Бесплатный фрагмент - Homer’s Golden Chain

Homer’s Golden Chain

Dreams Alchemist

Any coincidence with real people is accidental, and was not part of the author’s plan.

Who is unhappy

Happy is always cruel, he

He pays for his past tears…

Euripides, “Iphigenia in Tauris”

Prologue

Nicholas was sitting at a desk on the top floor of a tower that had been built far from New York. It worked so well here, no one itched or interfered, it was quiet and calm. The waves of the ocean broke on the granite gouges of the breakwaters, everything was covered in darkness, and his light was burning, it seemed to illuminate this hill. On the wall of his chambers hung a clock, but not alone, but twenty-four, showing all the time zones of this big world.

In excitement, he wrote down in a notebook only those thoughts that came to him. He did not encrypt his ideas, this notebook served as a draft, a mirror of his restless brain. Everything that he could imagine was written there, so that later he could process this data and not forget anything. He studied microwaves, and most of the inventions were related to them. Nearby lay on the table and “The Golden Chain of Homer,” the great alchemical book.

— Maybe you were right, and gold synthesis is quite possible. Only a different approach is needed, — the great scientist said to himself, — microwave study may help here.

And again he began to write down his thoughts in a clean handwriting. He went to a coffee pot heated with alcohol. He looked at him for a long time, moved his fingers in the air, proving to himself an unconscious thought.

— What if my unit? — and looked at the newly made device, shiny with steel on his table.

Nikolai looked at the table of chemical elements of the Russian scientist Mendeleev, and whispered silently, putting his index finger on the name, which had the root name of the great Newtonian. This was the basis of his ideas, his confidence and research. Newtonia was the ubiquitous ether, that golden chain connecting everything in this huge world.

There was a deafening call in this oppressive silence, the phone rang, over and over.

— Niccolo at the apparatus… Yes, sir, all the energy generated by the substation will be needed… No, experience will not take much time, how can you?… I have never let you down… Well, I need just that much and no less!

Nikolai put down the phone, and began to look at the black night outside the window… Time dragged on very hard, and the scientist could no longer read or write. It was necessary to wait until 23—00, when he could get the necessary electricity. He rose from his chair and went to the table.

“I’ll make coffee now…

It was the day of June 29, 1908

Skinny Boy

The boy, painfully thin, lovingly turned the pages of an old book, Kuhn’s Myths of Ancient Greece, with his long thin fingers. He adored this rustle of paper, beautiful illustrations copied from antique vases with images of gods and heroes — incredibly beautiful and brave, simply amazing. Some things clung to him more than others — for example, the witch Medea and her magical compositions that give strength and health to sick people. Denis broke away from reading, and looked at the window of the room, in which his face was reflected, but it seemed to him that the sorceress from Colchis herself was looking at him with her big black eyes, grinding, running her huge nails through the glass.

He dreamed that, just like this woman, he would cook an extraordinary composition, and cure his mother of all her endless ailments. He himself was also not too healthy, which was the reason for the endless ridicule of evil peers. Denis’s greatest joy was reading, and chemical experiments, which he conducted secretly from his parent.

He looked at his watch, he had to go to the store and peel the potatoes for his mother’s arrival. The boy quickly gathered, went to the store next to at home, bought potatoes, and at home put Bush’s legs to stew, and polished potatoes, their usual food. Mom earned a little, not in Gazprom or Mosenergo worked, as they said in these offices — “They are not rubber, not enough for all places.”

Here, it seems, the pan with potatoes boiled. The boy salted, removed the foam, stirring the contents with a spoon. The long-awaited doorbell rang, Denis opened, and his mother, Anna Ivanovna, came in. The woman smiled, kissed her son on the cheek.

“There are cakes in the bag. Carry it to the kitchen.

— Great. Potatoes are ready, chicken too, — the son warned his mother.

— Thanks. Sit down, now I’ll wash my hands and change my clothes.

They ate their unwise dinner at the table, brightened with mustard and ketchup. The cakes brought by my mother were really great. Denis finished his share, mom smiled, seeing a joyful son.

— Well, how many fives did you bring?

— One.

“What about twos?”

— No, only three in mathematics.

“Try hard. Should I help you?

— No, everything is done. The lessons are uncomplicated.

“I’ll go lie down a little,” said Anna Ivanovna.

At school, everything was really funny, so much so that the director was going to call Denis’s mother to school.

***

Denis’s relationship with classmates did not work out, he was weak, quickly tired on the physical, especially his skis, choked. I didn’t like to fight either. Then at school another round went — spitting each other with chewed paper from tubes. A number of subjects, especially music, suffered from this, but it is clear that physics and mathematics were higher than these brawls, so that teachers kept hooligans in line. Denis dodged spitting, so successfully that Filev’s chewed paper fell into the forehead of the class strongman Adosin Mikhi. Mikha expressively waved an impressive fist to Filyov and Shiryaev, hinting at an early reprisal. They just shrugged, expressing their complete misunderstanding of what had happened. But Kirill Filev repeated the same gestures towards Denis, smiling nasty.

