Red Army soldiers for the tenth anniversary of October.

The first stone was laid for the military orchestra, banners with posters were hung everywhere and the sculptures, well, about which you are asking, were erected in one breath. After all, there were two of these sculptures at first. Closer to the highway along which you came to us, it means that a Red Army soldier was standing - in windings, an open overcoat, a hat with an asterisk and a rifle over his shoulder. The soldier with a cheerful smile was almost out on the highway and casually, turning half-turn, waved his hand goodbye; and the girl from afar, right from the field, ran after him and kept calling and calling...

The sanatorium was then actually built, but forty kilometers from here and for the military authorities. That means there is a thicker layer of water there, a forest and a river closer, and the whole area turned out to be more suitable for construction. In general, they dug everything here at first and abandoned it, but for some reason they did not move the sculptures, so they left them here. So, to the surprise of everyone, they stayed with us before the war.

Then the war began. This means I already remember it well. The front line passed through our area, and in the regional center, in the former zemstvo hospital, a huge hospital was built. One summer, in 1943, there were eight or ten vehicles transporting the wounded from the front in a medical column.

Where did he come from just that day, this Fokker? After all, everything was quiet! He, the bastard, only dropped two bombs, but the first hit the very center, and the second fell on the side of the road, at the tail of the column, right where the stone Red Army soldier was standing. Few people survived then. And the Red Army soldier was also completely cut off by the blast wave.

So the second sculpture remained alone. It means she was left without her little soldier. Since then she has been called the Widow.

Then groups of widows started to gather near the Widow on May 9th. They will come, sit down, pour bitter drinks into glasses and sing sad songs. And so it all came out to them mentally... that the non-widow people gradually began to join them. So one day in May the veterans also joined them. But it seems that already in the late sixties it became a tradition in our places.

In the area there are all kinds of monuments and obelisks, made like carbon copies, and it is impossible to count, there is even an eternal flame in the regional center, and people come here to bow to the ground of the soldier’s widow, and remember their loved ones next to her. And crippled by the Afghan war, and by the Chechen...

You, too, apparently, were hooked; they also felt the soul of the Widow.

Yes, and about fifteen years ago, newlyweds suddenly began to come here after the registry office - so that they could have their first sip of champagne together here, in front of the Widow - for a happy, long and inseparable life. Well, yes, that's right. At the registry office they sign, as expected, take all sorts of photographs, and champagne is already opened near the Widow.

It turns out that an unknown master created a rare work. For a long time. It's a pity we couldn't find out anything about him. Apparently he is no longer alive.

On the way back we stopped near the sculpture again. They picked wild flowers and laid them at the Widow’s feet. My wife pressed herself close to me, and we stood for a short time, hugging tightly. And then we drank a sip of wine in silence. For those who will never return. And for those who remember those who did not return.

THE MISSING

And always the same dull walls. And always the same disgusted, homely, lean faces. And forever the same thing, the same thing! Absolutely nothing ever happened in this dreary, hopeless and joyless life. And so on for years, and years, and years...

And suddenly, in this ordinary, joyless, mouse-like existence, an amusement park appears! Carousels, swings, trains and slides; an ocean of crazy, unbridled fun, infectious, uncontrollable laughter; an endless parade of clowns, carnival processions, hilarious motorcades; and firecrackers, and clusters of colorful balloons, and crowds of carefree people... and music, music, live cheerful music, right up to the bottomless, blue and green skies...

And just before leaving - in a huge cafe under multi-colored umbrellas - they were given delicious, aromatic juices and ice cream in huge waffle cones, which, laughing and flirting, were carried to the tables by dressed-up, fiery-red clowns and playful witches; and it was so fun, so incredibly fun...

And as a souvenir of this stunning, magical event, Martin kept an orange rubber ball from some attraction and a teaspoon with which he ate ice cream.

The spoon was made of shiny red plastic and was so extraordinarily beautiful that he instantly became attached to it with his whole being and was unable to part with it or the ball for another minute. Because both the ball and the spoon were a wonderful, indelible memory, an echo of a wonderful holiday that had long ago dissolved in time, but not the least bit forgotten, not dimmed in the memory of the holiday.

From then on, the ball always lay under his pillow, and Martin always said goodbye to it before going to bed. And he carried a spoon with him everywhere and ate everything only with it. What could not be eaten with a precious spoon, I did not eat at all. Only at night he let her go from his hands, put her under the pillow next to the orange ball, touched her for the last time and only then fell asleep.

The house in which he lived almost his entire life, even before he settled in it, was very old, but recently it had completely fallen into disrepair, and one day they were told that it needed to be thoroughly renovated, and therefore all of them - every single one - are resettled. Over the years that he spent here, he, as expected, accumulated a lot of different things, unnecessary and necessary. For some reason they were not allowed to take everything to a new place, and he, unable to decide what he could part with, endlessly sorted, sorted, rearranged all his precious belongings... Very little time was allotted, the bustle in the house was due to This is terrible, terrible hassle... and when they all finally moved, it turned out that the orange ball was in place, but the spoon, his precious red spoon, was lost. Nowhere, nowhere!!!

He wandered and wandered and wandered through all the new rooms as if lost. Tears kept welling up in my eyes. The breathing was spiraling. One cheek began to twitch from the non-stop nervousness. It seemed to him that it was always cold here, everything inside and outside was trembling slightly from this cold. He could no longer eat, because there was nothing to eat. He didn’t recognize any other spoons or forks, couldn’t see them, wasn’t able to touch them... A few days later, the hunger apparently became so unbearable that he tried to eat handfuls of soup from the pan - it turned out to be so disgusting that he immediately gave up and never touched any food at all.

They tried to persuade him in every possible way, offering to at least try to eat something with his hands - for example, chicken or meat. He caused a scandal, threw an unprecedented hysteria, and even tried even a piece of something - he flatly refused.

On only the sixth day, the nurse finally had a sensible, but not at all simple, idea - to go to the amusement park. So long ago that excursion took place! Everything could have changed any way since then. But trying is not torture. Anything is better than waiting and hoping for something unknown. Whoever gave his name, as they say, got caught: it was on this principle that the nurse was sent on the trip.

