Bolivar will not stand two from where. The most famous horses - from Bucephalus to Losharik - Locals

On a beautiful summer day,
Casting a shadow across the valley,
The leaves on the tree with marshmallows whispered,
They boasted of their density and greenness
And this is how the zephyrs interpreted themselves about themselves:
“Isn’t it true that we are the beauty of the entire valley?
That we made the tree so lush and curly,
Sprawling and majestic?
What would it be like without us? Well, right,
We can praise ourselves without sin!
Are we not from the heat of the shepherd
And we shelter the wanderer in the cool shade?
Aren't we with our beauty?
Do we attract shepherdesses to dance here?
We have an early and late dawn
The nightingale whistles.
Yes, you, marshmallows, are on your own
You almost never part with us."
“We might as well say thank you here,”
A voice answered them humbly from underground.
“Who dares to speak so brazenly and arrogantly!
Who are you there?
Why are they so daring to treat us like that?" -
The leaves began to rustle and rustle on the wood.
"We are the ones -
They were answered from below:
Which, here rummaging in the dark,
We feed you. Don't you really recognize it?
We are the roots of the tree on which you bloom.
Show off in good hour!
Just remember the difference between us:
That with the new spring a new leaf will be born,
And if the root dries up, -
The tree will be gone, and neither will you."

Moral of the fable "Leaves and Roots"

In your fable great author teaches us gratitude and respect for people, regardless of the level of wealth and success. And although there are times when a person simple origin considered second class, long gone, the moral of the fable is still relevant today.

It is very important to remember and know that it does not matter what a person looks like, whether he is dressed richly or wearing “second-hand” clothes, whether he or his parents occupy important positions or perform the most simple work how important is what is in his soul, and that every person is worthy of respect.

In addition, growing up, receiving education and Good work, we must remember that our parents, our “roots,” helped us do all this.

Therefore, as we become adults, richer and more successful, we must always remember our fathers and mothers, even if they remained simple workers and became older, because it was they who “nourished” us, and were and remain the foundation that served as a support for our upward climb.

The plot of the story by O. Henry

The meaning of the saying

Initially, the phrase meant that, when choosing between meanness and selflessness, preference is given to meanness. However, nowadays the saying “Bolivar can’t stand two” is used in the sense that if it becomes difficult to combine two options at the same time, then one of them must be gotten rid of.

Examples

Gazprom's possible losses due to the difference in world prices and today's prices will amount to 3.6 billion US dollars over the year, plus 1 billion dollars from our budget to the Ukrainian one - approximately 4.6 billion. This is a difficult to explain burden on the Russian economy; “Bolivar cannot stand two.”

“Our Bolivar will not bear two,” says Yulia Tymoshenko. On Saturday, she made a surprise proposal to improve the Constitution. In her opinion, it is necessary to eliminate one of the positions - either the president or the prime minister. She wrote about this in an article published in one of the reputable weekly publications.

Notes

The plot of the story by O. Henry

America during the Wild West. Three bandits attack a mail express. One bandit is killed by the guide, but the other two - Bob Tidball and "Shark" Dodson - manage to escape with $30,000 in loot. However, as the bandits were fleeing the chase, Tidball's horse slipped and broke his leg. Tidball had to shoot her. The bandits have a dilemma about what to do next. Tidball suggests loading the loot onto a horse named Bolivar, owned by Shark Dodson, and riding it together until another horse comes along. Dodson, after some deliberation, kills his friend Tidball, whom he had known for many years, while uttering the phrase “Bolivar is exhausted, and he cannot take down two.” Having taken the share of the dead man, he rushes away on Bolivar...

