The Book-11 «Aliens» is a story the help of the author of the novel «FAYETON» to two pilots of a flying disk that suffered an accident. How did this happen? Visiting the author by aliens with a grateful mission. And how was the subsequent fate of the author? It is told in this book… Enjoyable readings, your author V. Speys.
Book-1. Part-1, Alex
Shpitki. This is the name of the village, located on the twenty- eighth kilometer of the Brest- Litovsk highway from Kiev to the West.
At the twenty- eighth kilometer of the highway, the road turns to the left and, along the stone- paved roadway, rushes towards the village. Until the seventeenth year in Shpitki was the estate of the famous sugar factory Tereshchenko. A rich landowner broke the beautiful park of the manor, dug a cascade of ponds. He built a church, an exact copy of the Cathedral of St. Vladimir.
Inside the church was painted with the faces of saints. The students of Vasnetsov himself worked on the painting. After the revolution, before the events described in the book, the church still survived and even served. In the fifties the only brick house was my mother’s house Zimoglyad Olga Andreevna, who she built for a bank loan. In fact, after the war, not everyone gave a loan in the bank. Since Olga Andreevna was elected a deputy of the Supreme Council of Ukraine of the 4th convocation, she was given a bank loan of 10,000 rubles for construction. The building materials did not have any problems, since the deputy of the Supreme Soviet of the Ukrainian SSR was supposed to be provided first of all with a guarantee of payment. And the house was built.
Inside the house it was lovely in the summer. The coolness was refreshing when the heat was outside. And it was damp and cold in the winter. The stoves were always smoking, and there was a pungent smell of the briquette (a mixture of coal dust and resin).
In the house, my grandmother, an old wrinkled woman with a trembling chin in a long skirt and apron, was standing by the stove and the heat was interfering. Her name was Eugenia Lavrentyevna, her surname by her husband Zimoglyad, and her maiden name was Sribna. My grandmother was from Pereyaslav Khmelnitsky, and on long winter evenings, I often remembered my home and my own brother, unfortunately I did not remember his name, I only know that he lived all his life in Pereyaslav- Khmelnitsky. That he was a fanatical devotee of pigeons. In his private home, he had a dovecote in his attic, where strict order and purity reigned.
Olga Andreevna’s house smelt of borscht and a delicious aroma of stew. The village lived in prosperity, as they themselves grew everything — both vegetables and meat.
I kept spinning around my grandmother, involuntarily preventing me from casting stove forks. On what the grandmother was angry and grumbled:
«I would have drowned myself in the Sartre, and I would not have suffered!» «Not evil, looking at me,» she said. I never took offense at my grandmother, and now, simply did not pay attention to her words. Just asked: «Grandma, what’s for dinner today?»
— I’m sorry, what? See! Grumbled my grandmother, «If only you ate?»
«I will eat only meat,» I answered, «eat the fat yourself.»
«Here’s the wrecker.» Will you, you scoundrel soul, bread crusts happy.
I felt hurt. I puffed my puffy cheeks and fell behind my grandmother. I had in my hands a penknife, which I wore in my pocket corduroy dark brown shorts to the knees. And he began to make a propeller. I liked it when the wind turned my product, and, then It seemed that I was flying in the airplane over the open spaces of the village fields, above the trees and the snowy park.
Evening. Twilight thickened outside the window. Grandmother lit a light bulb by clicking the switch. Footsteps were heard in the corridor and the door opened.
On the threshold in a green kerchief and a sweatshirt there was a ruddy and very thin my mother. Her bright eyes ran about the room, they found a stool. She tired, sat down, began to take off her boots.
«It’s cold outside.» Frost. She said, not looking at me. «Did the plum eat anything, or not?» She asked her grandmother.
«Let him tell you.» «My grandmother answered unfriendly, starting to get food from the stove.
I began to tell what my grandmother had fed me, and my mother commented:
«Why did not you drink milk, eh?»
«I’m not a barrel.» To burst?
Meanwhile, on the table, near the window, a smoking, deep dish of borscht and two pieces of pork appeared, issuing an appetizing aroma.
My mother broke off a clove of garlic and, dipping it into salt, began to eat.
I watched the mother’s food, wincing at the displeasure. He imagined how stuffy and disgusting the bedroom would be full of this smell. And how hard it will be to hurt your head and chest from the garlic stench in an unventilated room where he slept in the same room as his mother. It so happened that the mother ate once a day, and it was in the evening.
In the morning she hurried to work still dark, and returned when it was already completely dark.
At the state farm, where she worked, she was known, loved and respected for her diligence, unselfishness and simplicity. Comrades to work with her was both difficult and easy at the same time. Her temperamental and nervous temperament caused her to be reckoned with. But the truth and justice, with which she spoke aloud and with everyone, evoked sympathy among all workers and hidden hatred of the leadership. They were afraid of her. They tried not to admit to the top of the administrative apparatus and suffered, remembering those ties that she had preserved since the time in the government with Nikita Khrushchev himself.
Khrushchev once served as secretary of the CPSU Central Committee of Ukraine, and now he is the head of the USSR. Many fellow villagers remembered how a glass of moonshine was drunk for home- warming at home by Zimoglyad Olga Andreevna, the KGB colonel, now the General Prosecutor of the USSR, Roman Andreyevich Rudenko. And which only front- line anecdotes fearlessly told about Stalin, Zhukov, Lenin and Krupskaya. Even in Khrushchev’s thaw, tell one of them a mere mortal, they will not stroke the head.
My mother Olga Andreevna lived alone. She had four married sisters married. And I have cousins of different ages. None of them liked me. Everyone considered me a bastard, since I was born, albeit in a legal marriage, but from Albert’s licentious drunkard.
Friendship with peers did not work. The village envied my mother, and quietly despised the fatherless. Good sated food, extreme conditions of life in an isolated «cocoon» hardened. I, like a wolf cub, have learned to snap, give change…
There was a spicy scent of flowers in the air. A light July breeze, slightly touching, moved the tops of high and succulent grass, fingering the leaves of the stems and from this, it seemed that the blades of grass whispered among themselves about the fabulous, secret secrets hidden in their impenetrable wilds.
It would be better to get there into the greenery of these jungles, to be at least a minute, like a worker of an ant, to help him to drag a move that is huge in three ant growths. Later climb up a slippery, shiny polished stalk to a luxurious clover flower and drink a nectar like a bee.
«Zhu- ju- ju- ju- y- y- y- y!» — buzzing bass drum.
The black lump is spinning for a while over the flower, as if aiming, and finally, heavily sits on the pink velvet bud. With ease, moving an awkward, shaggy body from a flower to flower, he relishes the sweet nectar with obvious pleasure, completely ignoring the curious glance considering the bumble- bee breakfast. Yes, unless there is time to look around, when there are so many flowers nearby, let’s just hurry, gather a juicy fragrant nectar. Yes, unless you notice in the midst of this sea of fragrant buds with multicolored buds, but do you really notice when the sky itself looks at the boy’s eyes? They are so blue, blue. Or maybe it seemed to the bumblebee that these two cornflowers turned their heads under the light breath of summer.
My fair- haired head froze in the forbs. Fascinated by the mysterious nature of nature, I looked with wide- open eyes at the untouched beauty of the grass, on scurrying, with insecure fussiness, insects, buzzing, rustling, chirring in the grass. On the trees of the old garden and finally my eyes meet with the sky. I look into his bottomless blue, lying on my back. How you want to fly into the boundless attracting space, soar in it, and watch, and look from the height to your native village. To the garden in which I now lie. To the apiary. At the ancient park. On your house, which is standing next to it, it’s worth climbing over the fence and crossing the road.