She returned from a business trip only late in the evening, after dinner, and - lo and behold - she brought two exactly the same red plastic spoons! One of them was immediately hidden (just in case of fire) in a safe place, and the other - having lured Martin out of his room - was placed under his pillow, next to a rubber ball, where it always lay at night - as if it had found itself, as if in a fairy tale... .

And he finally calmed down and could eat and breathe again. And, at least for a while, I became happy.

AUTUMN

All! There were about ten hours left. He was leaving. Forever. And he finally wanted to exhaust this city to the bottom.

And it was autumn all around. And yellow leaves. And the sun was shining with all its might. And the wind was warm and gentle. This sickly gentle wind tore armfuls of yellow leaves from the trees and threw them under the feet of those walking.

And he, too - tall, graceful and straw-red-haired - seemed like an autumn leaf, torn off and driven by the same sugary wind. And he also seemed blind, because he bumped into everyone and almost got hit by a car, and wandered without purpose or sense, feeling with horror and delight how time was passing, passing, passing...

That's it... He could no longer move or feel. The city was still full, but it had run dry. The wind swirled his soul for some time, finally giving him the opportunity to enjoy freedom, and then, without any mercy, threw him just like other leaves, walking under his feet. He sat on a bench in a tiny square, sandwiched between houses, and was quiet, and soaring in the clouds, and as if he had fallen asleep, smiling at the warmth and peace, devastated.

Oh my God! Time! He grabbed his bag and rushed like a whirlwind, like a typhoon, like a tornado, now purposefully pushing passers-by aside (it seems to me that this didn’t make it any easier for them) and almost got hit by a car again. But here comes the bus. The usual crush brought him to his senses. He quickly regained his strength before the long journey. The shell was destroyed. The chick was released into the wild. For life!

Crap! Damn time! Like a wild animal after prey, he crossed the station square, rolled into an underground tunnel, broke out again to the surface, onto the platform, and rushed towards the carriage, scaring away passengers, scattering fallen leaves...

Where did this puddle come from! The train has already clanged on the couplings, and two more cars... And She closes the passage between the puddle and the edge of the platform. And oh whirlwind, oh typhoon, oh tornado!..

She was also graceful and straw-red haired. And it seemed that they were two leaves from the same crown. It was the wind that nailed them to each other and now enjoyed the creation of its wings (quite in its spirit). And he hugged her, lifted her, and fell silent, and timidly touched her with his lips, and, driven by the autumn time, he rushed away, leaving her on the platform among the flying leaves.

On the Sunset

For some time I went on business trips so often that hotels began to seem like home to me, and home like one of many, many random hotels; but, to be honest, I really liked this nomadic, hectic, uncertain life, I was comfortable among many new faces, impressions, inevitable sudden, optional and fleeting relationships and connections...

That’s how one of my countless business trips somehow brought me to a small town above a large and quiet river. Once great and glorious, this city was now a deep, deepest province, a bearish corner from which, having arrived, one wanted to escape as quickly as possible. That’s what I intended to do - to deal with all my affairs in one day and run away, but everything still didn’t stick together at the very beginning, it went awry, and by the middle of the working day I already knew for sure that, unfortunately, I would have to stay here and Tomorrow. And so I stopped jumping, twitching and driving my soul out of myself, resigned myself, threw everything to hell and went wandering around the city and the surrounding area, allowing events to develop as usual.

Everything in this little town was gray, dull, and evoked only sleepy stupor and boredom; the houses were squalid everywhere, haphazardly built along narrow and dusty streets; even in the center, feathered domestic animals roamed here; there were also goats that behaved arrogantly and aggressively; and the local residents also seemed unattractive to me, wary and gloomy, ready to get involved in a scandal or fight at the slightest reason.

I wandered like this for quite a long time, until at sunset I reached the outskirts of the city, to the river. Here, almost above the cliff, stood a three-domed wooden church: tiny, it was of extraordinary beauty, and looked so light, so weightless... It seemed that if the wind blew stronger, the church would fall off the cliff and fly over the earth, the river, higher and higher. higher into the heavens, towards the setting sun... And right next to the church stood a narrow wooden bell tower with a high spire, which with its height and narrowness further emphasized the graceful smallness of God's house, made the church even more wonderful, even weightless...

I stood there for quite a long time, I still couldn’t stop admiring it, and was about to turn back, when suddenly I saw: all in black, a thin, tall bell-ringer began to slowly climb the bell tower - to ring for evening prayer. It was twilight, the steps of the staircase inside the openwork structure of the bell tower were no longer visible to me from afar, and this made it seem as if the monk was not rising, but soaring in the rays of the setting sun. It was beautiful and extraordinarily majestic - the scarlet sky, the thin, thin crescent-shaped blade of the crimson sun, the narrow black outline of a monk ascending the bell tower, and the first pale stars peeking high, high in the clear sky... I couldn’t tear myself away and stood motionless, like spellbound.

Finally, the bell ringer climbed to the very top, to the belfry, to the bells; For some time he stood motionless, as if he was internally gathering and preparing. And a hot scarlet flooded the entire horizon, illuminating the tall, slender bell tower and the black bell ringer, and the church, and the river, and all the distance beyond the river...

And as soon as the sun, which had already hung very low before, had completely set, at that same moment, as if it was not an Orthodox bell ringer, but a zealous sun worshiper, who was above, the bells struck solemnly and sadly...

I never believed in God, but when the heavy bell of good news sounded in the heights, something suddenly happened to my soul, and for just one moment I experienced the power and depth of true, genuine faith, illumination, inner purification... and heavenly ones. the strength was with me, and the delight of being alive... and with it, a rare happiness came from knowing my essence, the meaning of existence.

I thought then that some mysterious sign had been given to me from above. I started going to church. I even went on pilgrimage several times. But religious ecstasy turned out to be inaccessible to me, and the zealous, senseless crowd caused internal rejection, hostility and only alienated me, turned me away from the church. Therefore, my soul never clung to either the Orthodox or any other faith. Perhaps this also happened because I was looking in my soul and world not for humility and piety, but for piercing and boundless beauty, faith outside of God, which then, at sunset, struck my soul forever. Maybe, but after that I sincerely wanted to comprehend the mystery of the transcendental world. It’s probably my fault that it didn’t work out.