The next was a physical education lesson, and Kudrevatov had a leak in his stomach, he imagined that he would still start restless and evil, like a ferret, Filev. The bell rang, the change ended quickly, and the bell rang at the physical. Denis dressed quickly, and one of the first flew into the gym. First there was a run in a circle, then pull-ups, then high jumps with scissors. Others jumped twenty meters high, even thirty meters. He could not jump to the top three. He saw him being laughed at and so did the girls. Is it a shame? Yes, I don’t give a damn. Everything was very familiar.

The boys, galling, fell into the locker room, changing into biology. Filev, still walking around the locker room, in some shorts, and picturesquely strained his biceps, now on his left hand, now on his right. There was a broken chair in the corner. Cyril, not thinking much, not for the first time, grabbed Denis’s panties, intending to pull him off, and push him into the corridor to laugh at the weakling. Sports shorts made of artificial silk were strong, and only therefore did not succumb to such pressure. Filyov’s company laughed, Shiryaev gave, as it seemed to him, reasonable advice. Kudrevatov pulled back Filyov’s hands and shouted:

— Enough, not funny!

— Nothing is enough… And it will be funny later! Kirill said, and tried to pull off his clothes from Kudrevatov.

As if darkness rolled over Denis’s eyes, and he, grabbing a broken chair, hit the offender on the head, so much so that he broke the chair and only a strong leg remained in his hand. He beat again and again, and then, grabbed the lying leg, and threw it down the stairs, so that the body turned over, it remained to fall on the landing of the flight of stairs below. And here, too, no one was going to help or interfere, only the girls screamed piercingly. Denis’s thumb was knocked into the blood, and beautiful new shorts were stained with Filyov’s blood.

Finally, a sportsman and a Trudovik came running, surveying the battlefield. They picked up Cyril and carried him to the doctor’s office. The head teacher and the headmaster hurried to the scene, but tried not to switch from a quick step to running, so as not to dust their authority. The clock on the wall ticked piercingly, as if measuring the remaining time, it was so quiet here. But the teachers’ faces were whiter than white and their hands were shaking.

— Kudrevatov. To the director’s office. Fast.

— Well,” the boy agreed.

Denis did not even add always — “What?,” Roughly understood the consequences. The boy collected his briefcase quickly, although he caught a strong tremor. The shift did not immediately get inside the portfolio, but only the fourth time. Also, with difficulty, he put on pants and a shirt.

— Okay. We have to go, “he said to himself. And he swam, and sat on a stool, waiting for a call to the office.

The briefcase lay on his lap, like an exemplary student, and he reflexively adjusted the cuffs of the sleeves and collar, buttons on the jacket.

— Kudrevatov, come in, — the secretary called.

He entered the office, where the head teacher and the director were sitting at the table, in front of them lay sheets of paper and pens.

— Well, Denis, tell me, why brutally beat Filyov Kirill?

The boy shifted his eyes from one woman to another, and began to understand that they wanted to make him guilty.

No one cares that he was viciously mocked, no one was going to interfere, but a terribly beaten schoolboy and his rich parents are something else. Okay…

— He wanted to rape me,’ Kudrevatov said harshly, raising his lowered eyes, ‘and this I demand to include in the protocol my testimony in the case.

The eyes of the headmistress and the head teacher became like tea saucers, only the golden border was not enough.

— No, Denis may have had an inappropriate joke… — the head teacher began.

— Well, yes, he wanted to pull off my panties and grab my penis. Perhaps it seemed funny to him. An inspector from the police nursery would make that laugh too, I suppose. The lawyers will decide the matter, and they will not forget themselves. And you shouldn’t hang dogs on me. I, as I understand it, Filyov’s parents want to demand that we pay our vile son? Let the police be called then. If they don’t pay me, I will report their son for attempted rape, and you, Mr. Director, will not be an ice either.

— It’s not very good, Denis…

— That’s right, it’s not good to pull off panties from others… — the boy remarked quietly.

The door opened and a well-dressed lady, Kirill’s mother, came in.

— Hello, Denis. Cyril is now nauseous, his nose is broken, his arm is dislocated, his knee is knocked out. I have to call your mother.

— Call, — the boy agreed, — and do not forget that then your son will meet with the juvenile affairs inspector, and what he decides there… You probably heard everything… I would propose to resolve the case by agreement of the parties.

— You’re smart beyond your years…

— Where to go… Poor man, from a poor family…

Denis sat and dozed in the chair, waiting for the lawyer. The chair was well-known — soft and deep, unusually comfortable. Finally, the matter was resolved. An attorney arrived, with a thick leather folder, and a great sense of self-importance on a well-fed face. The witch was right, the guardian of the law was very solid in appearance, and not just painfully thick. He snot and sighed and gasped and gasped. listening to what had happened, and everything threw cunning eyes of a pig’s eye at the boy.

Finally, he began to draw up documents, sticking his tongue out from diligence to work. Here are two papers and were ready. Denis, with a ruler in his hand, as he saw in the movies, read everything to the letter, did not miss a comma, and was satisfied. Filyov’s mother, Klavdia Matveevna, was also sitting nearby, she also read papers.

— Well, what? Everyone agrees?

— Yes, — Klavdia Matveevna nodded her head.

