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Бесплатный фрагмент - Thistle

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Dedicated to my parents and all the residents disappeared from the maps of the village of Cordon-Tibil

Please pardon the complexity of the mechanical translation of the novel “Thistle”

From the author

“I want to be a wizard

dip the pen in the truth. Nothing

others are no longer surprised”.


“Published in the periodical press as a journalist and publicist. Was totally dumb when I had to sing along with the Almighty the voice of the world, and wailed when I had to say its weighty word in favor of those who could not speak. As a novelist published in many national and regional Newspapers, in the magazine ‘OUR STREET’ and the anthology ‘PROSE’. Autor der Bücher: “Distel. Reportage vom Himmel”, “Dialog. An der Schwelle des letzten Krieges”.

The interesting thing life. Spinning, spinning, and make it all right. But life makes its own adjustments, and surprises, which begin not only to think but also write. And what happened in front of You. Maybe naive task can not leave You INDIFFERENT to everything around him, because sooner or later it will affect each of us. In nature everything is interconnected. The flapping wings of a butterfly can cause a hurricane. Tear a hungry child, fallen to the ground, can cause flooding. The cry of despair of destitute war people can cause an earthquake and typhoons. Let’s not tease the geese!

As for me, I have always been in opposition to all bad faith in the triumph of justice”.

Sincerely, Rodion RAKHIMOV, a journalist, a writer-journalist, environmentalist, social activist, member of the RUSSIAN UNION of WRITERS.


A report from the skies

“Time is a relative concept. It can stretch to infinity or compressing to the size of grains of sand to fill the absolute truth. And then, turning to dust to scatter in the Universe, creating a new Galaxy of truth of truth. And again to seek the truth among the millions of stars?”

“And God saw the light that it was good;

and God divided the light from the darkness”.

The old Testament. GL.1.St..4.

“God speaks to us face-to-face only

when we have ourselves have a face.”

K. Lewis.

Instead of a prologue

Day surprisingly turned out to be clear. The whole previous day and night, I entertained the hope that there will be inclement weather postponed jumps. But in vain. And here’s an old “kukuruznik”, breaking away from the tarmac, shaking the green peeling wings, gaining height. To jump with a parachute for the person in the chair, put on the table to wrap the light bulb, was already the height was dizzy and shaking hamstring — was a lifelong dream.

This fear was not there before, I said to the instructor, blue-eyed “classmate” Irsuto Sharipova, a former pilot, has retained the optimism, despite life’s troubles, trying to shout over the roar of the engine. — We are with you in flight school came, fear came later. When I foolishly free ticket Union climbed to the Ostankino tower to sit in a Silver room with moving floors. Drinking champagne to admire the evening lights of Moscow.

But when we are, pretty pumped not only champagne, brought to the observation deck with glass floors, heart and skipped a beat. For some reason I feel under a not the height and the abyss of the abyss, and from the fall which was separated by only a thin glass like cracked ice. Had to change the profession of industrial climber a carpenter.

And now the fear of heights even worse than on the mountain AI-Petri in the Crimea. Remember, just trembling knees up there when I wanting to look at the sea from the height of bird flight, the yellow barriers came up only after three glasses of the “Black Colonel”. The wine gave me the courage and strength, began to feel like something new. And maybe, after all, it was necessary to “pull” a hundred and fifty grams of cognac. For courage!?

— Nothing, fight fire with fire, you’ll jump with a parachute, and everything goes!

— Easy for you to say jump, but how to do it? I confess, once I had jumped in Koktebel in the Crimea during summer vacation. Although the feeling was indescribable, to call this jump was difficult. Fifty hryvnia with the parachute caught from shore on a long tether, dragged behind a boat over the Bay and thrown into the cold sea of a mountain Chameleon. And fear did not pass. And I want a free flight as in a dream — to spread my arms — wings and hover above the ground.

— Now fly!

And here I am at the door with the eternal Hamlet’s question, dressed in a jumpsuit, helmet, shoes, glasses and two parachutes: the front and back. I am the last. Leaped before me of colorful umbrellas crumbled beneath my feet, and, describing in intricate circles, flew to the ground. The last instruction of Ireta:

— Counted to ten, and then with all the dope pull here for this ring, if the parachute doesn’t work, unhook the main, as I taught you and pulls here in this ring, yelling can be, but not Mat down after all female athletes. A slight push in the back and I’m on my way to mother earth…

The sensation was strange, first captured the spirit and all the tightened lower abdomen. It happens on a swing, when you go down and in a small plane at the air pits. But there was one endless pit.