However, my life has still changed since that day. After some time, when cities, people, and all the senseless fuss of people began to irritate me beyond belief, I abandoned everything and everyone and have been living ever since at an abandoned stop, alone. And if on quiet days at sunset I suddenly hear the voices of village bells carried by the wind, the crimson sun, the quiet sunset river, the church hovering over the cliff, the sun-worshipping bell ringer again emerge in my memory... And again the feeling of pure neo-pagan delight and recklessness comes to life in my soul, the deep faith that I experienced on that indelible day that changed my whole life forever.

Drawing

When I was in elementary school, two subjects were not given to me at all - singing and drawing. Singing, which is natural, was inaccessible to a child who had absolutely no hearing, but this problem was solved by punctually attending the school choir, where I pretended to sing, or sang barely audibly, and for this my diligence was given a solid four, and I was I'm terribly pleased with this. But with drawing everything was much worse. Even today, my handwriting is such that everyone just shakes their heads, and my relatives still say that my hands “grew from the same place,” and by this they mean something completely specific.

Therefore, in the sixth grade, when my drawing report card already had a C in the first quarter, and was planned for the second, my parents sternly warned me that if a C actually ended up on the report card, then during the holidays I would not go on an excursion to Kyiv with my class. I’ll go, and no tears will help me. That is why, when our drawing teacher, Edmund Antonovich, almost before the end of the second quarter announced that in the next lesson we would have a drawing for evaluation, I understood irrevocably that Kyiv was nowhere to be seen.

Edmund Antonovich came to our class only this year and only for this year. Actually, he ran an art studio for gifted children at the Palace of Pioneers, and circumstances unknown to me brought him to us. He was thin, awkward, a little beaten down; he smiled all the time, somehow helplessly and detachedly, carried the work of his studio students to almost every lesson and, with the admiration of a crazy dad, described their artistic and technical merits to us, encouraged us to draw just as diligently and just as unusually. I don’t know how he managed with the gifted in his art studio, but he couldn’t cope with us ordinary people, because he was absolutely no school teacher. Therefore, in his lesson, everyone was doing whatever they could: making noise, knocking, spitting millet from a tube, shooting paper staples from slingshots... and at the same time he was diligently drawing something for himself and showing it at the blackboard, absolutely not paying attention to this all the chaos. That was a lesson! But apparently there was no other teacher, and they put up with it for a whole year. There was only one bad thing about him: he gave grades terribly meticulously, and because of this I didn’t get C grades from him, and literally everything for me depended on the upcoming class work.

Finally, this thrice-cursed day has arrived! Edmund Antonovich, beaming as if on a holiday, entered the classroom and announced that today there would be a class work, in which we would have to draw a picture on the theme “The First Snow.”

Several times I diligently began to draw and almost gave up immediately, because my drawings looked so terrible that it would not even occur to me to pass them - all the same, there would be a sure deuce. It was a disaster! It was all over! And then, out of complete desperation, I decided to do a wild thing. I opened a blank sheet of paper in my drawing book and, with all the colored pencils I had, instead of drawing, I wrote on it in large block letters:

PAINTING

First snow

Morning. There was snowfall at night. It was the first snow this year. It snowed for a long time and now the red tiles on the roofs of small houses are almost invisible under the snow. Only the red pipes stick out. Tails of white and motionless smoke rise high from the chimneys to the sky. Snow on trees, roofs and roads. It sparkles under the morning sun and blinds the eyes. Children in multi-colored jackets and hats run out into the street. They have skis and sleds in their hands. Children scream and laugh, roll huge snow globes and make funny snowmen out of them. One is even ready and has two ski poles instead of hands. And from the high mountain in front of the houses, clowns come down to the children and in their hands are wonderful kites and colored balloons.

Kramer Alexander

The drawing lesson was once a week, and I just don’t know how I survived until the next lesson. I remember that I didn’t eat, didn’t drink, and didn’t sleep. I couldn’t even read my favorite books for a minute, because I didn’t understand a word, and I was also only physically present in class, and all my thoughts were occupied with what I had done and what would happen after that. Therefore, when at the next drawing lesson Edmund Antonovich handed out our albums to us, I almost lost consciousness while I opened my damned “drawing” with a terrible foreboding. And suddenly... I couldn’t believe my eyes: on the ill-fated sheet there was a huge red five, which was held in the hands of a little red-haired clown, and then the five appeared in the cool magazine.

ARREST

1
- Who are you? And – why – are you – sober?! Well, there is a sign hanging:
"DO NOT DISTURB". Blind, or what?
- I’m not bothering you. You're right. I'm on business. In the name of the law you are under arrest. Here is the resolution of the commission under the Council on your arrest.
- How - arrested? For what? I only arrived a week ago.
Five times during the entire period I left the hotel and left. I haven’t even managed to find permanent housing yet. When that?..
“And I’m not saying that you did anything.” You are under preventive arrest as a resident of the Territory listed below.
- That is? How is this preventive? Have you gone crazy?!
What other Territory is this?
- Listen, stop playing the fool. Did you receive the summons two days ago? Got. It means your time has come, you know?
You know. Everything was explained to you in the agenda. So quickly pack your things and head out. Otherwise I’ll call a convoy!
- Yes, I thought it was some kind of local joke. I thought it was fake, someone’s stupid prank. And what will your escort do to me? After all, he is not guilty of anything!
- Not a joke, not fake. Everything is written there correctly.
Everything is very serious.
And if you don’t go kindly with me, it will be a shame. They will lead you to the prison under escort and in handcuffs. You are new in our area, do you really want to disgrace yourself in front of all honest people from the first day? And in addition to the shame, you will serve one and a half terms. Sure enough, the Council is soldering it to the fullest. Otherwise, just sit quietly for a week and be released. This is the order we have here, you understand? But there is almost no crime, because everyone and everyone sits at their allotted hour. And there are no ships either. No need. Everything is precise and simple, without any fiddling - the Council resolves all issues.
So leave your fanfare and curiosity for later, but now let’s not waste time. A living person is waiting for you, you're running out of time. You must have a conscience. Yes, you should bring warm things.
They will only start heating in the chamber in a few days; it will still be cool there. In general, stop sharpening your lasses, get ready.