“Perhaps,” the head teacher agreed.

“Okay,” Denis agreed.

Filyov’s mother moved the envelope to the boy, he raised his eyebrows, looking at the money.

— It will be better, it’s yours, — added Klavdia Matveevna, — but everything will remain secret.

***

It was night over the Atlantic coast. The place chosen by Captain Schulze was excellent — deserted, without blinding lights of searchlights, and snooping with their rays on the ocean waves. Even the little fishing boat guarding this slice of land from Hitler’s malevolent agents hid in a cove where old sailors warmed themselves with sips of Kentucky whiskey. Henry looked ashore through the eyepieces of his battered Zeiss, examining the landing site.

A team of top sailors also stood nearby. They were five dozen guys dressed up in great American clothes, bought in Cuba for fake dollars. The faces are unshaven, but not overgrown, trimmed and even washed with the last water from their submarine. Nothing should have influenced the success of the operation, and he did not want to report the failure personally to Dönitz.

The captain waved his hand, and the five soldiers got into an inflatable boat, and the sailors of the submarine helped to lower the boat to the surface of the water. They pushed away from the steel side of the lord of the depths, and began to row to the shore. Splash merry stopped coming to the captain, and he hid in the wheelhouse to smoke.

A team of saboteurs quickly reached the shore, and two of them remained to guard the craft, while three moved to the coastal mansion, the target of the raid. It was a small house, two floors, behind a stone fence. According to intelligence, there were no dogs in the house, and the owner went to Washington for a week.

One threw a ladder made of rings onto the fence. It was the strongest and lightest tool for overcoming simple obstacles. The first instantly rose, almost on one hand, and threw the same staircase inside the estate. Quickly climbed and another. The third lay in the bushes, guarding his comrades.

Two saboteurs, ducking, ran to the front door, and instantly opened the door, ran through the mirror room, and ran into the second floor. The elder checked the plan, pointing out to the assistant the ridiculous picture hanging on the wall.

The saboteur took off the picture, under it was a safe with a typesetting lock. Good thing, but not protection against specialists. The stethoscope headphones were on the German’s head, and he began to dial the code, listening to the rollback of the lock springs. Finally, the deed was done. The elder grabbed the package from the safe, and the assistant pulled it out of his satchel and put a similar package, immediately closed the door of the safe and corrected the picture hanging over the safe. They came back running, number three with honed movements collected the stairs and stuffed them into the bag on the run.

On the shore, exchanging words of password and recall, the small detachment was together again. The elder took out a flashlight and beat off the walrus with a beam of a flashlight:

— WE COME BACK.

Heinrich Schulze personally met the fighters on the deck, silently saluted the arrivals, and only then allowed himself a weak smile.

***

There were no more problems, Denis sat alone in class and was very pleased with life. He calmly laid out his books and notebooks on the desk, and enjoyed the learning process. Nobody touched him, and he did not climb to anyone. Library, school, help around the house material and continued his days. Passion for chemistry took all your free time. I read how to make explosives and did. Reading bore fruit. Closer to the forest, very carefully, he dug holes, lowering explosive devices there, set fire to wicks and ran away. The deafening explosion scared away flocks of stray dogs, so there was no small benefit from it either.

Once the case almost ended very badly… Denis got red phosphorus, and tried to create an incendiary device. It was late in the evening, the guy put on an old quilted jacket and a hat, it was the smartest choice in his life. But the wick somehow turned out to be short this time.

The dazzling flash seemed to close everything… His hands burned, and he was wildly afraid to open his eyes, thought that there were no more of them… He stuck his hands in a puddle, they were sick, sat down, turned red terribly. There were red spots in front of my eyes, but the contours of the trees, I distinguished the path well, or rather, at least somehow. Denis sat down, and closed his eyes again in exhaustion. Mom went on a business trip, so he had three days to come to life. It was impossible for him to go to school in this form, so as not to end up in a psychiatric hospital.

“No, I tied up with phosphorus,” the naturalist said to himself.

Denis reached the apartment, bending almost to the ground, opened the door, and hastily undressed and went into the bath. With fear, he raised his reddened eyes to the mirror… The heart was racing — but the nose, lips, ears of the eye — everything was in place. Only the eyelashes and eyebrows burned out. He even counted all the fingers on his hands — fortunately, there were ten of them. Kudrevatov washed the dirt from his face and hands, and put a pan of water for dumplings on the stove. Back in the bathroom, and rubbed cream on your face — you see, it will heal faster. But I really wanted to eat. Dumplings are great food! Fast and good.

***

A detachment of Marines lay on the pier of Palangen. The Germans watered the sailors with fire from their machine guns, preventing them from rising. It was necessary to do at least something, do not disappear here for a great life!