The sun rises higher and higher. The colors of the morning gradually lose their transparency, turning into discolored tones. The day flares up. It’s getting hot in the sun, real sunshine. A hot breeze brings smells of pine resin. With difficulty, tearing myself away from the beckoning coolness of the herbs, I walked along the piley green pulp of the grass carpet toward the white little hive- houses, which were lined with apiaries, behind the netting, apiaries…
Through the glass, the only large window on the plank floor of the room falls a sheaf of sun rays, delineating a neat square with moving shadows of leaves in it. Close to the window sill, lined with straight lines (sundials), there is a table, at the same time it is a workbench for carpentry. It smells of tart, resinous aroma. The fresh shavings and spicy smell of wax coming from the frames, entirely hung on the walls of the room, create this amazing aroma of honey of wax and pine shavings.
The furnishing of the beekeeper’s utility room is supplemented by a stove laid almost to the ceiling. In the corner of the room, opposite the window on the left, is a metal barrel with a centrifuge inside. From the big handle through gear gearing the rotation is transferred to the centrifuge.
An old man is sitting at the bench. He holds a thick book in his hands and carefully reads it. Through the round glasses, which have been lowered to the nose, the brown concentrated eyes from under the hanging gray eyebrows look into the book. The old man suddenly broke away from reading, listened. Behind the door there were footsteps. He turned his head and looked inquiringly at the door. A boy appeared on the threshold:
— Hello, grandfather!
— Ah, it’s you, Valik. Come in, come in. «The old man said in a soft, kind voice.
— I’m driving, but it’s time to see the bee already?
It’s time, it’s time. It’s already been a long time. Oh- ho- ho. What did you do earlier?
— That’s why I came so early. «I’m sorry,» I answered, grief.
«Well, nothing.» The beekeeper smiled crookedly.
He, with a puff, rose heavily and headed for the centrifuge with an old, shuffling gait:
«And I’ve prepared you a medication.» And grunting, he took a frame from the barrel with heavy honeycombs full of amber honey.
— Take the mug and get the water.
Honey, mixed with wax honeycombs, melted in the mouth and was much more delicious than honey, which is eaten just a spoon. I took out the neat chewed lumps from my mouth and threw them in a bucket, where The beekeeper dumped pieces of wax to then fuse the wax ingot. These bars he exchanged for wax screensavers in the framework with marked on them neat hexahedrons, for future bee masonry. Having filled with honey, I drank two three sips of water from a heavy copper mug and again began to chew juicy honey combs. And so, relishing, ate and ate until the beekeeper stopped me:
— Come on, show me your stomach.
I tore up the shirt, revealing a swollen, like a drum and a round belly.
He deliberately surprised, carefully examining and probing my belly with a rough hand. «So honey started to perform!»
«And maybe I’m full and I will have a turn in the intestines?» — I thought cautiously. And he did not dare to ask a clever beekeeper about this, instead he asked:
— I’m driving, but, what is this for your mug like that?
— What is this?
— Well, such here, like and small, and heavy. «I turned a copper mug in my hands,
— From our house and a large mug, and light.
— Well, so you have, and then we have.
This usually ended the conversation. But, I wanted to talk. I looked inquisitively at the gray, shaggy eyebrows of the old man, and continued:
— And what are you reading?
— What do I read? Err, it’s still too early for you to know.
He closed the massive binding of the book and pushed the thick volume aside. Then he got up from his chair, attentively, examining some lines traced in pencil on the windowsill. The shadow from the window frame already coincided with one of them. Gruffly grunting, the old man said:
— Well, now it’s time to go lady.
It was insulting in the heart of the old man. And what is he so taciturn, scares the honey that appeared on his stomach. Yes, apparently, the bee- keeper does not like the guests. On the way home, I stopped in front of the garden fence. He looked around at the sides, then hastily pulled up his shirt and carefully examined his stomach. The belly glistened with droplets of sweat that protruded all over its surface, and those droplets were so similar to the droplets of honey that the finger unwittingly reached out to the sticky beads and collected several on a bundle of finger. To taste, the droplets turned out to be the most ordinary bottoms and were bitterly saline. If only his boys noticed him, friends. Peace would run away from him forever. But they were not there and the boy continued to study his bulging belly. He even turned to the sun, but all in vain, except for small sparkles- drops of sweat, honey was nowhere to be found. So the beekeeper deceived him? Again, annoyance came to the throat of a treacherous lump. I frowned, tucked my shirt into my pants, put on my right shoulder a harness- brace, so that they would not fall off, jump over the fence…
Summer, hot season for rural workers working in the field. Summer day passes quickly, like one minute. For children running to kindergartens, and schoolchildren vacationing on vacation, the summer day rushes in a moment, changing the morning to noon, noon for the evening. And the herds are already roaring, returning from the pastures, in the brass rays of the setting sun. Hear calls from mothers calling home to play children.
In the evening, at dinner, I asked my mother:
— Mom, who’s the beekeeper?
Mother replied in displeasure:
— You better ask your grandmother.
I scowled again.
«Well, why, why do not they talk to me kindly? Err, here Father Valchi always with a smile, always tells everything about everything in the world. "But, curiosity prevailed. And I went up to my grandmother, who at that time was busy, as always, by the stove. Grandmother turned to me a face, all dug with deep fine wrinkles, with an ever trembling chin: — What are you jumping from behind the table? Sit down, I hear. „I sat down again at the table.“ I’ll get potatoes and meat now.»
Grandmother, deftly using the pitchforks, removed the hot pot from the stove.
— Ba ah, ah, grandmother?
— Yes, I hear, I hear. Chogee to you?
— And who is the bee- keeper? — I was not building.
— Yes identity Fedos Kuzmovich, dyachek!
— Ba ah, ah, grandmother, what’s that, dyachek?
— This is the one who reads the psalms in the church. Here you go with me to stick a pasture there and See.
My grandmother was my best friend. Always a defense, always an adviser — a friend in one word. My mother, busy at work on a state farm, practically did not work on me — once. And I grew up without proper motherly affection, on my own. I did not have a father. Who is the father? His appointment in the family I do not know. But the unconscious feeling attracted me to other people’s fathers. And visiting my friends, at times I did not want to go home; my friend’s father felt such confidence. Such a filial atmosphere surrounded my father by children, that I always regretted returning home. What can I say, I secretly envied neighbor Vale and her brother Volodya Sinilov?
One day, I remember this for life; my father took the children to the store. And I, like a homeless little dog, got stuck in the neighbors. There’s nothing but no. And a gun shooting cork, and balls, and even a scooter. Father bought toys for children, to choose from. Volodya got a gun and a scooter. Valya, the ball and the doll. To me, of course, nothing…
It’s time for the Easter holiday. My grandmother wore clean festive clothes, she gave me a white shirt and new breeches, just below the knees. On the pants of the bridge were buckles on the buttons under the knees. And my grandmother and I went to the church. From the basket that my grandmother carried, a spicy scent of puffs, pies with homemade cottage cheese, and baked crosses on buns, and dyed eggs emanated.