— Irsha-a-at! Damn it, — I yelled all around. Then I spun, the air was a mouthful so that it became impossible to breathe. Close your mouth, open your eyes and see a little of what I was hyped, but I still flew face up. And I suddenly realized that my parachute in this position, will not open. Trying to roll — does not work. Don’t know how it happened, but I pulled a ring. Probably with fright. I was waiting for the promised Hirsutum cotton, but it never came. Looking up, instead of the dome saw something like a piece of bedsheet with a pillow, which to my legs stretched “linen” rope. I was seized with wild terror, and before my eyes flashed footage of my past and future lives. Swept years and millennia compressed into moments…

Chapter one. MiG first

...The old parental home. A dimly burning low fly-bitten kerosene lamp with chipped smoked glass, suspended to a joist curve rusty wire. In the air hung the smell of burnt wick, fallen leaves and sagebrush. From the cracks in the joist protruded branch of juniper — a true remedy for the evil forces, and a twig of willow — is an educator who served for my brother, probably as a visual aid than as an instrument of revenge for our childhood pranks that sometimes go beyond “small”. Right on the log wall was nailed inside-out already dry skin of the sacrificial goats, next to the ticking wall clock, considering the last second, because weight together with a pair of scissors for sheep shearing and rusty a padlock already touched the floor that meant the clock is about to stop. With the clock supposed to stop not only my time, but the entire Universe.

The ceiling and roof for some reason was not, and from a height, without a single cloud, autumn sky, ominous wink of a star. I was lying on a broad parental beds with carved headboards. On the glass of the old sideboard was reflected in my bandaged head and the body, something resembling a mummy. Next on the squeaky chair, hunched over, sat the old mother and the end of the large colorful handkerchief furtively wiped the treacherous tears, barely holding back coming from his chest, the horror of despair.

“Go right, son…” “Where is”, in disbelief I asked. “Sabantuy,” I was trying to remember and couldn’t understand where it is so I’d. But apparently somewhere hard did you hit your head, that not only the body but the brain remained motionless. And I only subconscious knew where it went, I felt every cell of my still young body as the droplets, particles, took my may be worthless, but my own life. Then there was darkness. Oblivion… the Sky was lit up with a green shimmering light. In the rays of the laser projectors, filling all the sky, solemn rows of airplanes. Behind them stretched a huge piece of cloth with portraits of the rulers of the Earth from the great and Herod, to Yeltsin and Reagan. If it was Sabantuy, not a village or district, and, most likely, on an international scale. Where different skin colors people had fun, participated in the competition, struggled on the sashes and running in bags, and danced, and sang in all languages of the world, and that is interesting — I understood. “Happy holiday, dear friends”! — heard from the heavenly speaker.

“Hurrah — Ah”! — cheered people into the air and flew colorful balloons. But suddenly the planes began to dive and with their hatches howling bombs rained down. He collapsed at home. The land was burning. A bright flash lit up the sky. Turning the space into a tube and started to grow a huge white mushroom.

“Well, that’s all”! — I thought.

But that was not all. The sky is again lit up in a disturbing flickering, half the sky closed silhouette have dried, stretched goat skins. She was illuminated, and there was visible blue veins dried. And here’s a vein started to throb and drip blue blood, from the edges to the middle, showing the outline of an inhuman face: hooked nose, glass eyes with red feline eyes, hairy ears, curved back horns, behind the membranous wings. Ahead stretched the hairy, with the dried traces of blood, clawed hand, cold eyes moved in search of something, then barabasi glance rested on me, and a hoarse voice shook the heavens: “it was his fault. He didn’t do anything”!

“And that’s what I did”? I thought, feeling the spinal cord Arctic cold.

Then the bed rattled opened, and I flew down.

“What kind of joke is this,” thought I, passing by bags of potatoes, Vilkov cabbage and jars of jam in the underground. At the time I was supposed to stop the fall, hit the ground, but I flew further and saw more and more fluttered the ragged edges of sheets in the doorway of my bed.

I was flying in an inverted funnel, creating a vacuum. In the neck, and it was my bed, now beginning to suck all.