It was impossible to shoot back — the machine gunner had a clear view of them, and the squad had already lost three. — Comrade Commander, may I go? — sailor Kudrevatov asked the lieutenant. — Yes, sailor? — There’s a hatch, a sewer… I’ll go and see, maybe I can get around the bastards? — Well done… If I can, I’ll beg the brigade commander for a Slava… Take some grenades. And swap your SVT for a PPS. It’ll be easier there. — Yes sir, Comrade Commander. Just let them give me my rifle back, I’ve been fighting with it for a long time. — Okay, I’ll keep an eye on it. Go on. Kudrevatov changed into rags, and wrapping his mouth with rags to keep from vomiting, climbed into the hatch, which his kind and smiling comrades had so kindly opened. Descending the metal ladder was easy, but the smell penetrated even through the rag. The good news was, the sewer was a gallery-type structure, not just a sewer pipe. It was dark, and only the flashlight was my salvation. I used the compass to find my bearings and paced the distance, lest I foolishly stumble into the Germans’ path. The next step almost proved fatal — I stepped into a hole and filled my boot with fecal matter, so now my foot was freezing and squelching unpleasantly. Kudrevatov squatted, took off his boot, wrung out the foot wrap as best he could, and squeezed the water out of the shaft. He put it back on — it was damp, but better; at least it wasn’t squelching inside my boot, and it wasn’t so cold. I had another three hundred steps to go. The hardest part was counting the steps. It always turns out worse than you think — when things like this happen, everyone thinks they just want it to be over quickly, and instead of two, everyone gets ten. He felt his machine gun and the ammo pouch — everything was fine, and he sighed with relief. I looked at the compass again — it was good, with a backlight…

He didn’t have much time left. He switched off the flashlight to avoid trouble and felt his way. He seemed to catch an iron ladder under his elbow. The sailor began to climb, trying not to jingle his gear. Twenty steps, but he thought it was two hundred, until he bumped his head against a cast-iron hatch. He hadn’t forgotten his crowbar and easily lifted and pushed the cast-iron hatch aside, pulled himself up with his arms, and rolled away like a snake. The pillbox was ahead, and slightly to the side, a small concrete trench with a German soldier standing there. The Finnish knife, hidden by his boot, slipped into his hand. The sailor crawled, not sparing his already filthy uniform, afraid the stench would give him away prematurely. He pushed off, jumped, and instantly delivered three stabs to the neck, not turning his face from the gushing blood. Two more stabs to the heart for safety. Kudrevatov glanced at the German helmet, nodded to himself, and even praised it. He began to remove the German’s jumpsuit, trying to wipe away the blood. He took one look and spat in disgust; it was so covered in blood, it wouldn’t come off. He dug into his knapsack; there were a few small items, including a watch that had migrated to the sailor’s pack. His Parabellum, a dream come true, went there too, as did the thick-bound book. There was also a black scarf; the marine wrapped it around his neck and the collar of his German jumpsuit. A German MP-38/40 replaced the PPS pistol hidden under the corpse. Kudrevatov trudged toward the bunker. Fritz raised his hand, greeting his new comrade, but the German, damn it, had failed his duty, leaving the armored door open. The sailor already had a gift in his pocket, clutched in his left hand, something the German hadn’t even thought about — a lemon grenade without the pin. Kudrevatov first threw a grenade, then shot the German, stunned and wounded by the explosion, with a captured pistol. He glanced quickly down the corridor — everything was covered in smoke — and threw two more grenades. Then, waiting for the explosions, he exhaled and ran inside, cocking his MP as he went. Two wounded lay with burned faces; the sailor shot them casually. At the machine gun, one tried to clear his eyes, which were already gone, and his comrade lay nearby, motionless. Kudrevatov shot them both, sparing no bullets… He ran around the pillbox, but everything was clear, then took out his flare gun and fired. A green star rose into the sky, and the sailor heard the long-awaited cries of “Hurray!” Secrets and Hobbies: Growing up is associated with emotional torment for everyone, and Denis was no exception. Girls’ curves began to inspire genuine interest in him; girls’ opinions no longer seemed silly and worthless, and socializing with them a ridiculous and harmful waste of time. He was poor, dressed very modestly, in Chinese clothes from “Family,” and, of course, had no ambitions. Sure, they bought an LG refrigerator with the Filevs’ money, and his mother was still happy with it, but Denis had to come up with a whole scheme to keep his mother from suspecting anything. He always came up with something more elaborate to avoid upsetting his mother. True, they had a dacha, and it wasn’t far from Moscow, seventy kilometers away, so they weren’t entirely unhappy.

So Kudrevatov watched the antics of Radov and Tutushkina, the unrivaled and celebrated Romeo and Juliet of their time, with curiosity and envy. No, there were Tatyana and Onegin, there were Pletnev and Elizaveta Dronova, but watching them wasn’t quite as captivating. But thoughts, thoughts… He was reading “Homer’s Chain,” which he’d bought from a second-hand bookseller at the market. The book was a complete blizzard, nothing but fog, but there were a few sound ideas that Denis had noticed. He took out a chemistry textbook and wrote down the symbol for Au-aurum, gold, and its atomic mass. And then there was the idea, the principle, called “The Alchemical Wedding” in a Hermetic work. These things haunted him. He began sorting through his grandfather’s old books, and opening one, he found a notebook sewn into it, covered in English. And, incredibly, on the title page was written: “Nickolo Tesla.” Did his grandfather really do this too? I’ll have to ask my mother, Dan thought. Then he recalled the thoughts racing through his head about the alchemical wedding — that is, the combination of elements. He’d read other books, and in one he’d dug up that the Sun could also be feminine and called Surya…

But salt is the Sun, that is, NaCl and antimony, Sb. And what kind of reaction is that? NaCl + Sb = Au, Na-11, Cl-17, Sb-51, Au-79 11 +17 +51 = 79! So, here it is, the sought-after alchemical wedding, what made and filled the treasury of the Roman emperors! Yes, but to create the conditions for the reaction to begin… Denis was sweating, and his eyes closed dreamily. Temperature is needed… and pressure, or maybe!!!