The meaning of the saying

Examples

The actions in O. Henry's story take place in the Wild West, that is, between 1865 and 1890. At this time, Simon Bolivar, the leader of the struggle for independence of the Spanish colonies in the United States, was quite popular. South America. It is known that Bolivar was very fond of his horse Palomo. It is believed that this particular horse is depicted on the coat of arms of Venezuela, approved by Bolivar.
IN English speaking countries the phrase “Bolivar cannot carry double” is not a catchphrase. Only people from the countries of the former USSR know it.
In Russia, the Bolivar horse is extremely popular. The newspaper “Arguments and Facts” even called it “the most famous horse in Russia.” So, in honor of the horse Bolivar, not only horses are named, but even commercial companies whose activities are in no way connected with horses. The horse is also popular in Ukraine, where, for example, there is a recreation center "Bolivar", named after the horse from the story of O. Henry.
In the film Business People (1962), there is a scene of a conversation between the ruined Williams and Dodson, which is missing from the story. After Dodson refuses his old friend, he walks out the office door in shock. Dodson lights a cigar, smiles an ominous smile and says: “Bolivar can’t handle two,” at that moment the sound of a shot and the sound of a body falling are heard outside the door.

Links

O.Henry. The roads we choose (from the collection “Rotation”, 1910). Translation by N. Daruzes
Excerpt from the film novel “The Roads We Choose” (1962)

America during the Wild West. Three bandits attack a mail express. One of them is killed by the guide, but the other two - Bob Tidball and Dodson, nicknamed "Shark" - manage to escape with a loot of 30 thousand dollars. However, when the raiders were fleeing the chase, Tidball's horse slipped, broke its leg and the owner had to shoot it. The bandits have a problem with what to do next. Tidball offers to load the loot onto a horse named Bolivar, owned by Shark Dodson, and ride it together until they come across some horse. Dodson, after some deliberation, kills his friend Tidball, whom he had known for many years, while uttering the phrase “ Bolivar is exhausted. He can't handle two"(English) Bolivar, he "s plenty tired, and he can"t carry double). Having taken the share of the dead man, he rushes away on Bolivar.

The meaning of the name becomes clear from Shark Dodson's story to Bob Tidball about his fate: having left his parents' home in his youth, Dodson was going to New York to become a financial tycoon, but at a fork in the road he turned in the opposite direction and later often thought, “ what would have happened to me if I had chosen a different path». « I think it would be the same“- answers the already doomed Tidball.

Bolivar can't handle two

IN THE USSR key phrase story - " Bolivar can't handle two" - became a proverb, thanks to comedy film Leonid Gaidai “Business People” (1962), based on the stories of O. Henry.

Originally, the phrase meant that when choosing between benefit and friendship, preference is given to benefit. However, nowadays the saying " Bolivar can't stand two" is also used in the sense that if it becomes difficult to combine two options at the same time, then one of them must be gotten rid of.

In film

In the film "Business People" (1962) there is a scene missing from O. Henry's story. Dodson refuses a financial concession to his old friend Williams, who is facing complete ruin. Williams walks out the office door in shock. Dodson lights a cigar, smiles an ominous smile and says: “Bolivar cannot stand two.” At this moment, a shot is heard outside the door and the sound of a body falling is heard. Williams does not appear in the story; Dodson conveys his refusal through his secretary; there is no mention of Williams’ suicide.

The day turned out to be cloudy. It rained occasionally. Perhaps because of the impending bad weather, all the benches, usually densely occupied by pensioners, were empty today. Rare passers-by under colorful umbrellas scurried back and forth about their everyday affairs.

Along Starokupecheskaya Street (in the recent past Lenin Avenue) a man of about thirty-five was walking, or rather moving from shop window to shop window, dressed rather, as a local dude would put it, incongruously with modern fashion.

A Bologna cloak, which went out of fashion a good ten years ago, is casually thrown over his broad, sloping shoulders. But the jeans he was wearing, although overly frayed, had a good Texan look, unlike today's knockoffs like Montana and others. foreign companies. Brass rivets were gilded on many pockets and pouches, the white nylon shirt was set off by a black braided cord tied instead of a tie, which was once all the rage in our youth. Yellow, too narrow-toed shoes with high heels complemented the ambience of clothes that had fallen into oblivion.