At the iconostasis, the priest in a long robe to the toe was standing with his back to the parishioners and singing a prayer book in a singing voice:
— Our Father, Thou art in heaven. Hallowed be Thy name. They will be done…
The church choir, from pious old women, sang along with his sonorous voices. Fedosy Kuzmovich stood facing the choir in a black suit and shiny boots, leaning on a narrow platform. On his long nose sat round glasses. Through them he examined the texts of the Bible and sang with a tenor with the choir. In the church hall a crowd of people was crowded, quickly crossed in the pauses of the choir. And the sign of the cross, and the choir, and the solemn silence of the parishioners, filled the space of the church hall and my imagination with the sensation of some mystery. And succumbing to the general impulse of piety, I folded the three thumbs of my right hand into the «bundle», as my grandmother taught me, and with a sinking heart — was baptized. The gesture made a trembling sense of expectation of a miracle. I suddenly thought that, here, something should happen. At that time the choir sang:
— God, have mercy, Lord, have mercy. Have mercy upon…
From church high and long windows, the sheaves of sunlight fell on the iconostasis, clearly appearing in the particles of the dust of the church. It seemed that just about, one more moment, and according to the formed rays Archangel St. Michael or Gabriel would come down and sanctify all the flock and Easter of the parishioners with his presence. But apart from the voices of the choir, and the rustling of the clothes of the baptized, nothing unusual happened. But my grandmother, I looked at my grandson, with tears of affection, the warmth gently and affectionately.
I felt so much confidence in myself, my spiritual strength from this look, that there are no barriers in the world that I cannot overcome. There are no black evil forces that I cannot overcome now. Sighing at the full breast, absorbing the atmosphere of solemnity and significance of what was happening, I confidently crossed myself and listened to the and chorus singing…
Home from the church came back fun. Pious grandmothers praised my grandmother’s grandson. And I felt at that moment not alone.
«Look, there he is!»
«Who?» Exactly he?!
«There’s that boy among the devout old ladies, you see!»
«Are you sure it’s our boy?»
— Scanning the temporary portal gave it to us. What do not you remember? This place. This church. And I’m here, here not far from the church and my female type lives.
«But will you have to check?»
«Commander, this is your prince- trust, but check, it only hinders.» — A reproach in the voice.
I am five years old.
One morning my grandmother said:
— You have not been in kindergarten for a long time. Get ready, today we’ll go!
— And Where’s Mama? I rubbed my eyes with my fists.
— She’s at a meeting in Kiev.
So the grandmother called the conference of collective farmers, where my mother was sent. Oh, how I did not like to go to this kindergarten, God only knows. In the kindergarten, children often teased me with the nickname «deputy», as the son of the mother of a former deputy of the Supreme Council of Ukraine, and now a deputy of the village council of Shpitki village. It hurt and displeased me. For this, sometimes, I was even angry with my mother for her deputyship. At all mother, as mother, and at me any not similar on all. She always has business. Everywhere she needs to have time, to visit both at work, and at gatherings and at a farm, and at an exhibition. Well, it’s not a man, it’s a matter. Of course, I did not understand the mother’s conscientiousness, which had long earned her respect. She was loved by workers of the state farm, fellow- villagers. But their children almost hated her son. I rarely saw my mother. But, there were moments when she appeared at home and hurried to listen not to her son, but to his cousin Nyushu. My sister often speculated about her situation in the family and complained about my innocent pranks. And instead of kissing the long- awaited mother, often got a slap. I felt hurt at my mother, at my evil sister, at the children who teased me with the insulting word «deputy», and, finally, for the whole world, for being so handsome and affable, admits the existence of insults. Once, having received a dose of hysterical attacks from the mother’s side greasy spiced with a rod, I could not restrain Nyska’s snide laughs from undeserved insults, ran out into the street. At these moments, I firmly decided to leave home and never return. The road went to the center of the village, where there were shops and a pharmacy. After walking about twenty meters, towards the center, I began to ponder, and that if you go to the pharmacy and ask for a medicine, whatever be, so as not to take so much pain and resentment. This thought struck me ever more aggressively and prompted me to act when I got to the pharmacy. Not daring to go inside, I passed by. Then he returned and resolutely entered the spacious corridor with a wide window. After standing for a minute, he pushed the door firmly and entered. The chemist stood behind the counter. He saw the boy who had come in, and asked: — What, Valik, what happened to Mamma? — he looked carefully at my tear- stained face, waiting for an answer. Tears crushed me, I could not answer. The apothecary came out from behind the counter and came up to me.
— You know; you tell me everything in order. I can give you medicine, what you need, I’ll give you something, and then I’ll bring the money. Good?
I nodded, in agreement, saying:
Do you have a cure for evil? — And looked inquiringly at the apothecary.
He did not understand at first that I asked. Then he jumped to his feet, turning away from me, obviously hiding a smile, quickly became behind the counter of the pharmacy, pretending that he was looking for a cure for evil. A little later, he lifted his head from the glass shelf with medicines, said: «And what’s the matter with you that you came for medicines against evil?» — And gave me a paper napkin, so I wiped away my tears and blew my nose. Wiping myself with a napkin, I answered:
«Yes, all evil, mother, Nyuska. And even my grandmother cannot protect me. Mother as mad, and her Nyuska always barks like shook on a chain, against me, like that bitch, from and all. — Slosh again ran from my eyes, breathing sweated. The apothecary, in order to hide the tears that had fallen on his eyes, quickly turned away towards the back room, and said in a dull voice:
— Wait, I’ll bring the medicine from evil soon. — And the utility room disappeared behind the door. After a while he returned, holding in his hand two round packets of pills.
— This is a pill from evil. We will take it after meals three times a day.
I was delighted and accepted the medicine with gratitude. In my heart I felt warm and happy that my escape from the house was so easily solved, and there is no longer any desire to escape anywhere, I jumped out of the pharmacy. Lenya Ochkolyas passed by. At twenty meters he fell behind his mother, who was ahead.
— And are you a Valik?
— Do not you see that it’s me? I answered him.
— What did you do in the pharmacy?
— Thus I bought a cure for evil.
— There is no such medicine. — Authoritatively stated Ochkolyas.
— You look! — I solemnly showed him two packages.
It’s glucose. — Without batting an eyelid, answered Lenya.
I did not know yet what glucose is. But there was no escape, and I asked:
— And what is it? Glue, glucose?
— And let me show you.
— On. — I gave Lena a bag. He busily unfolded it, took out one large pill and put it in his mouth. Then he took out another one. Stretching to me, he said:
— Take it, try it. They are sweet and very tasty.
«Lyonya,» her mother called to Lenya. «How long will I wait for you?» Well, ka runs to me. I’ll take you on a bum.
Ochkolyas with a half- eaten packet rushed to his mother, forgetting to return it to me. But I already did not care. Again deception and disappointment. The pharmacist gave ordinary glucose for the medicine. But where can I understand the trick of the pharmacist, because this glucose, as a cure for evil, helped me to recover from the grievances and get myself back to normal. I gave a new impetus to training self- control in stressful situations in the future and helped me to realize that we need to weigh our actions and actions in order to keep calm and self- control…
— I would take him to us. Very sorry for the boy.
— No. Why do I always have to bring you back to our field of vibrations?
— I remember our tasks here. I remember that there will not be one, there will not be you, the same will happen to me.
— Remember we are not alone on Earth and we, like this defenseless boy, have many enemies here.
— And where is it to CHDCU (Coalition of Highly Developed Civilizations of the Universe) look, ah, commander? — The voice sounds ironic.
I urgently needed a friend, a sincere, strong adviser, who would replace my father. To be with a friend always and everywhere together, to feel his protection and support, is not this happiness. Such a friend did not have.