— Kudrevatov! — the teacher’s cry rang out, — Have you come here to sleep?

— No! “Denis jumped up from his seat,

— I’m thinking about what you said, Natalya Petrovna, about intercellular membranes.”

“Well done, sit down,” the teacher said, her voice already warming.

“Look, even in his sleep, Kudrevatov can absorb the subject,” the biology teacher chuckled, “but you shouldn’t follow his example.

Otherwise, the less persistent students will simply fall asleep and distract the class with their snoring.” The students in the class were rolling with laughter, and his classmates were already looking at Denis approvingly, even the girls, especially Anechka Listova, the object of the young man’s romantic sighs, his beautiful ideal. She was so sweet, with a snub nose, charming freckles, and chestnut hair pulled back in a French braid. A text message arrived on his phone; the young man was delighted with his first success. But he also had to think about the material side of the matter — a part-time job at the post office awaited him.

One day, their class was on a field trip to Kuzminsky Park. Everyone was in high spirits; it was spring. The weather was beautiful, the sun warmed the air, and the leaves were in full bloom, a rare occurrence in Moscow at the beginning of May. Their class teacher led them to see the exhibit at the estate culture museum. They walked through the forest and along the lakeshore to the dam of a pond where the usual ducks were circling, gathering food. The students threw bread to the waterfowl, and the birds, wagging their tails, nimbly swam up and gobbled up the food.

“We’re going to the museum,” repeated Lyubov Ivanovna, their class teacher and literature teacher. – Look first at Klodt’s statues.

And indeed, the sculptor’s masterpieces stood here, though there were only two of them, not four as in St. Petersburg. Everyone stared at the bronze youths and horses. It’s hard to say the event went without a few obscenities and finger-pointing at the sculptor’s genitals. Denis tripped here, his knee hurting badly, but he didn’t think much of it. The entire class entered the museum wing, gazing without much interest at old photos and lithographs from the Golitsyn family’s life. It was clear they were passionate horse lovers, passionate about breeding horses. Kudrevatov’s limping was getting worse, while his classmates went to see the count’s stables. The stables housed three horses, and then the students were shown dressage, and almost everyone wanted to try their hand at riding. Lyubov Ivanovna was just trying to keep order, lest anyone accidentally get run over by a horse’s hoof. Denis hobbled alongside, but didn’t dare climb into the saddle; his leg was already sore; even to the touch, his knee was swollen and stiff.

“Lyubov Ivanovna,” Denis asked, “don’t let go, my leg’s hurting.”

“Okay, go ahead,” the form teacher replied indifferently.

Kudrevatov was already struggling to get to the clinic. He couldn’t put his whole left foot down, only his toes, so he hopped about twenty steps, then rested. But no matter; he reached Volgogradka, crossed the road, and then hobbled along Tashkentskaya to the clinic. He climbed the steps, already flushed, and approached the reception desk.

“I need to see a surgeon.” The nurse smiled, wrote out a ticket, and said, “Room 302.”

Three more sufferers were sitting in artificial leather chairs, one even with a crutch. It was their turn in about five minutes. The surgeon saw them quickly, and soon Denis was lying on the table, pantsless, while a female doctor examined an X-ray of his knee.

“Well, what now?” “We’ll drain the blood from the knee sac and put your knee in a cast for three weeks. Everything will be as good as new.”

“Okay.” The doctor nodded and injected him with novocaine, then waited a minute.

The nurse brought him a large enamel vessel. Smiling, the doctor inserted a thick needle into his knee joint, and Denis watched as dark red, thick blood drained into the vessel. A lot of it had accumulated, a whole renal pelvis. A bandage was applied, then a plaster cast.

“Look how much you’ve leaked,” and the doctor showed him a whole renal pelvis of dark red liquid.

“Is there anything left, doctor?” the patient asked plaintively.

“Well, there you go, a hero. Everything’s fine. He’ll heal soon,” the doctor said confidently, entering the information into the medical record.

“Since he started joking around. Stay home for two weeks.”

“Good,” Kudrevatov nodded happily. His mother was upset, but not too much; Denis said he’d sprained his leg.

***

The workday at the post office wasn’t long, two hours, enough to deliver the mail. Brown-black tiled floors, walls painted green, rough even to the eye. Old doors covered in brown film. Such a modest post office. Denis rang the brown doorbell, and a smiling Larisa Georgievna opened it for him.Larisa Georgievna was the deputy postmaster, a neat and attractive woman of about forty, with a charming mole on her upper lip.

“Good afternoon, Denis. My bag is packed; please count the letters and sign.” The young man ran his eyes over the register, counting the letters and notifications, comparing the numbers.