In his left hand he held an elegant suitcase with colorful stickers of foreign travel companies. He lingered for a long time at each display case, carefully examining the goods displayed in them, be it food, shoes, kitchen utensils. He seemed interested in everything.

Often he raised his shaggy resin eyebrows, fused at the bridge of his nose, clearly surprised by something. Sometimes he curled his tightly compressed thin lips into an ironic smile. Sometimes he shook his head in bewilderment.

Passers-by turned to look at him condescendingly, while others smiled contemptuously. One of them is a man, obviously Jewish in appearance, with large gray eyes bulging, with gray curly hair, quite plump, with a solid belly, stretching the tails of his crimson jacket so that the buttons were ready to come off at any moment or break the loops, he even slowed down, peering intently at the figure clinging to the display case.

Suddenly his eyes widened even more and began to pop out of their sockets. His round face seemed to light up and become even more rounded with a wide and joyful smile. He stepped towards the display case and timidly touched the man’s elbow.
“Sergei?” he hesitantly and ingratiatingly addressed the man in Bologna. He turned around.

Se-ryo-o-ga! - A cry of desperate joy filled the street. - Gray!
“What do you want?” the man in Bologna sharply pulled his hand away. “Who are you?”
“Seryozha,” the voice sounded with soft reproach, “don’t you recognize it?” Yes, it’s me...Well?

Micah-ey?! ...Yoly-paly! Bear! - Sergei dropped his suitcase. They hugged tightly, slapping each other on the back. Pulling away for a second to look into the eyes, they hugged again, laughing, pushing their chests, and while they were busy with this, a faceless, thieved fellow picked up a suitcase and scurried with it into the gateway.

Where have you been for so long? You should have been free a long time ago.
- Must. But? - Sergei threw up his hands dejectedly.
-Why?
- I ran away twice out of stupidity. Not for long, I confess. And the deadline was soldered for a long time.

Ah, Seryozha, Seryozha. How so? And what are you going to do?
-I'm still thinking about it. Today I met my flatmate at a flea market near the station. He says the apartment was taken away after the mother’s death. Those bastards! Do you recognize the things I’m wearing? My. Even those from a long time ago.

Do you remember where you bought it? Before her death, her mother gave it to her neighbor. They say you will give it to your son when he returns. She took care of it for a long time. Well, he says, need forced him. I put it up for sale for the first time and it’s necessary well, - Sergey He spread his hands in surprise, only now realizing what had happened to him - I was the first buyer.

But I didn’t recognize her at first. But I noticed my things from afar. You see,” he smiled shyly, “I couldn’t stand it. I remembered my younger years and immediately changed my clothes in the bushes. Believe it or not, I felt like a different person. Finally free! Bear, listen, by the way, your last gift was still there. Do you remember? I will show you now.

He leaned over. -Damn it!? Japanese mother! Where is the suitcase!?
For half an hour they rushed around the alleys and entrances, questioning everyone they met, but to no avail.
- It's okay, don't worry. Come to me, I’ll call Bata. A day later another suitcase will be found. What's in it?

Documents and money.
- And more?
- Two months would be enough.
“It’s a small thing,” Mikhail was even happy, “it’s not worth worrying about the little finger, Seryozha.” Let's sit down. There will be a conversation.
They sat down on a damp bench.
- This is what I mean, Sergei. I am indebted to you. If it weren’t for you that evening, we would have felled the Arkhangelsk forest together.
“Stop it,” Sergei waved it off, frowning with displeasure.
“That’s why I offer you this,” Mikhail continued, as if not noticing Sergei’s dissatisfied face, “you won’t find a job now.”

Like everywhere else in Russia, we have unemployment. Besides your past, forgive me. You understand. Listen first. Shut up. I'm not a poor person. Gusman Mikhail Moiseevich is a well-known businessman in the city. He has three grocery stores,” he began to bend his fingers, “a wholesale warehouse, a cafe, five kiosks.” Total - ten. And on top of that, a solid bank account. My roof is reliable, from Bati himself.