2
– Tell me, who came up with this thing for you? We'll still have to get there, maybe you can tell me something?
- There’s nothing to tell me. Nobody remembers. All the documents were destroyed. They decided to consider any mention a crime.
Therefore nothing has been preserved. There aren't even archives. Even secret ones.
We only know that we once had terrible crime.
Unimaginable. They did everything they could: they introduced the death penalty, replaced it with a life sentence, sentenced them to unimaginable terms, put them under house arrest, sent them to all sorts of mines... Nothing really helped: they took bribes, raped, killed and robbed - even if they had a stake on their head. So one day they decided that everyone - without any benefits or indulgences - should sit. Did you do anything, sit down!
No privileges. The small discount was made only for the governor: half the term is only toiling, but according to the schedule and regularly - there are no exceptions. And anyone can end up in a cell with anyone. So if you do something nasty to someone, blame yourself. In the cell you will be shown everything honorably, and there will be retribution for everything.
– What about freedom? After all, this is...
– As one, now half-forgotten, expert on prison affairs said, “freedom is a conscious necessity.” There is a poster like this hanging in every cell. And our governor says: “Since society has a need for your temporary lack of freedom, then this need must be realized and become your urgent need.” That's a strong word, isn't it? So realize this!
But now we have almost no crimes. As you have seen, it is impossible to escape from the Territory by any means - thorns, security... Serve the allotted time - fly in four directions. The only way! That's why everyone is careful.
And it’s also easy to look for you if you’ve done something, because you’ve already been in prison, which means you’ve been recorded from head to toe. They'll identify you in an instant - the slightest clue is enough.
So, if you sit for a while, you will be imbued with our spirit. Get to know the people in the cell. Maybe you’ll make some friends in the new place. Nothing wrong with that. Some people even like it. Some people themselves, without waiting for a summons, come to the prison gates. For this purpose, the planting schedule hangs openly and is known to everyone. Some even change in order to sit with someone specific. But such an indulgence is only with special permission. It’s not easy here, there are all sorts of relationships, merit is needed... It happens occasionally that people ask for extra time, but this is still rarely allowed to anyone - it’s strict with this.
Curiosities also happen. One day, the newlyweds were taken straight from the wedding. It just so happened that the time for both of them to sit had come.
- And what, in one cell?
- What are you talking about! Who would allow this?! Of course, they took us to different rooms. But then the Council was quite loyal to the circumstances and, by a special resolution, made an indulgence for them, as the governor.
Yes, I almost forgot. Pregnant women are entitled to only two days from the fifth month until the birth of their child. So for a short time they become more important than the governor. Everything, as you see, is fair.

Only these are all the rules for an ordinary prison term, and if you seriously messed up somewhere... Well, for example, you cleaned someone’s face from drunken eyes. This is a different conversation. Here your sentence is immediately tripled – for a whole year. And you will spend your triple sentence not like everyone else, but in solitary confinement, in a special prison: you will have no comforts, no pleasure...
And if you have done something truly vile, then, as I already said, we do not have courts, such red tape is not provided for in the Territory, you receive without delay - by decree of the Council - a life sentence. So everyone decides for themselves how to behave in a civilized society.
- So, how are the children?
- What about children? They study, they misbehave... Children are like children. But little by little, of course, we teach them too. To order. No, of course, this does not apply to younger schoolchildren, only to high school students - everything has its time.
In the graduating class there is an extracurricular lesson once a month. They are taken on excursions to various prisons. And to lifers too.
They tell, explain... If desired, they leave them in the cell for a couple of hours - so that they can look at it, try it on... But how, after all, they must gradually grow into our lives, become involved in society.

Well, here we are. Now, on honor and honor, I will hand you over to the convoy normally. So, I was glad to meet you. See you. Soft landing.

He had had all sorts of dreams before, of course, but only more and more ordinary, ordinary dreams. And then suddenly something strange and even ominous began to appear. And each time I didn’t dream about a new nonsense, but some kind of continuation of the past ones. But the worst thing was that he was not always able to separate sleep from reality.

1
The visions began with the fact that he seemed to be sitting at home, relaxing after a working day: drinking tea and eating something. Suddenly a wrinkled, thick-fleshed old man in a greasy blue padded jacket and uncleaned kirzachs enters the room; The old man pokes a callused finger into his chest at a huge, almost full-chest cloth label, on which is written in bold red letters: “escort”, and squeals in a vile falsetto that he was appointed by a special commission to escort him to a special destination. Therefore, he is obliged to get dressed without any arguing and immediately set off on his journey with an accompanying person.
“Okay,” he says for some reason completely resignedly, “I’m already getting dressed.” Just where will we go and why, and what things will be necessary there, that is, what should we take with us?
“You’ll find out there,” the uninvited guest squeals even louder, “take a pillow from the sofa and some kind of blanket, nothing else is required.” Let's hurry up, you've been told: immediately!
He then takes a pillow and blanket from the sofa and obediently follows the persistent guide. And it’s strange, but these orders and instructions do not cause the slightest surprise or internal irritation in him for the time being, and he unquestioningly obeys everything that the fat escort tells him.

Then they walk for a long, long time along a semi-dark, bumpy road, and some people move along with them - a whole crowd. And they all have pillows and attendants, just like him. And for some reason it suddenly occurs to him that he, and everyone else along with him, is being led to death, to slaughter. And he becomes so scared from this guess, such an unbearable horror seizes him that he begins to heart-rendingly yell at his fat guard, and waves the stupid pillow, and tries to wake up... but he can’t hit him or wake up. And the old man in the quilted jacket hints at something, runs around, but doesn’t really explain anything, and from this the wild assumption in him only strengthens even more, and the inner horror only becomes more unbearable. And he hears in a dream that he is already roaring - just like mad:
“But I haven’t done anything criminal,” he yells at his indifferent guard, “and I’m not sick with anything contagious, and I’m also mentally healthy, and I don’t pose any danger to anyone, anywhere or anything!”
“So what,” the guide answers him with a hissing fistula, “still somewhere, someday you have to die, get sick or do some nasty thing?” Maybe somehow someone became aware of this desire or intention of yours, maybe they let it slip to someone, and now the time has come to be held accountable for this endeavor of yours. But this is just what I assume on my own behalf, because you ask me.
Maybe that's not the point at all. I don’t know, like you, nothing. When you get to the place, it will become clear why, how and what. Maybe they are going to reward you with an order or give you a secret position - who knows!
- So what will happen to me?! What will happen to me?! - he repeats, completely idiotically, over and over again, - If not to destruction, then why then, why?!
“So I’m explaining to you in human terms,” the damned old man insists, “that I don’t know anything, that it’s still unclear, that everything will be explained to you on the spot.” Be patient. The rest, almost all of them, you see, hold on, don’t cause trouble, and go quietly. And there are very few people like you who are passionate. Have some patience. Everything will certainly become clear soon.
This is a strange conversation. Somewhat wild, even. But for some reason, his fear of what is about to happen suddenly disappears - without a trace. It completely and completely disappears, as if it never happened.
All that remains is one detached, indifferent curiosity and a desire for - death - so death - but only for at least something to happen as quickly as possible. And he continues to squawk in the crowd with his escort over the bumps - silently and indifferently.