One day from Pereyaslav Khmelnitsky came to my grandmother her nephew Uncle Kolya, the son of her brother Gregory. He was on a business trip in Kiev and drove to us with a mission from Grandfather Gregory to send a letter to my grandmother. In a letter, Grandfather Grigoris invited my grandmother to come to visit, referring to the fact that because of his sores he cannot start on trips. My grandmother responded by dictating my mother a reply message, in which she promised that she would definitely get out and leave when she was ready for the trip. Uncle Kolya was busy with me all day, playing ball. And after dinner we go with him to the park. There, along the avenue of ancient lime trees, planted since the time of the sugar plant Tereshchenko, we observed the way of the ants. As these toilers, moving one after another, dragged on themselves, who a piece of the stem of grass, who is a tiny leaf, and who is a fragment of a black wing of a beetle. Uncle Kolya, while walking with me park, told me different stories in which heroes were bold and courageous travelers who overcome adversities that met in their path. I was interested with him. And how I regretted having spent the night with us, he left early in the morning.
Loneliness was sweeping the wave, suppressing the spiritual impulses to the beautiful vision of the World. Everything seemed gloomy, unfriendly, and hostile. It is especially painful in the moments of not understanding by children, relatives and relatives, and I have invented loyal friends for myself. So my friend became a penknife, which helped to create from cut twigs real «swords» or «guns», which I fought with evil nettles, feeling at this moment strong and brave.
Perovny knife gave me a cousin of Volodya. He was the son of Aunt Kelly, my mother’s sister. He graduated from an agricultural technical school in the field of horticulture, and his mother invited him to clip the apple trees in our garden. The knife was horticultural for cutting cuttings when chips were sliced. At the end of the blade there was a special protrusion for opening the incision of the bark, and very sharp. I also had a colored glass, blue — blue, in which the world appeared in such blue colors as in a movie, and the birds, and leaves in it, and grass and sky, everything was blue. And the sky during the day seemed as it was at night. Only the sun, as bright as ever, and look at it through the blue glass is as painful as without a glass. Still my friend was a cockerel. He walked proudly around the yard. His multi- colored tail developed in the wind, attracting the attention of layers. Cocky had a good fight. And although I was rather afraid of him, I considered the cockerel to be my friend, because he was never gentle and was always bullying me. Sometimes, spread the wing, and sideways — sideways approaching, bellicose crying like a turkey. I scare the bully with a «saber», but it’s all in vain. With a wild clucking, the cock jumps to me on the head, beak on the head and forces me to flee. I hide behind the massive door of a wooden corridor. A cockerel with a view of the winner, pacing, decorously turning the sides of the layers, they say, look what kind of hero I am. Bitter moments of loneliness…
The last year before the school was particularly difficult. A summer kindergarten for the children of collective farm workers «Bolshevik» was opened, in the winter Shpitkovsky kindergarten did not work. Grandma was going to take me away.
«Are you lying down again?» She called out to me. I had already dozed off, lying on the stove, dreaming of my friends. «Come on, get down, otherwise it will be nine o’clock soon,» Grandmother insisted inexorably.
I reluctantly got off the stove. I took off the long saurian sisters, who served me as a nightdress. He put on his pants, shorts on single harness- suspender pants, sleeveless and ran out barefoot in the yard. There was already waiting for me cockerel. The bird, seeing its enemy, glanced sideways at the eye, and went on the offensive, trotting violently from foot to foot, as if imitating a heavy goose. But the grandmother creaked openly, opening the corridor door and a grandmother appeared on the threshold. The rooster reluctantly retreated, pretending that he was collecting grain, and he had no business for the boy. Grandmother, being entangled at the stove, was late with her grandson. But, nevertheless, my grandmother took my hand, and we set off. I had no choice but to follow the grumbling grandmother. We went out into the street. Then the road stretched along the avenue of century- old lime trees, the remains of an ancient landowner’s park, the violent bloom that greeted me and my grandmother. Suddenly my grandmother stopped and looked me over:
«Well, you are mine, to whom do you seem like, eh?» She clasped, and grabbed me firmly by the shoulders, pulled me to her. I shook my head, but my grandmother inexorably began to lick the grimy cheeks, spitting at the dirty saliva. «Washing», thus, my face, she led me to the kindergarten. And, me, I did not want to go there. I did not want to part with my friends the Knife, Blue Glass, and Cock; they were not allowed to take them with me. I unwillingly trailed behind, deliberately lagged behind the hurrying grandmother. And the chestnut trees greeted with green leaves. The park was full of friendly hymns.
«Yes, go faster!» She urged me. And I added a step, but as soon as my grandmother turned away, walked a little forward, again lagged behind, and finally decided to hide behind the trunk of a spreading chestnut.
— You see what a child, hid! From the scoundrel! Come on, come out! «Grandmother, grumbling, thus, came back, passed by, and I ran out of the home and mockingly said to her in the back:
— B- ah- babushka, and who are you calling there?!
«Well, wait, I’ll tell Aunt Ole, she’ll give you nettles, she’ll treat you!» Now will you know how to mock the old people?!
That’s kindergarten. The teacher full, round- faced, met us at the gate.
«I will not accept you.» The children have already been in the dining room for a long time.
— Yes, he does not need to eat. Let it go to play! Retorted the grandmother.
«We cannot do this.» — And, addressing me, — And you will be punished for being late. The last time I receive you. — And already to the grandmother, — It is more that not late! She ordered severely. To which grandmother waved her hand grumbling:
— A- ah! — We know you!
I followed the teacher after him.
In the dining room it was warm and hot, the wooden tables were already removed.
— Sit down at the table! The teacher ordered.
I sat down and began to talk with my feet. Suddenly, a long thin boy grew up beside him. It was late for the kindergarten of Jester Kolya. I considered him my friend. He also did not have a father and he, too, like me, was late for the kindergarten today. Our friendship began even from last year, when my grandmother’s sister’s father came to our house to measure my mother with Albert, my father. Her name was Aunt Zina, and she lived in Moscow, and worked as a stenographer in the office of the government of the USSR. Mother said that she had stenographer various meetings of government meetings and even attended the visits of foreign delegations at the invitation of the government. She brought a whole lot of chocolate sweets with cherry liqueur, cognac, well, I was allowed to take two pockets in my jacket. And Aunt Zina, and my mother strictly ordered me not to call her grandmother, to call only Aunt Zina, although in fact she was my great- aunt. Aunt Zina volunteered to take me to the kindergarten, but my mother did not allow, as it turned out, my mother was afraid that my father would take me to Moscow and give it to Aunt Zina. That’s why I, with stuffed pockets of chocolate sweets, my mother and Aunt Zina together led me to a kindergarten. This is where the Jester Kohl appeared, who did not pay any attention to me before attention, since he was a whole year older and had his own circle of friends of the same age. He timidly approached me and asked: — Valik, and give me a candy? — He appeared next to us and did not leave until Aunt Zina put a candy in his hand in a red wrap. He took a treat and said to me: «Give me, for the guys.» And I’ll tell them not to offend you. And if someone will pick you up then you just tell me. — He stood and did not go, pulling the wrapper from the candy in his hand. Aunt Zina said to me: — Valik, do not give these candies to anyone. They cannot be given with alcohol and children of these sweets.
I felt my importance and importance at these moments and turned to Aunt Zina:
— Can give one. With one, nothing bad will happen. — Mother looked at me and said, — Well, give him one. And let him go to treat his comrades.
I thrust Kolya two canteens and he happily ran off to friends, popping into his mouth all at once. There two more boys began to look in my direction. It was not difficult to guess what they learned from Kolya. After a short meeting, Kolya came again, and so it was repeated until all my sweets were over. After that, Kolya forgot about my existence…
«Oh, it’s you, Kolya?» Sit next to Valik. — Gently, almost affectionately addressed to him, the teacher Aunt Olya, swinging her weighty body, went to the dispenser window.