But I also have my own security. You see, the stray gang has come to visit us often. They play pranks little by little, but insolently,” he shook his head sadly, “we have to keep the guys in shops and cafes.” It's expensive, but what can you do. I almost forgot. I have two more people guarding the cottage. I have, Serge, own cottage. Double decker. With all conviniences. You can live there while I find you an apartment.

So that’s what I’m talking about,” he slammed his palm on Sergei’s knee, “you’ll come to me as the head of security.” I had one here. A rogue and a thief. I pushed him in the neck the day before yesterday. The security guys are great. Awful guys. All former athletes. 18 people. You can handle it.

The salary will be decent, I won’t skimp for a friend. - He poked Sergei in the stomach with his fist. - Food in the cafe, at the expense of the establishment. By the way, we should celebrate the meeting. What do you think about that?
- How should I look now? Only at the expense of the establishment,” Sergei grinned.
-Well then, get up. Let's catch a taxi now.

Why catch? The restaurant is opposite.
-Wake up, Seryozha. No, no. This is not for us. This tavern is for the cattle workers and peasants. For our brother it is a taboo. Now you and I will go to where all our city nobility and our businessman brother eat food. That place is prestigious.

Being a regular there is not only prestigious, but it also means your weight in society. There, over a glass of Napoleon, such matters are resolved, Seryozha, oh! Wait a minute,” He looked at Sergei’s figure from head to toe and pursed his lips in disgust. “No, dear, to appear there in such an antediluvian form, oh, no, no, no.” Forgive me. Let's go!
He grabbed Sergei by the hand. “Let’s go, let’s go.” It's not far from here. It's bad without a car. Like having no hands. He let the driver go for a couple of days. Daughter's wedding. What can you do, Seryozha, life... I haven’t walked on foot for a long time, so my heart hinted about itself. Nothing, nothing. Now he'll let go. Validolchik is always with me. I'll suck it and everything will go away. This is our store.

We all dress here, all of our nobility. You remember, this is a former supermarket. Only now it doesn’t even smell like them. Dad bought it and completely changed everything. The third floor was added. Escalators for ascent and descent. Product for every taste. Everything is imported. Only for green ones. Our wooden ones are not listed here. There is some gold and antiques. Well, you'll see for yourself.

Apparently Mikhail Gusman was a frequent guest of this luxurious establishment, judging by the way two shaven-headed big men standing like pillars at the entrance bowed to him, calling him by name and patronymic. On the second floor in the department men's clothing a young man, almost a youth, with a narrow strip of red mustache above his upturned, childishly swollen lip, jumped up to them like a grasshopper.
- What do you want, Mikhail Moiseevich? - he sang tenderly in an almost feminine voice.
- We deign, Sashok, to completely change this subject into everything from Kuterye. Only from him, understand?
- How can you not understand, Mikhail Moiseevich. Everything will be done as you say. “Come with me,” he turned to Sergei. He stared at Guzman.

Walk, walk. And don’t contradict Sasha. He knows his stuff.
Half an hour later they left the store. Sergey in coffee color in a suit, in a light striped shirt, with an elegant bow tie in his collar, and in suede shoes, he looked both more artistic and respectable than his new owner. The fact that Guzman, the friend of his youth, is now the same master for him as yesterday’s camp godfather, Sergei realized with acute pain in his soul as soon as he put on new clothes.

For a moment, the feeling he felt when he first got into the prison uniform arose. And even the cuffs of the shirt, which were tight around the hands, felt like handcuffs. “But this is temporary,” he reassured himself, “the documents will be found and I’ll be free.”

The taxi was already waiting at the entrance.
- Well, what a service you have, citizen chief, excuse me, Comrade Guzman.
- Not a comrade, but a master. Today, remember, all gentlemen. Even homeless people. What do you want, Serezhenka, money? Money creates both service and life. Without them, you are a worm on the asphalt. They will peck you and trample you. C'est la vie. Come on, sit down.