In the evening they come to some strange area - extremely strange; All absolutely objects - people, buildings, and even nature - are equipped with explanatory signs for something.
Probably so that no one confuses (or learns) what is called what. For example, on a birch tree there is a sign “birch”, and near a well there is a sign “well”, and so on. To the point that on the lawn near the road along which they were led, there are two signs at once: “lawn” and “grass.” The first feeling is that everything is adapted for the treatment of patients with aphasia; It would also be perfect for the landing and adaptation of space brothers in mind, as well as for training the mentally disabled.

Finally they are led to a long, wooden, one-story building, on which it is written in large letters on a shield above the pediment: “Wooden barracks.” They are brought into this barracks with two-story bunks, and a new person, who has the tags “man” and “quilted jacket” sewn on the back of his quilted jacket, and the tag “senior” on the front, leads them each to their bunks: settle down.
Then the elder lines them up in front of the barracks and explains that now they will work in a special team for the manufacture and installation of forest signs, that they will be punished for insubordination and dishonest work, that they will also be encouraged, but this is not important yet. All. You can rest until tomorrow and get acquainted.

2
I didn’t really dream about the work, no circumstances. Just day after day - stupidly and tediously - the pitiful human jelly placed and hung signs throughout the forest and meadow. Even near mushrooms and berries that quickly deteriorated and disappeared, even near flowers that quickly withered - they still put up stupid signs and then removed them.
They wrote, staged; cleaned up and burned. All. They never did anything else.
I kept dreaming and dreaming about this stupid, dreary dream, ad infinitum... And one day I dreamed that after work they brought women into the barracks. All, like men, with gender tags on their backs. The guards pushed them into the barracks en masse, like a herd; they said that this was a bonus for the barracks for conscientious work; that if anyone wants, they can have fun - an hour of time - time has gone.
And that time he wanted a woman so unbearably!.. And at the same time this desire made him so ashamed of the animal...
And in the darkness of the barracks, he couldn’t really see any of the women, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand up or get closer to them, shame pressed him into the bunks like a lead weight. But one of them - extremely thin, even emaciated - approached his bunk herself. Then she came to him every time, it seemed like she was dreaming about the same one all the time. He had never been able to get a good look at her face. I didn’t know her name either, because she was always silent. I only remembered that she was terribly thin, that her facial features were hard and asymmetrical, as if they had been carved out of wood or stone by a crooked carver. But her smile was completely special; the radiance emanated from her smile, as if all of her radiated an even and hot light. Every time he trembled, he saw an extraordinary smile. But she rarely smiled at all. You can count on your fingers how many times this happened. And the reason - what made her smile - I could never remember.

For some reason, every time he remembered that before he was with her... self-loathing rose in him - painful, unbearable... But he was not able to refuse; I firmly remembered that I never refused.
For some reason, from the very first day, I thought about her constantly.
No, the thoughts were not carnal, normal. It’s just that an obsession has formed in an empty head, unoccupied with nothing but idiotic signs.
He understood that he lived like pathetic cattle, that everything he did was bestiality... But this happened in a dream! So what, in a dream!
After all, it’s still bestiality! It's bestiality!..
And then, after a very short time, the feeling of shame passed.
It completely passed. And he went to work again along with everyone else. And he worked with all his might to bring her back to the barracks as quickly as possible. And I felt nothing but the desire to see her. But he had everything with her like everyone else. No difference...

And one day she came and said (he then heard her low, chesty contralto for the first and last time) that she would not come to him again.
That reinforcements have arrived, so now they will all be taken to another barracks...
And, for some unknown reason, it suddenly exploded, the roof was simply blown off; In a frenzy, he hit her in the face with a backhand, then, like a madman, he rushed at the guard near the door, slammed his head against the wall of the barracks with all his might and rushed away into the darkness...

Then for a long time he dreamed that they were hanging him on a rack and monotonously and mercilessly slashing him with a whip, that he was roaring like a wild animal in inhuman, unbearable pain...
He always came to his senses already in the punishment cell, on the floor, immobilized by a straitjacket. How long the execution lasted - he could not understand, but only one day they threw him back into the stinking barracks - to continue to break the backbone with everyone else.

He never saw her again. Only, as if, I dreamed about it occasionally. Now some stencil-type lyafamas arrived, different each time. But in his relations with them, he never felt either self-loathing or disgust - even the slightest -. Because, perhaps, he began to treat females differently after her.
Or maybe, with the whip and the punishment cell, all sorts of fanaberia were completely knocked out of him, because not even a shadow of shame for his weakness appeared in him even once. In general, no stupid thoughts bothered his soul or worried him anymore.

3
He woke up, lay down for a while, peering into the thinning morning darkness and listening to the thick squeak of a mosquito, then lowered his feet to the floor, put his feet in slippers marked “slippers” and trudged to an iron tank with signs “tank” and “water”.

CHOICE

- Come in, Sharun, come in, sit down, meet Vernik Viktor Germanovich. Viktor Germanovich wants to make you an interesting offer.
“I, citizen chief, am not a homosexual for men to propose to me.” If you need anything, say it, but don’t go too far.
- Yes, Sharun, don’t rush, don’t jump, a man can knock you off. Surely you won't be interested?
- Who is he: the Pope or the Supreme Judge, who throws fives around?
- No, wait a moment to take me with hostility. I’m not a dad or a judge, but a physicist, an inventor, but I really can lose five years out of your thirty if you accept my offer. Well, then, let's talk?
- Okay, post it if you have anything useful. I'll make it to the camera in time.