The dining room was built in the form of a canopy. The difference in the treatment of the teacher to me and Kolya was noticeable. Kolya too late, even for a longer time. But he was treated with particular affection when he was near me. Of course, I did not understand such treatment, somewhere subconsciously feeling like an outcast.
Before us appeared plates with soup with fresh peas and pieces of meat.
Kolya looked into my plate and said:
«Give me your fat piece, I’ll give you this piece of meat.»
Kolya’s plate had a large white cousin.
«It’s not meat!» — I retorted.
— Meat! Meat! It is so white and there is no fat.
Before I could answer, as Kolya threw a white piece of boiled bacon, like a jelly, in my plate, and from my plate scooped up an appetizing rib with meat.
A lump of sorrow came to my throat, and I stopped eating offense.
«Take it, eat it, try it, it’s meat.» Kolya persuaded me, not far behind me.
And believing it, I took a piece in my mouth.
«Only you swallow it right away.» It’s meat! — Looking wide- eyed at his friend, continued Kolya.
I made an effort and swallowed a boiled piece of pencil lard. Again, it hurt my heart to deceive Kolya, who was considered a friend. I could hardly restrain tears and nausea coming closer to my throat. I did not want to eat. A piece of fat was stuck in the throat with a nauseating obstacle. But such a fragrant fresh pea, green dill and cow’s home oil from above in the soup. Favorite soup, now it seemed tasteless. And then the cook hooked:
— What do not you eat? Well, eat!
Taking advantage of the minute when she turned away, Kolya grabbed my plate of soup and splashed it under the table, then quickly put the empty in front of me. The cook went around the long table and again approached us:
— Well, that’s a fine fellow. Addition take?
— No, I do not want to. — I mumbled.
«Well, here, drink compote!» She set before me a faceted glass of pear compote, smelling of smoke. I drained the glass in a moment, the drink seemed so delicious after a portion of boiled, disgusting fat. It seemed to give me a bucket of compote, at that memorable moment, half a bucket would probably have drunk. But the portions were strictly limited.
The nausea was coming up. There was a pounding in his temples. Red butterflies fluttered before my eyes, my breath nearly stopped. With a feeling of disgust, I looked around and saw opposite the laughing face of Coley. The boy rejoiced. The mockery was successful, the feeling of the winner shone in his self- satisfied smirk.
At that moment I wanted to run home to my Friends, a red cockerel and a dog named Marsik, to my beloved cow, Zorka, and to the grumbling grandmother of Evgenia Lavrentievna.
I got out of the table. Nausea intensified, my heart beat faster, my temples pounding. Staggering, I, like a drunk, staggered to the washstand. There I was groaning. Fatty disgusting slices of fat, along with gastric juice, relieved the stomach.. The contents of the stomach splashed out in the washbasin of the washbasin, easing the overall condition. Kolya, pleased with himself, ran to the courtyard, where there was a fun game. I washed and rubbed my face with a towel, my well- being improved significantly, my giddiness passed, and I ran towards the cheerful voices of the children. In the courtyard I was greeted by the din of children’s voices. The game was in full swing. Who sculpted grandmothers in the sandbox, who fought for molds and sand sovochki. Who collected in a flower bed, where, by the way, it was forbidden to do this, flowers, while Aunt Olya saw off my grandmother. But only she turned in the direction of the children, all the children were playing innocently. The pranks were instantly forgotten. Terrible — a teacher with a punishing stalk of luxurious nettles, was a respected and terrible face for children’s perception. I joined a group of boys who were busy with a wooden swing, outwardly somewhat reminiscent of a giant paperweight painted with blue paint, which had succeeded where to peel off. The children paid no attention to me. Two of them were sitting in the seat on the left, and the three of them were swaying with pleasure. From an unequal weight, the swing jumped and almost did not swing.
— Hey! Let me show you Moscow! «I suddenly suggested.
«How?» The boys shouted almost in chorus.
— Very simple. Let’s get into the seat alone, and you all sit in front of me and lift me high up to the clouds.
The children cried together.
I climbed onto the seat alone, all five climbed opposite, and I was raised high above the courtyard of the kindergarten, above the flower bed, over the children.
«Well, see Moscow?» Asked the blond boy, with wide- open blue eyes.
— I see! I replied authoritatively.
— Anu- ka, show me! " — all amicably rushed to me, and» paperweight», threw me down, rolling in my direction.
— Well, what have you done?! I now do not see anything.
But the game began to flow in a new channel. About Moscow, all forgotten, starting to play in
«Kwacha» (in catch- up, who caught up with the others, he and Kwacha). For fun games, I forgot about the punishment, but it waited for me, threatening an unexpected revenge for disobeying my grandmother.
A teacher Olya suddenly appeared:
— Don’t play enough?! — called my aunt Olya.
After breakfast, the aunt Olya, full and clumsy from her fullness, led the children into an oak grove on soft velvety grass. She spread the blanket under the thick, knobby trunk of the old oak, placed her fat body on him, and began her daily occupation, knitting blouses or darn stockings.
«Wreath!» She called with venomous notes in her voice. «You’re punished today; you will not play.» Sit here and do not go anywhere.
What could be more terrible for the most terrible punishment for a restless boy, how to sit next to a fat teacher, suffocating choking afterwards, clogging your breath, when there is a cheerful game right here next to your eyes. Loses the game, which breaks all my soul, and the severity of the prohibition does not allow to give pleasure, then the game becomes a hundred times more attractive than it really is. And this is the world of adults. What can be more boring than this world? Do adults really do not understand the hearts of little people, because the prohibitions in this my age bring up the deception and cunning of the little ones. So sitting next to Aunt Olya, I philosophically reflected. And sad thoughts plunged me into the jungle of reasoning that adults can only stimulate the child to play in the resolution, and the ban only tightens the soul, pushes the crime.
«Wreath!» Called the boy, bored with boredom, a skinny and frail peer. His wide open gray- blue eyes, looked innocent. The smile was affable and kind, and the upturned nose made the whole facial expression infinitely naive. He began to entice me with his gestures. The teacher at this time, snuffling, already nodded, somehow managing to sleep sitting, not leaning back on the trunk of an oak. I stood up cautiously, tiptoed over the oak.
What do you want, Pelvic?
— Come on, play in catch up with.
— And who will say?
«No one will say.» Pavlik assured. I did not have to persuade me for a long time. I ran fun to meet the game of boys and girls. To meet the merry wind, not hearing the voice of the teacher. When Pavlik stopped me, it dawned on me:
— This is for you now! You’re punished?! Anu ka come here!
And I, having lowered my head, wandered to the side of the calling aunt Oli. Lena Ochkolyas smiled sullenly beside the teacher. The educator’s right hand was already holding her right hand behind her, an unkind sign for me. I approached cautiously, watching this hand hidden behind me. It can be seen that something very unpleasant there, and Lenya Ochkolyas awaits a terribly pleasant sight. It is not difficult to guess who handed me over and obligingly brought the stalk of nettle to the teacher. When I approached the distance of the teacher’s outstretched hand, this something, as I guessed, turned out to be the burning nettles that rustled in the air, sinking to the ankles under the sweet wild laughter of Leni Ochkolyas. Tears of resentment and grief appeared on my face, I silently wept, scratching my swollen red bumps on my legs.