“I’ve already done my time,” Sergei grinned, sitting down in a chair.
- Forget your camp jokes, my friend. You are now a person of our circle. Independent, free people. Business people. “We should go to Kovrizhny Lane,” Mikhail turned to the taxi driver.
“To the restaurant?” the taxi driver grinned.

I look smart. Go ahead. You, Sergey, as I noticed, haven’t realized it yet. But you already live in a different world. In another society. Socialist realism, thank God, has sunk into oblivion. We now have capitalist realism. Not bourgeois. We are still afraid to say this word out loud. You remember what bourgeois meant to us?

Brand! Like this? “He wrinkled his forehead, trying to remember something. “Eat pineapples, chew hazel grouse, your farewell day will come, bourgeois.” Do you remember? Hehe. So I’m not a bourgeois, but I call myself a businessman. It's foggy, but it's safe.
- Are they threatening? Who?

Like who? People. Cattle. We don’t want to make money, sir, but look at other people’s eyes, sir. Now, Seryozha, it’s just time to make capital. Money flows into your hands, just put your palms up. Yesterday I closed a deal for 15 lemons. I'll explain it later. You have to have a good idea,” he tapped his forehead with his index finger, “and turn it on in a timely manner.” And they have it completely disabled.

The Soviet government did its best here.” He laughed, shaking his belly. -Wow! He spoke in poetry. Everything is because of you.” He poked his elbow into Sergei’s side. “You inspire me.” I'm so happy. We are together again, Seryoga! Honestly! Do you remember how the Miltons captured us the last time?

I then clutched the fifty dollar bill in my fist, raised my hands to the top and yelled at them: “Look!” Search!.. They searched everything, emptied all my pockets. Empty! Ha! And I dropped my hands. I put dollars in my pockets and put them in there too. Oops! The Miltons washed themselves. And then you didn’t realize... Yes. What a time it was.

50 dollars is a fortune! Just think about it! That was life. Yes, Serge, it turned out to be a farce expensive pleasure. I am indebted to you. You helped me out. I took everything upon myself.

Enough! Listen, Michel, this is... What am I doing... Am I confusing or something... It was a cinema. "Space", if memory serves. Here is the stele with him.
- Now, Serezhenka, this is a casino, as you see. Our people have become poor. Stopped going to the movies. So Dad bought four walls for next to nothing. We run there every Saturday to tickle our nerves. Grab some excitement. This is sacred.

Are you winning?
- Not yet... No luck. - Mikhail pouted his lips offendedly, but immediately stretched them into a smile. - But at the hippodrome there is a little change, especially when Dad is in good spirits. He will tell you exactly who to bet on. Do you know where our hippodrome is?

...But how do you know, I forgot, sorry, do you remember the Spartak stadium? So Dad bought a couple of vacant lots along with a stadium and beautified our city with a hippodrome. People are flocking there. But what if?-
-Which Bat are you buzzing me about all the way? What - is this your father?

Mikhail burst into laughter, slapping his hands on his stomach.
- Well, there you go, my friend... Oh yeah, how would you know? Dad... - Mikhail seemed to go limp, somehow shrunk, as if he had suddenly lost weight. - Dad. If it were my dad, may the kingdom of heaven be upon him, as is customary among you Orthodox Christians, I would be eating this right now,” he jabbed his fist into his stomach, “frying it in the sun somewhere in the Maldives, in worst case In Cyprus.

Dad,” he switched to a half-whisper, “is our economic luminary. How did he come to us? Where? Darkness. I think he is from Moscow. The conversation gives away. Dad, it’s lovingly, behind your back. But in fact this is Anton Mikhailovich Krasovsky. The guy is tenacious. Extremely businesslike.

In his hands is a bank, a garment factory, a flour mill, supermarkets, a restaurant where we are going now, gas stations, and so on and so forth. In fact, he is the owner of the city. Literally. ...Our mayor is like that. Spit and grind. Dad decides everything. He appoints the mayor himself. This is a real, I would call him, like in the old days, a Stakhanovite of business.