1
– Of course, you haven’t heard anything about Hutchinson-Grillford syndrome? This is a rare disease, incurable and terrible. Today, only forty-eight children around the world suffer from it. By the age of ten, such patients look like very old people, and none of the children survive to fifteen. And there is no science yet that could explain this rapid aging.

This is the introduction. Now the point. We in the gerontology laboratory tried to figure out the cause of the disease. We haven't figured it out. That is, they have not learned how to control the reverse course of the disease. But now we at least know how it works, and we know how to trigger the aging mechanism itself, because we have discovered a field with which we can age any living organism as much as necessary. Accurate to one year. More precisely, unfortunately, I am still able to control the field. But this, if luck loves you, can work not only as a plus, but also as a minus.
Animals - from mice to chimpanzees - have already been tested. We know that the field is harmless; no organic abnormalities were found in the animals over two years. And now we have come to testing the aging field on humans. What I want to offer you has already been agreed upon with all responsible authorities. All we need is your voluntary consent to participate in the experiment. No one will force you. If you don’t want to, someone else will agree. But, to be honest, you are ideal in all respects for the experiment. That's why I came to you first.

And so I propose: you are brought to us, you enter the laboratory chamber, we turn on the field for twenty-five years of aging (not thirty, but twenty-five!), you leave and... go home.
Then, as often as necessary, you will come for tests and examinations. Your current criminal record will be expunged, and you will be forgiven another five years. This is all. I'll visit you in a week to hear your answer. Now think.

2
“Why are you, Sharun, making such a mess here?” What do you want?
- You are creatures, creatures! I can't eat, drink, or sleep. Your head will soon burst. Creatures!
- Don’t yell or shake your fists. When you ordered your accomplice, did you also climb up the wall out of commotion? Or did you just feel this way now?
Sit down, we'll talk normally. Vernik explained everything to you. Why are you fussing? Firstly, all this is voluntary: if you don’t want it, you don’t have to. And secondly, is it really more pleasant for you to sit on a bunk when you’re thirty? Well, move on. Three days left. If you think about it, click.

3
- Doctor, I feel bad. I can't tell you how bad it is. Stopped sleeping completely. I eat through force – it’s disgusting. I fainted twice.
Maybe you can give me some medicine to make me feel better?
– You sit down, Sharun, don’t shout, sit down and calm down.
Let us first discuss everything peacefully. I know briefly about what the physicists proposed to you. I understand that it is not easy.
Maybe you should be put in a prison hospital for a few days? So it's easy. Or maybe you just want to talk it out, vent, and try to make a decision together with me? So I will listen to you as much as you need. Tell us.
– There’s nothing special for me to tell you, doctor. You know, they are offering to sell me my life in exchange for a prison term. Well, I can’t, in any way, you know, choose what has a higher price - bestial life near the bucket, but so that everything is done in due time, everything is as it should be, at least with some kind of joys and pleasures, after all, not everything is chernukha; or freedom, but so that the moss on me would grow in five minutes, so that I would be left with a stolen, finished life, of no use to anyone, like a chewed cigarette butt. A few seconds will whistle past in the fucking field... and then what? Or maybe I’ll die in this field, because I’m not twenty-five, but only twenty years old, who knows, let me go! Who can say that, can know? Nobody! What are they offering me in return? A shitty five, which still needs to be pulled from the marked deck...
And here? Here you know what kind of life it is! Polova is ersatz, as my grandfather used to say. I'm thirty-eight in total. Or already?! All hope is that suddenly some kind of amnesty will come out. The only funny thing is that according to my article there are no amnesties. Unless a miracle happens.
Only hope, even for a miracle, always remains. No one can take away hope. She warms the heart, the damned term pushes.
Everyone, everyone is clinging to this little money, everyone, to any of its vile stamps.
Disabled people without arms or legs cannot easily part with it.
If it weren’t for this, it would have been a long time ago...
– You know, Sharun, unfortunately, it happens differently in the wild.
My friend crashed his car last summer. But what a healthy man he was! Who would have thought that he was only forty-nine years old!
“But he didn’t know, he didn’t know that he was going to die.” And he doesn’t know that he died. And I must shorten my life with my own hands. With your own hands!
Only, if I don’t agree, I will definitely remember throughout my thirties that there was a chance, a tiny chance, but there was one!..
And it’s also a terrifying notion that I can change everything in my life.
I can change it myself. Even though it’s a little bit less like being in a stinking prison, it’s normal to live in freedom. I’ll refuse, and the next day a brick will fall on me from the roof, my arms and legs will give out from some kind of sore, my head will be clouded... It’s burning my soul, doctor, it’s burning... I feel bad. There is nothing to put out the fire!

4
- Mister Colonel, the guard is lined up in full force. While on duty, prisoner Sharun was found dead in his cell with his veins exposed. There were no other incidents. Shift senior warrant officer Gromov.

PERFECTIONIST

Well, good citizen, stop rubbing the wall with your muzzle.
Come on, get up! Why are you showing off like that, can you be any faster?
For a late guest - to gnaw, you know, bones. Only this has never happened to me before, so that I gnaw bones.
Well, you're digging, right. Why the hell did you get into shoelaces? Why the hell, I say?! Almost tied! And my apprentices, don’t be afraid, won’t let you break your face. And if you break it, in your situation it’s not a big deal.
Why did you open your mouths? It’s bad, of course, for the one awarded. And, naturally, it would suck for you. Help the sufferer. Don't drag him around like that. Alive for now! Calmly rearrange the poor fellow. Take it easy. It will be better this way. It's like there's a fire. There will be a need, we will move whoever follows him, a little.
Lots of things to do! The main function is to elevate the awarded person to the platform, and then, if only there was dexterity, a method of changing something in all sorts of ways in this mess, that’s enough.
What are you, man, snoring? Are you a coward? So you're in vain. You are completely in vain. That year I received the governor's main prize.
This time, there is a sin, it didn’t work out a little, the fourth time in total. But now I understand everything about the mistakes, I realized everything. I’ll definitely take mine for that year. Because I am a master, not like some! So it's an honor for you. No matter who, no matter how, will deal with you, mazurik. Got it? Well, don’t shake like jelly. We will arrange everything for you at the highest level, at the highest level. I have an English cord in store for you, handmade. And I make the soap myself, so that the knot glides perfectly, according to old, proven recipes...
I need an axe, if you want to know, the city's foremost blacksmith forged it. I paid a lot of money!.. But it was worth it. I'll tell you, it's a first-class instrument. You'll fall in love!
What about investigative tools? I've been looking for him for six whole years. No expense was spared. I ordered some devices from foreign celebrities. But now in our area they turn to me exclusively for all such matters. Because if interrogators need gnashing of teeth, truly tearing at the soul, then, I think, there are few equal to me, not only in the district.