— Ah, what, got it?! — wailed, joyfully grinning Ochkolyas. This boy grew up in a large family. He was my peer, and was the most fragile little and sickly boy of all the boys in the kindergarten. Thin legs and a big belly made his figure comical, obscuring even the puppet features, and always a malicious smile and a tendency to talk about all the tricks of the boys made him a whore. I began to feel hurt not so much at the teacher, as in the slander of Lenya Ochkolyas, who not only talked about his unauthorized absence, but what I was sure of, even brought a gun to punishment, nettles. And now, smiling, was happy with the torments of his victim. I wanted at these moments of humiliation to run far from everyone, to huddle, wherever to the dark corner, hide and stay alone. I vividly remembered the house. The cockerel, from which I received blows and did not take offense at all, because the cockerel was never a close friend. He was an enemy friend and nothing more. And Lenya Ochkolyas was able to be both. This sowed distrust of Lena as a friend and did not evoke feelings of anger and a desire to win as an enemy. The only feeling that Lenya conjured up in my imagination was a feeling of pity born when my mother told me how she had worked for the collective farm administration so that the large family of the Ochkolyas, who had five children, built a house. As the family of the collective farm of the deceased at the hands of the bandits, who appeared after the amnesty. She told me about the horrible conditions in which the Ochkolyasis live. In a tiny hut, covered with straw, with an earthen floor, hastily molded, after the burnt to the sound of a good house. Mom also told about the difficulties of a young woman, Lena’s mother, who was left alone with her children.
The innate envy of the well- off, as it seemed to him, children, gave rise to hatred and anger in the soul, wounded by poverty.
By dinner, the burning of the toes had subsided and almost did not bother. The mood gradually returned to me, and already laughing happily, I paced the children in the ranks, substituting the footsteps of Ponomarenko Kolya, a fat and slow- moving little boy… The next day I went to the kindergarten alone without my grandmother. My grandmother refused to take me to the kindergarten. And to the mother’s remark, she answered:
«He knows the way and can walk by himself.» Not small, he will soon be six years old, let him learn! — to which the mother answered.
— It’s small. And wander where?
— Do not wander, not great loss! And I would have drowned the Inquiry then I would not have suffered? — Mother swallowed the insult in silence, and already asked affectionately, if I know the way. I could tell you how to go to kindergarten. Mother affirmatively agreed. And this is the first time I left my house on my own in the morning. The road was park. Ahead in the bushes I saw Lyonya Ochkolyas, who stealthily looking around, looking for something there. He did not see me, and I, rejoicing that I would go more than one to the kindergarten, called him:
— Hey, Lionka, you wrote there, or what?! Let’s go to kindergarten? — Lenya, frightened and displeased looking at me.
— Go wherever you go. — Answered not friendly Ochkolyas.
I approached him closer. And only now I saw that he was looking for a suitable stalk of nettles for the teacher, so that she would scourge the children with this instrument of punishment, and Lenya would, with her, as always, deserve to enjoy great trust and favor. I waited a little longer for him, but, afraid of being late, I left alone. When I entered the playground and began to examine the children swarming in the sandbox, Aunt Olya appeared from behind the corner of the sleeping building. She called me to her and said:
— Walik, tell me, surely something in the woods has died, that you and your grandmother are not late today in the kindergarten? — the teacher had a good mood and she spoke these words with a good- natured smile, showing even and white teeth. I looked puzzled into her mouth, replying:
— It in the kindergarten something is dead, so it stinks in the kitchen that already there is nothing to breathe. — I said these words, without hesitation, stinks there or not, but the remark of the educator has penetrated me with its infinitely pejorative form of treatment in relation to my grandmother, who was my friend. In a flash, Aunt Olya smiled, as if someone had erased from the face. She blushed, did not answer. She turned and walked nervously behind the kindergarten’s sleeping building toward the dining room. Soon from the dining room were heard the hysterical cries of the teacher who came here to the playground:
— What are your rosella, ah?! I’m Klava, are you asking?! — Aunt Oli’s voice was heard. My remark ended in a fit for the poor cook. Which was justified, telling that she had poisoned the rats, and that some probably died under. wooden kitchen flooring and stinks there. Soon Lenya Ochkolyas appeared on the playground. In his hands he held, like a rod, a high stalk of nettles, tall in height, with a thick and strong stalk and large saw tooth leaves. On his face there was a solemn smile of the performed of the teacher and his cot mother, Aunt Olya. And in the dining room at this time the cook, Aunt Klava, after the morning catching up, nervously tapping the dishes, gave the children food for breakfast…
«Look, he’s started biting!»
— Yes, the case went on to the amendment. And yet, I will never refuse to take him to us.
«Another well- wisher are dreaming about this, except for you.»
— Yes, I know, Moskvichka? — said with zealous notes in his voice.
In the morning, the next day, as always, in the kindergarten I met Aunt Olay’s children:
— Have you told your parents that today there will be a full sunshine blackout in the afternoon that it happens once in a hundred years? — all the children answered in unison that the parents reacted to this in different ways. Some children were not brought to kindergarten, using the pretext of full solar shading. Those children whom parents brought to the kindergarten were supplied with smoke- stained glasses, so that it would not hurt to look at the Sun. Someone brought even marine binoculars, and the boys looked at him in turn. It was very interesting and it’s not clear why on one side the binoculars bring things closer, and when you look from the other side, it detaches them a long distance. I took my blue glass with me and looked through it at the Sun. But the blue glass did not protect the eyes well enough, and through it was painful to the eye when looking at the Sun. After the dead hour and the afternoon snack that followed, the children, as a rule, spent their time in the courtyard playing games. The teacher warned the children that at four o’clock in the afternoon the full blackout of the Sun would begin with the satellite of the planet Earth, the Moon. So that no one is afraid that it’s only for five minutes and no more. And that the parents will come to the children, and they will look together at the blackout. It would have been better if the teacher did not say that. The children were quiet, looking around in fright. There were only ten children, instead of twenty- three. The solar blackout began with the appearance of the parents of these children. My mother came in the outfit. She was wearing a black jacket and a velvet skirt. She informed me that after darkening she would be taken to the Party District Committee in Svyatoshino for a meeting of the party organizers of the Kiev- Svyatoshinsky district and she would come from Kiev late at night. I really wanted to go with her. I asked to take me and, about happiness, she promised that she would. Suddenly it began to get dark. Twilight was coming very fast. The collective farm herd of cows passed by the kindergarten, as the board decided to drive the cows into stalls to avoid the unwanted reaction of the herd to this rare natural phenomenon. The cows began to moo loudly and anxiously. Somewhere in the distance the dogs barked. The chirping of birds suddenly stopped. An animal fear began to creep into my subconscious. The feeling of anxiety and impending catastrophe with the onset of darkness became more and more felt in the gloomy and irrevocably approaching night. The sun faded and suddenly disappeared from the sky. The sky was covered with alluvial stars. There was a silence. Even the dogs stopped barking. Only the howling of a lonely and distant dog is heard. My mother pressed me to her, stood silently in the middle of the playground and shuddered at the terrible state of the sudden night that had come on the summer day. It lasted for ages, it seemed, there would be no end to it. Suddenly the air was cool. There was no sun and darkness was entering its domain. The coolness was noticeable from the sudden disappearance of the hot sunlight, and this added fears of the irretrievability of the phenomenon. I had a feeling that now there will never be a sun, but there will be darkness. But gradually the bright strip on the place of the sun grew wider and wider. And about! Miracle! The sun began to grow in the sky and appeared again. The warmth again flowed a generous river to the park, to the leaves, to the children and the children’s playground. The village girls started singing. Birds choked and everything returned to normal. I was happy and was filled with the expectation of the promised trip with my mother to the meeting in her Obkom. But her mother seemed to forget her promise. I reminded her of this, but my mother did not answer me. She already talked with other parents who came for their children. Finally, my mother paid attention to me and told me that Nyuska would take me today. My mother’s promise not to take me with her hurt painfully. Instead, it’s also a surprise that Nyuska will take me. That I myself will not get home? I asked myself this question. I firmly decided not to go home with my cousin. After the mother left with other parents, I asked Aunt Olya for permission to go home, citing the fact that my mother allowed me to do this. She answered yes and I left. Nyuska, of course, did not find me in the kindergarten and pushed her mother. In the morning, I got a rod in a soft place from my mother, under the grinning grins of my sister…
Oh, time, how quick is your run. Rushed another year. It was time to say farewell to the kindergarten. After lunch, in the dining room, the teacher announced to all children who reached the age of seven, including me, that today they are the last day in the garden. That until the first of September they had exactly one month left, that they were almost schoolchildren.