This is who you and I should look up to. He is also a philanthropist. The church was restored. And on holidays, you won’t believe it, pensioners and homeless people get free lunches from his restaurant. By the way, this is his restaurant. Former kindergarten No. 2, remember? This is the garden, ours with you. We are in the same group here.

Do you remember? - he laughed, - how we urinated in a doll's teapot. And then what happened.” He even squealed, choking with laughter. “Now there are only walls from the kindergarten.” -He concluded with sadness. “Here we are.”
Sergei got out of the taxi and looked around.

Damn it! I don't recognize hometown, Micah. Look - almost every house has shops on the first floor. This didn't happen before. People lived there after all. Where did you go? What about the stalls? Like mushrooms after the rain. Wherever they stick out. Not a city, but a shopping arcade. It's like everyone here is just trading.

The way it is. Trade today is the main lever of the economy. Smart people Millions of dollars are made from this. Just wait and you and I will make our billion, huh? Gray?” He grabbed him by the arm. “Well, let’s go to the gluttony of paradise.”

Gilded stucco on the ceiling, heavy curtains on the huge windows, paintings with seascapes, blocks of crystal hanging over tables covered with snow-white tablecloths, soft chairs, an abundance of menacingly sparkling knives, forks, spoons. All this, after the gloomy wretchedness of the camp canteen with its gray gruel in aluminum bowls, at first literally shackled Sergei, but after three glasses of cognac, he relaxed and even allowed himself to lean back in his chair and smoke.
- You've settled in well, Micah.

I'm sorry, what? Eh, Seryozha. If you knew how all this got to me, a poor Jewish scoop. Why do you think I'm gray? Uh, Seryozha, I’ve drank so much over the years.” He sighed sadly. -I was on the verge of death twice. In this country, small business is by no means held in high esteem. I started with a cooperative.

Opened a scrap metal collection. They took everything at the beginning. And then they switched only to non-ferrous metals. They drove him through Estonia. A stream of dollars flowed from there. I bought a wholesale warehouse. I spent six months wandering around the regions, concluding supply contracts. And so they filled my warehouse with goods, cheap goods. Where is the salt? That's when my business took off. Let's drink to the prosperity of Gusman Mikhail Moiseevich's business.-

He filled the glasses. They clinked glasses and drank.
- Could I imagine ten years ago Seryozha that I, a pathetic Jew, an unsuccessful black marketeer, would sit in an expensive restaurant and treat my friend to expensive French cognac. Could he? No! Only business, my business allows you not to think about how you will pay for this luxury, dear.

I am Seryozha, I don’t see life without business. For me, this is everything, life itself. I will rip the throat of anyone who tries to encroach on my business.

Do you remember the framework within which we lived? So monya, and so niya. And because it can harm a person. No! Nizya, because it is to the detriment of communist ideology. Private property is the same atomic bomb for mode. But this, Serezhenka, is a natural human need to have. Have your own! You understand - yours!

This is just one madman, an ideologist of communism, your Christ denied property and wealth. It was only because of this that my people turned away from Christ with his foolish teaching and did the right thing. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have gotten out of poverty to this day, Serezhenka, yes, yes.

You know, I would cast a monument to our Yeltsin, Boris Nikolayevich, whom I deeply respect during his lifetime, from gold and an inscription in huge letters - Liberator! Although,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “of course, he is a drunkard and a decent bastard, but he deserves it.” And then he almost exclaimed: “He gave us freedom.” You know, freedom!

Freedom of speech? - Sergei asked without hiding irony.
- Do not laugh! Partly yes. But no one needs it, this freedom of speech.” He said this phrase with undisguised anger and disgust. “It only harms both the authorities and business.” Borya gave us freedom to act. Earn!