Well, you seem to have completely lost my nerve. So I won’t get you there. I have an elixir in stock here. I cooked it myself.
He insisted on herbs himself. Wonderful, let me tell you, elixir.
Just right for your case. Do you want to take a sip? He gets you a little.
Some things will brighten up, some things will become clouded... Look, you will appear at your best before the crowd of people in the square.
It just seems to you that I’m talking nonsense. Do you think that if you go up to the scaffold in such a defeated state, at least someone will remember you? Who are you to regal the public with you alone? Five today!
One might say, for all tastes. My labors will come to an end, and the honest people will begin to disperse, to rave about what they saw, to chew on the circumstances and the details... and no one will remember you, vakhlak, because you, telepen, did not bring any pleasure to the community. And pleasure is the most important thing, so that you are known and remembered.
Again, take me. Everyone among the people will immediately tell you to whom the shameful villain should be handed over into the hands, so that he can feel the inevitable sentence with all his guts, with all his veins; so that he would taste bodily torment for a long time and hard, and in his sunset hour, perhaps, would not desire it, but would repent... And so that the cunning people, looking at my skill, in advance would wind up what is supposed to be in their cunning mustache.
And for the fact that it tickles the crowd of squares for a long time with a sticky horror, that the blood in the crowd’s veins runs cold from unprecedented experiences, and I am very pleased with both the mob and the authorities, although, of course, indirectly.
For example, you, the lawless one, were sent to us from afar.
Isn't it for nothing? There was, to know, that those in power and law had a compelling reason. And it seems to me that I am also taken into account in this regard - in the most indispensable way.

What a fool you are to avoid taking a sip of my miraculous potion.
Apparently, you, the deprived one, didn’t understand a damn thing. You have to keep class in everything! Without exception in everything. It’s a pity, I don’t have time, otherwise I would have guided you on the true path, converted you, of course, a little into my faith.
Okay, so what, we arrived, however. It's time for you to take care of your appearance. Now, let's tie your shoelaces, clean yourself a little, put your clothes in some order - just in time. So that there is openwork in everything, so that it is the most perfect!

TO FREEDOM

1
He spent the last day of his imprisonment in solitary confinement, in a damp punishment cell.
There was no reason. The warden just ordered it. That’s why the “farewell” day dragged on unbearably. It seemed that something would definitely happen, that they would not be released, that instead of freedom they would “solder on” a new sentence: if it is allowed to be put in a punishment cell for no reason, anything is possible. And from this fear - he had never known such a sore - at times his heart seemed to be grabbed in a vice.
By nightfall he was unexpectedly released from the punishment cell. But falling asleep so that the time to freedom would move a little faster was also not possible: I was spinning on my bunks like a creeper, drenched in cold sweat, nervous trembling, “bear sickness” attacked and, like during the day in the punishment cell, my heart ached again... When at dawn the duty officer barked: “Get your things on the way out,” - he was simply on the verge of a nervous breakdown from melancholy and anxiety...

But the next morning, to his enormous surprise, the locks were removed without delay, the damned gates were thrown open, a sergeant's boot kicked his skinny behind, and he flew out of the prison fence like a bullet. Either on purpose, or just because of “luck,” the guard hit him squarely on the tailbone. From unheard-of pain - it took his breath away, tears flowed from his eyes - he collapsed on his knees outside the gate, curled up into a ball and froze in a semi-fainting state amid Vokhrov’s cackling, unable to see or hear anything around him. Thus - in tears, and even on his knees - the nine-year sentence ended for him.

He forcibly came to his senses, somehow rose from his knees, looked around: all around, wherever you looked, there was bare autumn steppe, only right in front of the gate a river could be seen in the distance, and beyond the river lay either a large village or a small town. That's where I headed.
Even though my bruised tailbone was aching and at first it was painful to move - I even had a limp, even though my heart was tingling slightly, but it was still fun to walk. He even whistled a funny thieves' song from time to time, because there was absolutely nothing left to complete - real - freedom.

2
Even at the bridge, he sensed something was wrong: houses and small houses were behind such a metal fence, as if hostile hordes were constantly descending on the city; and all the windows in the houses are behind double bars, and the entrance doors are entirely steel and glare with a deathly light in the cool autumn sun. And there is not a single living creature anywhere - not a cat, not a midge, and not a living sound can be heard from anywhere... And also (there is no way to explain!) there is a thick stench of prison noise in the nose - it cannot be confused with anything! All around, the autumn steppe is fading, the fresh wind is ruffling my wretched clothes, the river is nearby... and the smell of the vile prison seems to have ingrained itself into every living thing, so much so that, apparently, no other spirit can overcome it.

Only when he crossed a bridge across a small river to the outskirts of a strange settlement, it became clear that the linden was all here, pure bullshit. He smiled to himself sadly at someone’s demonic undertaking, looked around sadly and realized that along the only road surrounded by prison bars, you could only move forward or back, turn into prison! From this insignificant choice, his heart again squeezed lightly, but immediately let go, so that they didn’t really have time to feel anything.

3
After some time, the road between the bars led him to the other edge of the fake village, still to the same endless steppe. Again a narrow river, fences, houses could be seen in the distance... Only there was almost no faith in him that there really was anything natural there. But there was still hope for some pitiful chance; It was she who forced me to move on.

Everything was exactly the same - the same withered grass, the same gentle bank, the same decoy village, the same sickening prison smell...
Only the river here for some reason flowed in the opposite direction - that’s the whole difference. He stood for a while on the shore, looked at the endless steppe, looked back at the three-story prison buildings that were already barely visible behind him, massaged his heart, because it had suddenly become so cruel, waited until it eased up a little, and decided to move on again - what else was left?