In a month, the first of September. I’m 7 years old. The First Class is waiting for me. Newest comrades, almost adult cares.
«And how will I read and write?» And how to count? " — I thought anxiously. — Von Ponomarenko Kolya already knows the alphabet, Lenya Ochkolyas knows how to count to ten.»
With a bitter heart complained to Ponomarenko Vasya, his brother Kolya. No, not that Coley, who slipped me a boiled bacon, and another Kolya, already a first- class student.
To which Vasya authoritatively stated:
«My brother did not even know the first letter.» And now he is reading the primer. Vasily proudly declared.
— Really?! — I was delighted. And my heart became calmer. With all my heart I reached out to Vasya, but Vasya was still in the kindergarten, he would go to school only next year. That’s how friends get to know, on the very last day.
«Tell me everything that’s in school.» To me, already for the next year. Vasilis’s asked me. Vasya and Kolya Ponomarenko lived next door to us, and I often went to play with them. It is necessary to go through the neighbor’s garden and I already have Ponomarenko…
Dead hour. Children sleep in their beds. The last dead hour in kindergarten, the last day of preschool childhood I sighed and turned, could not fall asleep, I was worried. I was still racked with fears:
«How can I go to school?» I thought, tossing and turning on my bed, during a dead hour. «I cannot read or write, I do not even know the letters.»
I began to recall the letters. It was easy to remember the letter «A», like two telegraph poles, topped and fastened with a crossbar. It’s easier to remember, there are such poles out there, as long as you want on the sovkhoz fields. I easily remember the letter «O», similar to the hoop, with which Uncle Fyodor fastens the barrels for pickling tomatoes and cucumbers at my mother’s at work. As Valik did not try to remember even one, at least some letter, nothing came to mind. He began to toss and turn. He lay on his back, looked at the ceiling, remembered, for some reason, the grandmother by the stove and her poker.
«Yeah, it seems like the letter» G». — I thought, the heap in the memory of the device, with which the grandmother deftly manipulates, putting in the stove cast- iron, rakes the heat. But nothing more could not really remember. I turned my fair head to one side, listened. The hay crackled in the cushion. In the bedroom, the sniffling of sleeping children was heard. The fly flew by. Everywhere reigned sleepy silence. Suddenly a crumpled green leaf of the lime flopped on the pillow next to my head. I lifted my head, the springs creaked treacherously. Carefully looking around, he found that everyone was asleep:
«Pavlik? It does not seem to be sleeping like killing. «I thought. The glance slid over the cots in the far corner of the bedroom, then stopped at the neighbor on the right. But the blanket of Vasya Ponomarenko rose slightly in time to snuffle, the boy was asleep. Two white teeth were visible in his open mouth, and he looked like a rabbit, peacefully asleep on a pillow, with all his sleeping form. I turned to the right, looked at the bunk of Leni Ochkolyas. There, rustling, the edge of the blanket moved away and black eyes flashed beady under it.
«Oh, that’s a whore! From you to me! " — my little hand grabbed the edge of the pillow and in an instant a soft projectile, describing the arc in the air, sank to the sheltered head of Lenya. The blanket flew open with lightning speed. Lena’s wide- open black eyes stared at me.
«I’ll give you some,» said her face. And in return, Leni’s pillow flew to me. The fighters stopped the hurried steps behind the door. When Aunt Olya entered the room, the picture that appeared before her seemed, did not disturb the sleepy atmosphere. The tutor examined the sleeping ones anxiously. When her gaze settled on my bunk, there were faint flashes in her eyes. I lay on the crumpled blanket of the crib with my feet toward the pillow. The head was lying where the legs should lie. My eyes closed treacherously for centuries. With all his might trying to make a dream, I tried not to blink for centuries. However, in vain, treacherous eyelashes with their trembling spoiled pretense. Strict aunt Olya already and so she understood everything. She quietly went out and in a moment appeared again. In her hand, swaying with a long stem, the gift of Leni Ochkolyas, squeezed in her right hand, nettles. She is coming up to me «sleeping» and began to drag nettles over my bare stomach. The eyelashes of my closed eyes fluttered desperately, but the body lay motionless. Lenya Ochkolyas watched with emotion from his «hiding place» behind what was happening. He was very flattered that the nettle, which he so lovingly chose this morning on the road to kindergarten, did not fade in vain. Thus ended my preschool childhood…
My grandmother met me at home.
«Tomorrow is Sunday, we’ll go to Buzovaya Farm, to the bazaar.» — My grandmother Eugenia Lavrentyevna solemnly informed me.
The bazaar was far away, six kilometers from Spitec. Local residents called this place «Bazaar on Buzovaya». The settlement of the Buzovaya hamlet is located from Kiev on the thirtieth- thirty first kilometer of the Brest- Litovsk highway.
Grandmother announced this news and with a pleased look added:
— Maybe I cannot go next time. I’ll go for the last time…
Early in the morning, I woke up from a light grandmother’s touch.
— Get up now it’s time. She leaned over me in a white clean kerchief and stroked my head.
I rubbed my eyes. He rose, drowsily went to the kitchen. There on the stool stood a bucket of water and a mug, and next to it, near the stool, a garbage can. Having scooped up a mug of water, he took it in his mouth, then poured water from his mouth into his hands over the garbage can. And, soaping his wet hands with soap and soap, he washed himself. For the grandmother came two middle- aged women.
They were two aunts in white colorful handkerchiefs. One distant relative, Aunt Manya from the neighboring village Lychanka. And the other, my grandmother’s eldest daughter, Aunt Maria, or, as everyone called her, was also Aunt Many. They were like my grandmother in white kerchiefs. Aunt Mate from Lychanka is wearing a red woolen skirt and brown shoes without heels. And aunt Manya from Spitec is dressed in a light long and spacious cotton skirt in gray- brown peas. She has sandals on her legs. And my grandmother wore soft home slippers, in which, as she said, it would be convenient for her to go the country road.
The sun touched the tops of trees with its rays, coloring them gently pink. Dew glistened on the grass. Potatoes in the garden blossomed with white flowers. There was a lull in field work. That time, when the harvest absorbed moisture, fertilizer and heat — ripened.
The peasants could make a break. End of July, beginning of August. Then, to gather strength and harvest, stock up for the winter.
The road slowly swam under the unhurried steps of the women. With curious eyes I peered into the surrounding world, so amazing and huge, full of the incessant singing of birds and the chirring of grasshoppers. The screams of scurrying swallows and the blue- blue sky. The day promised to be hot. Behind the coolness of the village the road turned into a field. Then my grandmother took off her slippers and went on barefoot. The women followed suit, saying that they would reach the bazaar and put on shoes. Slowly walked the field road through the space towards the bluish sinuous line of the horizon. The sun had not yet risen to its hot splendor, and it was easy and pleasant to walk, although soft sand underfoot. On Smolianka, on the way to the bazaar, we met a teenage girl Katya. Smolianka, this place has acquired this area from time immemorial, when in the place of the old Lybyd river bed, now covered with lush grass, spacious river flowed along which fishermen’s boats swam. On the bank of this river there was a fishing village, and a place where the fishing boats were crooked and were washed down. And this place called Smolianka. Now it was a good place for grazing cows. Here Katia drove out Shpitkovo herd to Smolianka. She ran up to us and cheered with greetings. Just two kilometers from Spitec, Katya kicked out a herd of cows early. Grandmother, having found our Zorka, looked in her direction. Zorka stopped grazing and raised her face, and she began to hum down granny. Evgenia Lavrentyevna commanded her detachment:
«Come on, let’s go soon, or else they’ll follow us.» — Quickly saying goodbye to Katya, we moved on. It was nice to meet a fellow tribe so «far» from home and see us too.