I flew into the abyss. Tore past me fragments of boards, bricks and broken glass. Behind them the cars with headlights on, bleating sheep. Aircraft, even falling, shelling each other with rockets. Seen as baby stroller, torn from the stopper, moved on the carriageway, which is accelerated, raced “BMW” with tinted Windows. They faced, too flew down. I tried to stop the wheelchair, reaching a hand, but suddenly his leaden arms and legs didn’t obey me…

Fear, separated from me by a black shadow and becoming a shadow of the shaggy old woman, began to catch up to me, stretched her bony hands and gaping toothless mouth finally swallowed me whole.

Tightened and the Earth, expanding it in the plane, like a map of the planet and the entire solar system…

“I am not guilty!”, — I cried. But my words could not be heard.

The world went to hell, with him and me. And I had to do something, to fix something and everything back in its place, but I, as the losers have a school Board, not to learn the lesson, stupidly looked around, waiting for clues, and nothing could think of. Right and left, colliding, exploding planet, the debris of which grew the letters, and the letters lined up into words: “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”

Something is not clear, a dream, not a dream. We would have woke up, but I couldn’t. And somewhere deep down was aware of his involvement in what happened. But only partly.

So I was sitting on his haunches in line. For me this pose has always been a handful, which could not be said about the prisoners in the shipment and the southerners, who can spend hours squatting at the bus stop waiting for a bus. Waiting for something, and what — is unclear. My foot is swollen to impossible, but getting up was impossible. Do not write the rules. Violators were sent to the end of the queue.

The ceiling and walls was not. Maybe they were, but they were covered with a viscous twilight haze. There was only the floor that was moving like a conveyor belt. Began to bake, from somewhere below. The air was soaked with the stinking smell of rotting meat and the atmosphere of boundless horror. It was impossible to sit. Feet hurting horribly once received cuts and abrasions. Each pain swollen and festered. I tried to change the position of the body. And then got burned on something hot.

— Reporting sung! Watch train! came to me from somewhere below, a faint voice.

“Sorry,” I said.

Took a closer look. It was with singed wings, June bug, very similar to those we caught in childhood and put in a matchbox, and then, feeling their fate was released over the fire. My eyes were like saucers!

— What, rookie? asked beetle.

“Yes,” I replied. — And what are we doing here?

You’ll see him he, fluttering over a hot frying pan with high sides, like a roaster. Not being able neither to sit down, not to take off.

I was surprised by the situation “admission” absolutely no service, no chairs, no Newspapers, no magazines to pass the time.

— What seats then do not give? — I asked.

— Give, for those who have georgoi, — burring, interfered with the neighbor on the right. I’ve heard that voice.

I raised my head.

— Academician Saharov, he introduced himself. It was a skinny camel, had fallen on the side of the hump. Its apparently been very thirsty and he was thirsty. Although there was gurgling ditch, but he was behind a high fence. Sometimes, when groans and heart-rending cries were a bit quiet, you could hear the sound of water. Water — the symbol of connection between past, present and future.

— Yeah, — I was surprised.

— And those who have hurt front legs, those waiting in limbo — said the academician, chewing his gum.

— That the service honey did not seem, ' said the bass one-handed, fighting General, hanging on the other, a dislocated arm. Introduced. — General Lebed.

From its camouflage of his jacket, pierced by shards of an exploding helicopter, it smelled more like gunpowder and kerosene.

— Well, — I said, looking around the queue, consisting of all of the people who lived on Land which had no end or edge, and, as far as the review, they were:

— Vernadsky.

— Michelangelo.

— Hemingway.

— Bryullov.

— Aivazovsky.

— Chekhov.

— Bulgakov.

— Dostoevsky…

— A long wait? — I asked.

— Then time has no value, — the bug told.

— And still?

— Somewhere in between-Jude between a flash and an eternity.

— Well, you’re a philosopher, — I smiled.

— It is. I Diogenes of Sinope.

I stuck out my thumb.

“Thank you,” said the beetle-Diogenes.

— Daniil Borodulin of Cordon-Tibia, — I introduced myself.

— But this is not the Diogenes who lived in a barrel, and laughed over traditional forms of life, and declared himself “citizen of the world”? Lived like a dog and wanted to help humanity to return to mother nature? And tactfully sent the Alexander the great? — I gave a few meagre encyclopedic knowledge of it.