“Everything is fine, Larisa Georgievna! I’m leaving.”

“Go ahead,” the woman smiled at him.

A van had pulled up to the post office, and workers were unloading parcels and sacks of letters. Kudrevatov walked quickly, checking his list. Everything was simple — the house code and the letter boxes. He carefully stacked letter after letter, notifications for delivery. Everything was perfect. Upstairs, on top of the boxes, lay an old book. Apparently, one of the residents had placed it there, not wanting to throw it away. He opened it and turned the pages of the book. At the beginning was a photo of a pleasant, thin man, with the caption: “Nikola Tesla.” The young man lovingly stroked the binding and put the book in his bag. The day went on, and he found a discarded microwave oven. Denis figured it out and took the thing home, and thoughts of heating an alchemical mixture were born. He bought some antimony powder and hid it.

Away from his mother’s eyes. And passing an old kindergarten, with a fence overgrown with dense bushes, he saw people scurrying back and forth with sports bags.

“What’s here?” he asked one of the visitors politely.

“A gym. Inexpensive, by the way. Come too, when you’re in the mood.” Denis wrote down the address and continued on his route; he still had to deliver notices to three houses. The work day was ending, and he needed to meet Anya. At the post office, he dropped off his bag, reported to Larisa, and hurried to the park. Listova was strolling at the bus stop, waiting for a friend. Kudrevatov sat down on a bench, watching the girl. Actually, they hadn’t agreed to meet here, and at this time. So they were probably waiting for someone else. Two minutes later, a motorcyclist drove up, wearing a black leather jacket and a helmet. The driver quickly took off his helmet, Listova kissed it and mounted the motorcycle, clutching the rider, who, having put on his helmet, quickly drove away. “Well, that’s quite logical,” Denis said to himself,

“We don’t have any motorcycles, and no money either, we’re no good at it.”

Did he feel worse? Rather, it was a certain relief, he still felt a certain tension, that Anya was ashamed of him, that he was worse than her friends, poorer. And he was dressed worse, and he didn’t have a car, and you wouldn’t go to a cafe with someone like him again.

“Okay, at least I found a cheap gym,” Denis looked for the good in the bad,

“I’ll go tomorrow, why delay. You’ll see, I’ll become healthier.”

***

— How are you?” his mother asked him at home, “What did you bring?” and she pointed to an old microwave.

— Yes, physics experiments. We’re studying microwaves. — Well then, put it carefully on the balcony, otherwise I almost broke my leg on your junk.

— Mom, was your grandfather, Maxim Ilyich, a physicist? — Where from? — laughed his mother, — he was a sailor, a river worker.

But after the war he died quickly, five years after he returned. Wounded — re-wounded, he came back from the front, served in the marines. But he brought a lot of books from Germany, they are all lying there, in the attic. — Got it. Okay, I’m going, — said Denis, quickly getting dressed, shouldering his sports bag, and leaving the apartment. Denis walked quickly, and soon found himself at the kindergarten next to the forest. At the entrance, he gave a small amount of money to the administrator and went to change. The gym was filled with benches, dumbbells, barbells and exercise machines. Men and women, young and not so young, were working out. The athletes were working hard, and there were some very muscular men there, and it must be said, women too. So the very stop in the gym was simply captivating, leading to new achievements. Kudrevatov also lay down on the bench and began to warm up. The exercises were captivating. An hour and a half passed unnoticed. Denis looked at the man lying on the bench, clearly a beginner, and removed the barbell from the supports. Yes, the weight was clearly too much, the bar reached his chest. Kudrevatov grabbed the bar with both hands and helped pull the weight out.

— Thank you,” said the boy, his face crimson from the effort, “I’m Alexey.”

— Denis. I just got here too.”

— Will you go tomorrow?” “Of course.”

— Let’s do it at the same time.”

— At least there’ll be someone to back you up,” Alexey suggested, “there’s a boxing gym here too.”

— Great. Will you still be bench pressing?”

— You need to cut back on the pancakes. Too much,” Alexey added regretfully, “you need to eat more pasta.”

— Exactly, the special kind, with onions and tomato sauce.”

They worked out for about an hour, and left the hospitable place quite satisfied with their lives. Thus, Denis acquired someone he’d never had before — his only friend. So, until they finished school, they trained here, and later, when they studied together at university.