Through the field passed, when the sun was already palpably warming our backs. But the first trees at the roadside sheltered the walkers with a shadow, and it became easier to walk. The grandmothers decided to rest and sat down under the tree on the grass, at the same time and put on their shoes. Buzovaya, with its bazaar, was across the highway. It is enough to pass another two hundred meters. The noise of the trading crowd, the grunting, the mooing and growl of the animals, merged in the remote homonym of the already close bazaar.
In the market aunt Manya from Lychanka bought a pig. And he hovered in the bag with wild yells. With this pig, endlessly screaming in the bag, we walked through the bazaar, attracting everyone’s attention. They traded everything here, horses, cows, puppies, kitchen utensils, shoes, clothes, animal feed, seeds and so on…
I could not understand what my grandmother was looking for. But when aunt Manya of Lychanka approached a woman holding a school uniform in her hands, she began to haggle, I understood everything. Grandmother made me wear a tunic. All at once approvingly nodded their heads, and the form became mine for ten rubles. The pig in the bag, then calmed down, then again yelled violently at the whole bazaar. And only when Aunt Manya of Lychanka left with a fellow villager who traded fodder, we got rid of the pig’s shrill screech. She went on a cart with her fellow villager. And we came the same way late at night home.
Have come. How nice it was after a hot sunny trip to plunge into the pure coolness of the house. Our mother met us in a white kerchief tied in the manner of Bolshevik red kerchiefs. It’s nice to see her friendly smile, which was extremely rare.
«Well, did you buy the uniform?» — when she saw the purchase, she asked grandmother with pleasure. And my grandmother unrolled the knot. And got out the school uniform from there.
— And you tried on? — asked anxiously Mama, — Come on, Valik, put it on.
I put on a school uniform, a cap with a cockade and looked like a little boy from a sailboat, only the tunic was not marine, but a school jacket.
— Well now you can go to school. «From nowhere,» Nyuska’s voice rang out.
Nyuska was considered a cousin, but behaved as if she were an older and own sister, allowing herself various educational attacks in my direction. She was of medium height; she was sixteen years old. She was distinguished by her venomous manner of talking and now she tried to yelp:
«You’re like a minister in uniform!»
She lived with Olga Andreevna and was the daughter of Aunt Theodosia or, as her mother, Olga’s sister, Aunt Fedosya called everything. During the war Fedosya Andreevna, the fascists were driven to Germany. The Germans took it to Poland and placed it in the concentration camp «Ausventzim», photographed and put a tattoo on their hands. There, after learning the details of its origin, they gave it to a German farmer. Farmer Aunt Fedosya worked until the end of the war. And after the Victory, I returned to the pregnant home. As expected, in his time to give birth, gave birth to a girl, who was named Nyusi. After a while she was found by her lover, whom she had met in Germany. It, as well as it was taken out by the Germans for work. He drove milk from German cows, which Aunt Fedosya milked there. They built a house and began to live. Aunt Fedosi’s husband had three children, whom he took after building a house. Aunt Fedosi’s protests did not give anything. Uncle Leontius, that was the name of her aunt’s husband, was a Byelorussian and spoke with a terrible Belarusian accent, confusing Russian, Byelorussian and Ukrainian words. Sometimes it was difficult to understand. Especially when the dose of moonshine was taken to the soul, a dialogue of unholy moral delirium began, from which my headache began. Knowing this property of his Leontius, Aunt Fedosya tried to take him home as soon as possible. To me already at my preschool age, it seemed that this marriage was not will last a long time. And it happened, but after a few painful years of my poor aunt Fedosi’s life with Uncle Leonty.
So, the bride show was successful. Grandmother Eugenia Lavrentyevna no longer did such long trips and was engaged in farming. I cooked food by the stove, cleaned the walnuts, helped to harvest potatoes from the garden. So the worries came on the first of September. The mother prepared for this celebration in full. I had a brand new briefcase, notebooks, a pamphlet, a pen, an inkwell, ink, and everything necessary for a first- grader…
Say, well, at least to see it like I see you, can I?
«Well, what can I tell you?» — Silence.
«Maybe there is some way, anyway, eh?»
«Think what you’re saying?» You know a continuum better than I do. It’s your idea to clone yourself, and the professor, as her husband to be allowed into a natural birth and on the planet Earth.
— It is not true! — Exclamation of indignation — He himself wished this and he himself asked me that I would be with him. To see this boy is very pleasant for him, and at the same time I want to hug him once, to caress, to caress, and to cling to me.
— As you do not understand, we are on Earth, and, incidentally, your «husband», reborn in the image of this boy — the friend. You see and hear how it does not fit into this environment, even though we tried to place it in a family with a certain wealth and an artless environment.
«Well, commander, you are as always right. Only pay attention that this boy is you, only after many generations. — Sad melody in the voice, — By the way, you’re also a clone of my husband, like me, a clone of his wife. Also you are not real. Here it is, this boy is the real one, born naturally from a real mother, and not in the incubator of the Coalition, as we are with you. It carries the radiation of our young sun, which exists in the distant past with respect to our vibration of time. He has a stable emulation, inherent in his peers. — With some pride said the partner, and her voice sounded with a feeling of envy.
«The professor himself wanted it.» Here we are again young, full of strength and energy and are able to do research to observe the evolution of ourselves in an endless chain of births, beginning with me in the image of this boy.
«You know how I fear for him so that nothing will happen to him.»
«Well, in this case, I have you, an exact copy of this boy in the future, when he grows up and he turns twenty years or older.» — With a grain of irony, smiling, said the commander.
«You know; I often return to those distant days when we lived in our little house on the river bank.» We were not afraid of the rays of our sun and the accumulation of microbes around us. I remember everything, that’s the beauty of cloning. But he has no memory there. He will start all over again, but he has a whole world created by solar energy.
— Yes, in something our boy can be envied. And in what is not.
«You are a professor, as you are always right.»
— Partner, does not call me a professor. I’m already far from medical practice. Now I have new tasks. In this new life I am the commander of the expedition of the On- demand HDCU…
It was 1955 and the day came. First Septembers. I came with my mother to school and saw several familiar boys and girls in the kindergarten. Most of the children I did not know. The first thing I had to face is the place at the desk. I went into the classroom, choosing a convenient place, as it seemed to me in the center of the school row, I sat down at the desk. But there came a girl with a round, thick face and protruding in different directions pigtails.
«This is my place!» — Frowning her brows, she said. I tried to protest.
— I first sat down here! — to which the girl said:
— Look under the desk, there’s my briefcase.
Lifting the desk, I saw a briefcase there. While I was going up, freeing up the place, the class quickly filled with first- graders. Without losing a minute more, I rushed to the free desk nearby. As soon as I sat down there, I immediately looked under the cover of the desk, it was empty. But instantly a blond- haired, short- haired, short- haired, boy, grew up in front of me:
«This is my place!» He declared. «I’ve taken him!»
I angrily replied:
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