You see, the opportunity to prove yourself in any business. Unleash your abilities! I can do what I want. Have whatever your heart desires. Not only a Mercedes, but if you need a plane... Yes, yes! Yacht in the Aegean Sea. For example, a villa in Cyprus, a castle in Switzerland or England. There would only be cash in the bank in your account. That's right, Serge. Now everything is possible. That's what freedom is for. Let's drink to freedom.-

They drank and Guzman continued in a dreamy, soulful voice:
- You, Serge, did not feel the most beautiful miracle of feeling independent from handouts from the state. What did we have? Remember,” he widened his eyes in fear, obviously returning to the past for a moment, “what did we have?”

Beggarly wages, miserable squares under a communal roof. Country house six hundred square meters. I don’t care about the state today, understand? It's on my side. I support myself. I am my own boss. I built myself a house, not a honeycomb in which I lived. Do you remember my two-room apartment of 30 square meters? Ha ha! I have a bathroom 35 . I have country cottage area one and a half hectares. If necessary, I'll buy more. We, Serge, all have a free hand now. Freedom, Serge, freedom! She gets drunk even without wine, my wonderful lady Liberty.

Exactly, Mich, you noticed correctly. When I stepped outside the gate, I sighed and, Mich, it was as if I had swallowed a glass of alcohol. The ground shook underfoot. resisted. But it seemed like there was air, there was air everywhere. But no, my dear, the air is behind the thorn, and also behind the thorn. Heavy, stagnant. And it presses, presses, presses to the ground!

And in freedom he is weightless, light as a feather. You won't get enough of it. That's how I would fly. Eh, Micah, even though you are a bourgeois, you are my friend. Let's pour it for friendship.
They left the restaurant supporting each other. We got into a taxi.

Where? - asked the taxi driver.
-On Vyselki, -. Mikhail waved his hand. “We have grace in Vyselki, Serezhenka.” Babble... Quiet. Stunning!.. It’s good there... Do you believe me? A? Do you believe it?
-I believe Mich, I believe. You can keep quiet.
“I can... If you want,” Mikhail pouted offendedly.

Sergei looked at the Khrushchev buildings flickering through the poplar trunks. After the luxury of the restaurant, they looked pitiful and shabby. There is garbage everywhere: in the grass and on tree branches there are pieces of newspapers, colored bags, rags, polythene bottles. Untidy conditions and neglect reigned in the suburbs and even outside the city. The fields where their students were driven to harvest cabbage and carrots were completely silver and smoking from the fluff of dandelions.

These places were well known to Sergei. Here is the cowshed where he, a seventeen-year-old lover, came on a bicycle to Alka, a divorcee five years older than him, who fed him fresh milk from a liter jar. He held it with both hands, feeling the gentle warmth of the cow's udder, still stored in the milk, and, imitating a calf, mooed with pleasure.

All that was left of the barn were bare walls with black window openings, charred rafters, and a fallen palisade. Here and there, in the thickets of nettles, the white ribs of cow skeletons could be seen.
“It’s like a war,” Sergei thought with painful melancholy as he watched the ruins of the cowshed float away into the distance.

Then the road winded along the hills and beyond the last of them, beyond sharp turn Pyramidal poplars stood like a blank wall, protecting gardening from the burning steppe winds. The taxi stopped at the barrier. Two guys in black leather jackets came out of the booth. One had a Kalashnikov assault rifle hanging from a belt over his shoulder.
Mikhail opened the window and stuck his head out.

Ours, guys, ours. This is my guest. Friend.
- Shpak! ...Open up!” the armed guy croaked in an orderly tone.
The barrier rose and the car drove as if into a gorge - on the right was a wall of poplar trunks, on the left was a three-meter concrete wall.
- Listen, Serge. Let's take a walk. Let's get some air. Nashensky, no match for the city stench.

Agree.
- Stop at that pillar... Here's some small expenses for you... Didn't offend you?
- Enough. Thank you very much. Thank you. Save me, - squealing with joy, the taxi driver hastily stuffed a wad of hundred dollars into the inner pocket of his jacket.
They got out of the taxi and walked along the asphalt footpath.