Growing up

Dan thought about his work and ideas, and after three days of poor sleep, he typed up a sample appeal to the President about the possibility of generating energy from antimony and salt, and about Tesla’s ether, and microwave radiation. He looked at himself in the mirror — he didn’t look like a fool, checked his passport in his bag, and took out a knife and a gas cylinder. The Presidential Administration was waiting for him, where he wanted to report his invention, and who knows — to receive support for research and experiments. He got dressed, closed the door, and went out, hobbled to the bus stop, and made it to the Vykhino metro station. So what? He decided he had to go, so he had to go, he urged himself on. Now he was walking along Ilyinka Street, toward the gray building. He walked around it a couple of times and approached the entrance where they receive citizens’ requests. The machine printed his electronic pass, his bag passed through the metal detector, and he passed through the blinds. His turn had come. The imperturbable employee checked his passport, the printed application, and the enclosed message with his thoughts, the fruit of his many years of work, and stamped it “Accepted.” “That’s it. Application received,” the employee said very politely. “Your response will arrive by mail.” Dan left in high spirits and decided to stroll along Ilyinka Street and pop into GUM to have a look. “Well,” he said to himself, “now they’ll definitely hire me for this, and they’ll hire me too. Maybe I’ll end up working at RosAtom, at the Institute of Rare Earth Metals, right downtown, next to the Tretyakov Gallery!” In such a cheerful mood, Denis strolled through the GUM gallery, looking at the rainbow-colored display cases where the rich bought their clothes, and recalled his favorite second-hand store, where he and his mother bought their barely-used clothes. Two weeks later, he received a letter saying, “We’ve heard you.” But neither a month nor a year later, no one seemed inclined to discuss the matter with him. True, five years later, servants of the state tried to take everything away from him, but that’s another story.

***

Denis rummaged through the attic, pulling out a microwave he’d found in the trash. He also found all his grandfather’s books that his mother had mentioned. He checked them all, flipped through them page by page, but found nothing else useful. However, the diary’s data was more than enough to correct the flaws in his calculations. He was simply swelling with pride; it turned out he’d become the apprentice of a great physicist! He didn’t even know that this hermit had also tried alchemy, but apparently used it with the study of microwaves… But he couldn’t do without the prose of life. He bought a crowbar at the UBI, and had his own extension cord… The boy, guided by the electrical diagram, began to tinker with the device. There was plenty to do, and progress was difficult, oh so difficult… He spent a week making a device with increased power, without distractions. The flashlight, gloves, and mask were also ready, as were rubber boots and old canvas pants, and the athlete put these goods in his bag. “Okay, everything will work out…” he reassured himself.

The backpack held everything, and the target of the attack was nearby. The basement of a small factory, With a powerful electrical wiring. The way there led through an underground tunnel discovered by Kudrevatov during a spontaneous search. Deniska sat down on a stool for a moment, hoping for luck. He stood up and walked into the darkness. Fortunately, the sky was clear of clouds, but the moon wasn’t shining at its full strength, so the naturalist happily avoided prying eyes. The factory fence was high and concrete, even lined with barbed wire, but the height of the obstacle didn’t matter; all that mattered was the heavy cast-iron hatch. The hatch was caught with a crowbar and rolled away. The young man removed his backpack and began to climb into the tunnel. His direction seemed to be correct. The new digger pulled out a flashlight, scanning the narrow tunnel with its beam. It stank mercilessly, but where else could he go? Step by step, in his rubber boots, he often hit rocks, causing his legs to slip. A couple of times, his knees hit the broken stone on the floor. He groaned in anger at himself and brushed off his canvas pants, trying to walk quickly, as quickly as possible. Sometimes, the wall drawings amused Denis. They were executed with a certain grace and strikingly concise and powerful phrases: “Fedya the fool” or “Lena the prostitute.”

Actually, it would have been strange to expect anything else in such a place. Yes, and the drawings served as a complete semantic complement to the inscriptions. Finally, he saw the mark left during a reconnaissance mission — a red stain on the wall. He simply sighed deeply and began to climb the iron ladder. It was a good thing he was wearing construction gloves; the ladder was heavily rusted and creaked mercilessly. Near the workshop, he looked around — no one was there. Before him stood the coveted brick building. Ten steps — and he was at the door. A quick work with a crowbar opened the way further, and Denis switched on his headlamp.

“There, I think!”

He found three-phase outlets left over from the factory’s removed machines. Then, in the far corner, he heard the crunch of bricks; Denis crouched down and switched off his headlamp. Something poked his leg, and a cold sweat treacherously trickled down the young man’s back… But it was only a strangely friendly mongrel, wagging its tail affably. The young man rummaged through his backpack for food and found his sausage sandwich.

“Okay, take it, big-eared one,” he whispered, and handed the food to the dog.

It snatched it and, before he could change his mind, darted off to the far corner. The backpack was finally placed on the concrete floor. Denis unwound the cord and checked the current. Everything was fine! The light from the lantern attached to his head bounced across the walls and ceiling, echoing his owner’s convulsive movements. His heart was pounding wildly, distracting him from his task. He took out a mixture of antimony and salt, about twenty grams of the powder, which had turned dark gray, and placed it in a glass container, which he then microwaved. After thinking for about three seconds, he put his device behind the concrete fence. He immediately turned the power on to maximum. A minor oversight! Okay, he told himself, it won’t heat up right away, it’ll have time to escape… He turned it on and bounded toward the exit, but turned around, watching how everything was going… The microwave began to hum shrilly, then a bluish glow appeared and there was a deafening bang, so much so that Denis fell to the floor. The heat seared his nostrils, and for a second he choked on the dust that rose up. Jumping up, he ran to the spot — a two-meter-deep hole in the concrete floor, surrounded by melted concrete, and it was terribly hot here, so much so that Dan was sweating.