That’s why flying now over W-brazier…

— For how long?

— Until the next reincarnation — the transmigration of the soul.

— And this is hell? in disbelief I asked.

No, he’s probably the dressing room. Or receiver-dispenser, call it what you like — rocked by the bass General.

— Where is Heaven?

— There’s Paradise on Earth, — said the beetle-Diogenes, laughing along with everyone.

“Sorry,” I said in disbelief. I can’t agree with what you call Heaven, after what I saw there. The earth is more like a testing ground for mankind, nothing more, where each should go his distance, at the end of which may be issued card — a card with a note about fitness for further reincarnation.

But then something clicked. And I went somewhere…

… — Well, Borodulin, who is also Haduken, aka Bilkis, aka Abdul-Saeed, he’s… been a long list of names of those whom I once imagined. — We are to confess or to play the fool? In the eyes, my eyes!

Now I guessed that was stuck and was in real trouble. And the office here was serious. And then ran it all the same with the wings — man serious whose name is taken in vain no one remembered and pronounced aloud, so as not to court trouble.

I’m all stiffened up from fear.

— What!? Let’s start from the beginning, with the creation of the Earth… your mother!?

— Implying that I was Adam? — timidly I asked.

— Ish, which is enough! No! Were you creeping bastard… damn it! — screaming Wings, gesticulating. Fingers, twisted by time, ill obeyed, and was obtained by the thieves — fan. I was sick. The stink and stench of nausea swelled up in her throat. Yes, the questions! My mate always cut ear. Well, when hammer toes, this is understandable. But it is specially selected three-storey wings mate, so that means I was worse. But I couldn’t argue with. He’s in charge! Nothing to be done?

From his words I realized at once that he hated the Creator, of all mothers, and especially those who created anything: writers, artists, sculptors and composers.

— I do not understand — I asked — why am I here in this company? What I have done, which was awarded this “honor”?

— You fucking had to bite eve’s thigh, he continued, reading my thoughts. Or at least the apples in the garden. No… instead, you chase her… eyes built to get you… bitch creeping…

— She’s from Adam’s rib? I for it is not the answer…

— That’s it! Not the edge — not the ones I went to the descendants. As a result, I troublesome and Creator of the extra headache! And we have a Contract with him to all equally: light and darkness, good and evil, laughter and tears. Where some misalignment, then somewhere responds to a disaster of epic proportions…

— I want a lawyer! I said.

— What, have I seen golivudskih movies?

Then he snapped his fingers. Whack!

...And I’m already on the Birthday of the Earth. Can you imagine? First day! All brand-new: the sky is blue, the blue, the water is clear as a tear baby, mountain, washed by the rain, Shine like a cat’s eggs… wow! Who lead the, from, and rack up! I already picked up from the “Winged”. So all brand new! The grass is green — prezeleny, no, pardon me, bastard… have not had time to foul. Where not to crawl, all purity. Around berries and fruit, and there are no chemicals you. No mosquitoes, no black flies, some bees somewhere above buzz. And eve running around naked on the green grass, and Adam flirts, laughter poured some water from a stream Flirty leg on him splatters. Such a beautiful, an infection!

Bite, you say? Than to bite? Me and poison do not. Because I got some fruits and berries are swallowed. Will go better on the stones under the Apple tree the cold.

And only got the sun up, as something clicked… And I was brought before the “Winged”.

…“Winged” looked at me, his feline eyes with a look like he knows everything about me.

— Tell me… your mother! Why are you with her boyfriend by Fedka Karavaevym fence Semenov broke? Remember. But after a heavenly life do not go to his head.

— Enough bleeding to creak brains. There’s no point — he snapped his fingers, the smell of ozone… and the frosty freshness.

...And I’m already rolling with Mill mountain. When I was five or six years. And the boys skated career. Who and what: sled, skis, skates — all were in Vogue. And I stole my mom’s underwear galvanized trough with rounded bottom and is the envy of the guys flew with a whistle on loose snow to the pond!

— Look, look! Someone’s cow ran away, ' cried one of the boys, showing wet from snow gloves to the side of the Icy roads. Where it is still dark, leaving our parents to put the Stakhanovite records, cutting down the forest. Were still far away the day when our village will be noisy young planting pine and spruce in human growth. And only the old lime trees, as silent witnesses of the incident, will be a long time to stand in those places where was the seven-year school, club, garage and shop.