This is a former gardening area, if you remember. "Apple tree." Do you remember how they drove Petka Sechin in his car at night? I wanted some apples, you see. What happened? Do you remember how a pack of summer residents chased us? - He laughed. - Without laughing, I can’t remember how you jumped into the back of a truck without a pant leg while moving. They tore it off!

Well, that was the case,” Sergei grinned, “but what about apples now?”
- What apples? Serezhenka, all gardening has long been under the bulldozer. Dad’s lawyers, these guys are still those bastards, found, but rather concocted a paper, saying that the land does not belong to gardening. Self-capture, summer residents, self-capture. No matter how many times they were sued, all the dachas were bulldozed. Dad bought the land and now rents it out.

I see your Dad is a good man.
-Still would! This is, as Ilyich once put it, a seasoned human being. We are as far from him as we are from the heavenly bodies.

Both thought about it, each about his own. They walked for a long time in silence along the seemingly endless concrete wall, occasionally interrupted by iron gates and similar gates next to them. Surveillance cameras vigilantly monitored order, sending signals to houses hidden behind walls in the depths of the courtyards, so that only roofs covered with metal tiles and sometimes third-story windows were visible.

The landscape you have here is very prison-like,” Sergei said without hiding his irony.
- My home is my fortress, as the British say. And here is my fortress.
They stopped at the gate. Mikhail pressed the button. There was a sharp squeal of brakes and the black jeep almost touched the gate with its bumper.

Two shaven-headed guys jumped out of it. leather jackets. One, taller and with a more powerful build, he roughly pushed Sergei aside with his shoulder and grabbed the lapels of Guzman’s jacket with both hands.

Why are you creating Jewish scum! Are you planning to bypass Father? - He shook Guzman so that his head shook like a rag doll. - He decided to pocket 15 lemons. Yes, I’m fucking you...

He didn't have time to finish. Since childhood, Sergei did not recognize anti-Semitism and always threw his fists at anyone, whether he was the same age or an adult, when his friend Mishka was called a little Jew.

And now, without any thought, instinctively, he thrust his fist into the skinhead’s cheekbone with such force that he jumped and fell as if knocked down.
“What are you doing?!” the second skinhead roared, “tired of living?!”
He stepped over the man lying down. The Browning flashed menacingly in his outstretched hand.

Sergei, leaning back, kicked him out of his hands and he, describing an arc, fell at the feet of the petrified Guzman. What to do next with the attacker for Sergei was already commonplace. Camp life taught him well the forbidden tricks. He kneed him in the groin, the guy doubled over, screaming. With the edge of his hand on the neck, he laid the second one next to him on the asphalt.

What you?! What have you done?! All! We're fucked! You killed them! You killed! - Guzman shouted, turning to a screech. - These guys are daddies! I'll be torn to pieces! Khan to my business... business... business,” he muttered, turning to a whisper like a spell.

Calm down. I didn’t kill them, but knocked them out.” Sergei crouched over the nearest body.
On the back of Sergei’s head, among the black curls, there was a pink spot the size of a snout, an emerging bald spot. It suddenly seemed to Guzman to be either an abrasion or a healed wound.

Looking at her, he realized what he had to do. The decision came instantly, as always at a decisive moment in his life, which more than once saved him and his business from death.

“Bolivar can’t stand two,” he whispered thoughtfully. Guzman bent down and picked up the Browning. Without aiming, he pointed the barrel at the pink patch of hair, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger twice.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw them twitch suede shoes. He turned away. His guard froze with bulging eyes in the open doorway of the gate. He bleated quietly:
M-m-mo-mose-ich.. what uh-is this?

Guzman, without turning his head, pointed the barrel towards the body of Sergei, who poked his bloody head into the chest of the shaven-headed man.
- This guy wanted to take me hostage. Thanks to Dad’s guys, they arrived on time. Help them.