***

The way back was quicker; Denis practically ran, afraid of being caught. But he was lucky; either all the guards had been fired, or they weren’t going to risk their meager salaries by showing up in an unsafe place. He passed through an underground tunnel and emerged onto the street. It was amazingly quiet. Kudrevatov carefully replaced the cast-iron hatch and ran home. The next day, his mother was arriving, and they were heading to the dacha; the season was starting. They usually rented a Gazelle van to bring everything in one go. So today, Denis was lugging bag after bag into the back, handing them to the smiling driver. The bags were filled with pasta, powdered milk, stewed meat, canned fish, sugar, rice, and cereal — so as not to have to carry the heavy items to the dacha on foot. They didn’t have a car. The other bags contained blankets and pillows.Mom didn’t like leaving laundry out for the winter — it got damp, after all. “Don’t rush, Denis, we’ll have time,” he said. Ten more bags, and the most important ones — with the seedlings. They carefully placed everything on the floor of the van. “Mom, that’s it.” “Okay, I’ll check the keys now,” she replied. The woman was sorting through the bunches of keys and putting them into tin tea boxes.

— Let’s sit down for a while before we go, – the mother suggested to her son, indicating with her hand a place to sit.

Denis sat down next to him, caught his breath, slung his bag with documents over his back, and turned off the water in the house.

— Close the doors, – the mother urged her son.

— Okay,” he only nodded, agreeing.

The young man checked that all the lights were off, checking them five times, entering each room. The gas stove was an object of special care, the handles were in a strictly vertical position. He checked several times that the door of his beloved refrigerator and freezer was closed, and the apartment windows were also checked. Finally, Denis left the apartment, checking the locks seven times, returned from the entrance, and checked again and again. Kudrevatov was painfully trying to remember if he had forgotten anything. He glanced at his mother.

— Okay, let’s go, – the woman noted.

The truck moved slowly along the Ryazan Highway, keeping with the flow of traffic. The road was familiar, and the destination was a small village in the Voskresensky District. The route led through Bronnitsy, then past the district center of Vinogradovo. The highway finally led to a small house on Almaznaya Street — such are the names the capricious folk have given to their native place. There were also Rubinovaya, Izumrudnaya, Almaznaya, Yantarnaya, and Zolotaya Streets. The truck pulled up to the gate, Denis got out, and the Gazelle entered the property. What fresh air after stuffy and dirty Moscow! The load was quickly unloaded, Mom paid the driver, and Denis closed the gate behind the truck. Two neighboring dogs barked furiously, and a cow mooed. Everything was as usual. Mom was in high spirits, unpacking. Denis unpacked his things, took the television out of his bag, and adjusted the antenna. Then he went to tighten the taps and set up the water pump in the well. Near the fence, in the currant bushes, lay two empty vodka bottles. He twirled them in his hands, then tossed them back to the neighbor. It was the last thing he needed to do, picking up the others’ crap! They promised, and began bringing the seedlings into the greenhouses and filling the barrels with water. Suddenly, something rustled in the raspberry bushes, and it sounded like a chicken calling.

— More of the neighbor’s crap,” the young man thought out loud, grabbing the chicken by the wings.

He tugged at its feet, then tossed it into the road, and the variegated chick dashed off to another neighbor’s plot. He followed this one into the air with another chicken, which landed awkwardly in the viburnum bushes. Denis walked along the fence next to the farmer’s; the edge of the plot smelled mercilessly. But there was no point in ruining their mood; it was wonderful here on Almaznaya Street. Evening was approaching, they lit the stove, and the old log house became warm. A delicious dinner and TV brightened up their leisure time. And how they slept here!

***

On Monday morning, early, the Kudrevatovs rose with the first rays of the sun. They walked quickly to the bus stop, and five minutes later a small, cozy bus was taking them to the station, along the road, past three cozy villages. They walked very quickly again, and barely had they crossed the tracks when the electric train hospitably opened its red doors for them. The little family was returning to Moscow. The mother to work, the son to university, Studying to be an economist. My studies were going smoothly; it certainly wasn’t the coveted Moscow Institute of Physics and Technology, where I didn’t have the passing grades. Oh well, Lyokha and I were grinding away at our studies here. I actually enjoyed studying, even though I felt it wasn’t my thing. Denis and his friend were working part-time as administrators at the fitness center, handing out keys and activating membership cards. They’d been working for three months, even diligently. But they both knew they wouldn’t be promoted to manager. Olga, the director, only promoted girls. The prospect of working in the director’s male company wasn’t at all appealing. That was their fate, as Alexey liked to say. But they could train for free, which they did, using their resources twice a week, lifting weights. The results were coming in, and this calmed them a little, knowing their visits to this place weren’t in vain. Here Denis met Anna Listova again, fortunately not at work, but while studying. The girl was pressing the platform with her feet, Denis, standing, was working with dumbbells.

— Hello, — the girl greeted first, — How are you? What’s good? — Everything is fine, Anya.

— You’ve recovered, well done. — And you’ve become prettier, even more beautiful than before.

— I hope you’ve found yourself someone? — asked Anna, smiling sweetly.

— Why? — answered the seasoned young man, — my arms don’t hurt, I can handle it myself.

Anya just grinned, and Denis continued his heavy workout, working on his shoulders. They worked for a long time, and Alexey came up and nodded to the girl.