Will not become a forest — and will not work. And disperse the people who where in search of work and bread. Then sometimes go during summer vacation. And dip into a shallow river Timelike to cry in the green grass, reminiscing about the old days, a difficult but happy life.

It turned out. The front of the car, loaded with wood, the whistles and hoots of the two porters in sheepskin coats, sitting on logs, wearily ran a deer. Apparently, drove him from the “Satan Barack”, where harvested forest for the alloy. In the summer the road was getting soft. And so Les tried to take it rafting on the Icy road that was cleared of snow and doused with water, turning the road and the curb in a solid roller and ice mountain. Through them not that beast, but man can’t get out. And animals caught in the ice chute, ran to the village.

— And it is not a cow, and elk, — said one of the older guys

— Come on, look!

Us as the wind blew. When we, out of breath, ran to the store on the square already crowded with people. And even the farmers from the neighboring farm, constantly arranges scandals in queues for bread, poured out of the store, abandoning their queue.

It was a deer-a wounded animal. Apparently, someone shot him.

And it has already managed to catch and tie him to a pole with rattling the loudspeaker from which a woman sang “about a frog and not his boots.” With the chest and knees of the front legs oozed blood. Big brown eyes in fear mowed at the sides.

The news that caught a deer with the speed of lightning spread through the village. And all and Sundry were in a hurry to look at the forest handsome.

And here, as always happens, astonished, began to argue what to do with it. Opinions were immediately divided in two. We, the children, women and men posermobile insisted to leave the deer in the stable yard and release into the wild in Urman. But the other half was determined to shoot and share the meat equally.

When the dispute reached the highest tension, and all lined up wall to wall, and was ready to take decisive action — as soon as someone sneezes, all would be perceived as a call to action — there was semen Semenovich Semenov, nicknamed “Sailor.” In his invariable black overcoat naval officer with anchors on the buttons and a black hat with the track of the badges on his forehead.

— What’s all the hubbub, bub?

All in the village were afraid of him. Whether because he was recognised beusekom cattle and always wore in his boot sharply edged hunting knife with beautiful inlaid with metal handle, whether due to its nesudimosti. Knowledgeable people have said that he was a real Communist and he was in Stalin’s camps. And released it after the leader’s death. We children thought he killed it with his knife, his tormentor and was released from prison. And then freed the others because from time to time in the village appeared the same as he, grim men in military uniforms and took the job. Semenov and allowed the whole controversy. Went to the pole and slashed at with a knife to the throat of the deer. Everyone gasped!

In the evening at our house, too cooked deer meat brought by my father out of ignorance rather than intent. All day long he was in the stable yard, where he worked as a groom. Until the evening passed with Jeribai Mare of the chief of the forestry administration Romanova, until it was resolved, and did not know what happened. He said he killed a wounded deer, and the meat was shared by everyone.

When dinner was ready, mother invited everyone to the table. But I continued to sit on the trunk and stared blankly at the mad dance of the fire in the stove, devouring crumpled sheets of last year’s calendar and thought we were all going to die, die in the oven, the sheets of the calendar, toss me.

— I’m giving you a special invitation, — looked sternly at my father.

— I won’t eat your meat, ' I said.

Is still that! Belt wanted?

— Still not going. Even kill, as deer…

— Leave him, father! Ill probably spend all day on the street, mom said, patting me on the head. — Don’t want to eat? Go drink some milk and go to bed.

I fell asleep, curled up on the chest with tears in his eyes. I, like many tonight, was sorry for the deer, who died at the hands Semenov.

In the village spring has come. It was eagerly awaited. Especially me. Because on Mill mountain near our house, there were protalinki with the soft and green grass. Where it was possible to play cricket, catch beetles, to put in matchboxes and playing, experiencing their destiny, to release over the fire. And then, stripped down to shirt, it was possible to run barefoot in the race to the Semenovsky fence under the cliff and back. And the fence Semenova already swollen buds of apples, and cherries. According to the older guys, apples Semenova was not in taste equal in the whole village. They were even inferior to varietal apples from the school garden.