It was already completely dark when he approached the river again.
To understand what was beyond the river, light was no longer required. He went down to the water to get a drink and realized that the water was again running in the same direction as in the first river - exactly, strangely, it flowed like a snake across the steppe. He didn’t have time to be surprised, because his heart suddenly sank unbearably... He gasped, fell sideways into the water, wanted to scream, but couldn’t; and the pain gradually began to go away, to subside, until it finally let him go on the longest journey - to freedom...

4
- Well, what is it, Yevsey?
- But you, Filat, won’t believe it - you and I have a blind eye. Our godfather is cooking in the “cauldron”: out of seventeen so far, three have reached the real piece of iron. But the blind man, hear you, is the first. Before this, you and I were catching psychos. You know, I heard that if everything in our shelter goes down in flames with this matter, then many more such wonderful villages will be built in different places.
- It’s okay for you, Yevsey, to praise your godfather. What are we going to do about the blind man? The captain, he heard it himself, ordered that no one but psychos be dragged back.
- And we won’t drag it. In the steppe we’ll bury the zhmur – and the zuskas!
Who's going to sniff around? And we’ll bury what we use to drag the dead thing into the steppe right here – on the Vilyavy Canal. Now let’s go back, quietly ram the entrenching tool here, and when we’re done, we’ll hide the equipment somewhere under the bridge until next time: in case someone else closes their eyes. Well, move on, you've never seen something blind, why are you gaping?

AUTUMN

All. There were about ten hours left. He was leaving. Forever. And he finally wanted to exhaust this city to the bottom.
- And it was autumn all around. And yellow leaves. And the sun was shining with all its might. And the wind was warm and gentle. This sickly gentle wind tore armfuls of yellow leaves from the trees and threw them under the feet of those walking.
- And he, too - tall, graceful and straw-red-haired - seemed like an autumn leaf, torn off and driven by the same sugary wind. And he also seemed blind, because he bumped into everyone and almost got hit by a car, and wandered without purpose or sense, feeling with horror and delight how time was passing, passing, passing, passing, passing...
- All. He could no longer move or feel. The city was still full, but it was exhausted to the bottom. The wind swirled his soul for some time, finally giving him the opportunity to enjoy freedom, and now he threw it just like other leaves, walking under his feet. He sat on a bench in a tiny square, sandwiched between houses, and was quiet and powerless, and seemed to have fallen asleep, smiling at the warmth and peace, devastated.
- Oh my God! Time! He grabbed his bag and rushed like a whirlwind, like a typhoon, like a tornado, now purposefully pushing aside passers-by (it seems to me that this didn’t make it any easier for them), and almost got hit by a car again. But here comes the bus. The usual crush brought him to his senses. He quickly regained his strength before the long journey. The shell was destroyed. The chick was released into the wild. For life!
- Crap! Damn time! Like a wild animal after prey, he crossed the station square, rolled into an underground tunnel, broke out again to the surface, onto the platform, and rushed towards the carriage, scaring away passengers, scattering fallen leaves...
- Where did this puddle come from! The train has already clanged on the couplings, and two more cars... And She closes the passage between the puddle and the edge of the platform. And oh, whirlwind, oh, typhoon, oh, tornado!..
- She was also graceful and straw-red-haired. And it seemed that they were two leaves from the same crown. It was the wind that nailed them to each other and now enjoyed the creation of its wings (quite in its spirit).
- And he hugged her, lifted her, and fell silent, and timidly touched her with his lips, and, driven by the autumn time, he rushed away, leaving her on the platform among the flying leaves.

OLD MAN

It had been raining since morning. During the day, snow suddenly began to fall in huge wet flakes, and soon a dirty icy mess lay everywhere, provoking the blasphemy of drivers and the hypochondria of pedestrians. By evening, the exhausted city, crippled by the first blizzard, was empty and looked like a black and empty womb howling with hunger.
The liquid, yellowish light of a lone lantern turned the glass canopy of the bus stop into a huge jar filled with formaldehyde. Three skinny, shriveled figures, formalized in a jar, slowly floated from wall to wall, waiting for the arrival of the tram as a solution to their own fate.
A thin, short, bearded old man in a soiled quilted jacket and the same trousers, tucked into tarpaulins stained with mud, stood dejectedly and motionlessly outside the bank and looked indifferently at the rarely passing fireballs, throwing scraps of icy mud around. The old man threw his skinny backpack, faded with time, from his back to his stomach and carefully covered it with his large, gnarled hands, numb from the cold.
The tram did not go and did not go. The snow kept falling and falling. And the wind howled, and howled, howled, and exhausted the soul.
Finally he rolled up - ringing, welcome, bringing light and hope. Three skinny, gaunt figures hurriedly jumped inside. The old man came in behind them, the last one. The tram jerked and rolled, carrying its passengers towards warmth, comfort and fulfillment of desires.

There were few passengers in the carriage: a portly lady with the face of a village matron, an ensign who looked like an ensign, two elderly gentlemen, slightly tipsy, a typical intellectual in glasses and a hat, and a couple in love whose faces were not visible because they were kissing.
The old man sat down away from everyone, near the window, in that part of the car where the lamp in the ceiling had burned out and it was a gray twilight. He settled down, put his backpack on his lap and sat for a long time, curled up in a ball and warming his hands near his mouth. Finally his hands warmed up. Then he untied his backpack, took out a wooden pipe and began to play...
Human meanness brought him to the city for the truth; human meanness drove him away without the truth. Therefore, he didn’t care what was happening around him, he wanted one thing - to calm his frozen soul, to lead it away from the confined space to warmth and peace.
The matron was furiously rummaging through a voluminous black bag, the warrior was swaying in his sleep like a Chinese dummy, the elderly gentlemen were nudging each other with their elbows and grinning, the intellectual was looking blankly out the window, and the lovers were kissing tirelessly and sadly.
The old man played and played, moving away from the world of dull routine, scraps of dirt and unbearable cold. He was far, far away, among clean forests and fields, where the wind rustles and does not howl, where birds sing and do not croak, and where they drink water only from springs.
Rumbling and shining, the tram ran along the route, bringing light and hope to everyone who was waiting for them along the way.
And outside the windows, a black empty womb, doomed to death, howled angrily.