But spring has hit black and white keys of snow and thawed to fulfill his concert. Timidly was bubbling up in streams, whistling starlings, accompanied by the drumming of woodpeckers in the pines, the distant rumbling of tractors, skidding heavy logs to the alloy, and finally, the deafening roar of the waterfall over the dam at the mill stirred in our spirits high and pure motives.

And we Fedka once again when he reached the fence and, without even saying a word, wielding sticks and those torn fences Semenov intake, made holes in several places and ran off.

To return Semenova from fishing, caving under the weight of the catch and the enormous SAC, gang polkowski goats have managed to eat the bark of Apple trees and young shoots.

Whether it seemed to us enough that we’ve done, or wanted to enjoy the fruits of our labor, we, again armed with sticks, went to the fence Semenov. And only tore at the fence, as somebody was waiting for us Semenov popped up with a stake. We with squeal have rushed back. Do not get confused Semenov in his big wading boots in the wire has got to be us nuts.

And then we watched the long black shadow of Semenov in the gap from our barn until he was gone. But in the evening when the parents came, Semenya visited our house and the house Karavaevym.

Pedicu carved in the same day. But my upbringing has postponed tomorrow due to the absence of the Pope. He was on duty in the stable yard.

— Why someone else’s fence broke? What, its not enough — strictly asked my father the next day, reeling in a soldier’s hand wide belt.

— And let the deer does not hurt. We people marked Vaska, let alone work.

— I waste! So waste that you can eat standing up! But to beat all-taki did not become. And then I heard him say to mother:

— Whatever you say, kid a point. To tell you the truth, I also dislike. Several times he refused the cart, when he asked me to drive the wood, the hay.

If I had known then that Semenov was a real man, he would not that break the fence, I would have him a new fence put in, but still colored. We lived in the barracks, family of four. And anyone who wanted to build a house, the Timber industry was allocated the plot with timber.

And here the father with mother alone for a month have prepared almost all the necessary Les. Remained only a few platforms, and collecting all the logs together to get them out of the forest. But then mom screamed. And even could not walk. And autumn was not far off. And before the snow it was necessary to do the job.

And here is mom leaning on a stick, went to the neighbors across the street, Kosorotov, whose son was head of the garage and all the equipment was in his hands.

The truth is, Kosorotova I didn’t like. Because Kosorotov always swore when I climbed their fence or ran, rattling, with a rim from a Bicycle wheel before their gates.

Mom asked me to help! allocated forest land and export the harvested material in the village. And for this work suggested that the thin ends of the logs, which could go to the bathhouse.

Kosorotov gladly agreed. But when they brought the cut material is piled up near our house are thick, but thin near his house of logs, it starts to “choke a toad”.

Or rather, not him but his wife Claudia, a cruel woman and dry as a chip.

And now, podmechenny wife, Kosorotov filed a complaint in court, citing the injustice of separating the product of a collaborative effort.

The court, oddly enough, decided: “to Share everything equally. And to pay defendant legal costs — three hundred and fifty rubles.” At that time a lot of money. But they have not been already. And had my father sell the logs, pay all expenses and give Kosorotova money. Learning about injustice, Semenov spoke protector. We filed an appeal, vynudili already fairly. But the money still had to give. And my mother with me went to Kosorotov to take the money. The house was one Claudia Ivanovna, and, as always, was not in the spirit, but they took the money and put it in the chest.

“Nothing,” said the mother already at home, bathed in tears. — As-nibud will live.

But in the evening we went to our own Kosorotov and started demanding money.

— What, more money? — surprised mom. — I I gave your wife!

She says she did not take. Went to Kosorotov, but Claudia Ivanovna swore by all the saints that did not take the money. My mom became ill.

— May your hands wither, — said the mother in the hearts and wept.

— Yeah, ramzia Sultanovna — said Semenov, who knew firsthand the Laws and the penal code. — It was necessary to give money when the two witnesses. And minor children can’t be witnesses.

I had to give and the other half of the money already out in public, getting into debt. There’s even Semenov was nothing I could do.

Kosorotova celebrated the victory. But not for long. In fact, Claudia twisted the arm, which soon became dry. And Kosorotova contorted face. And he now his appearance justified his name.

It is here that they ran every day came to mom and asked them to remove the curse, offered money. But mother said — it wasn’t me. This is God you punished.

I did not know who God is, but admired Him tight.

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