A moment… It may or may not be happy. So many things happened, and the memories of the war are still in my dreams. I can’t forget it, I wish I could, but I can’t. Chechnya-oplot Russia in the Caucasus, the glory of the Cossack strength and invincibility of the Russian spirit, our land, which we defended in December ' 94, fulfilling our civic duty, abandoned and deceived, but unbroken and greedily wanting to live. I remember how the city was smoking, corpses of residents, soldiers, animals were lying around, abandoned armored vehicles were burning, and it was already difficult to understand where our own people were, where others ' were. Our platoon was making its way to its own. At the market, we came across «Chekhov». Forty well-armed militants met us with heavy fire and drove us into the basement. We have taken up a circular defense. The radio was jammed. During the breaks, we heard Chechen and Arabic speech, but most often Russian mat was heard. When the first of us was killed, it was a shock. I ate out of the same pot with this unfortunate man, and he called me by my first name...and now he was lying in an unnatural position with his head broken and his eyes wide open with surprise. Death caught him suddenly. The officer ordered each of us to step over the dead comrade. So he wanted us to overcome our fear and continue the fight. And the battle continued. The enemy advanced and retreated, exhausting us. And with each such attack, we suffered losses. Two kids were trapped at the entrance. And they were still alive and moaned in the darkness for a long time. I heard one of them asking for a drink and calling my mother…

«Take up position, soldier! The officer ordered as I tried to dig them out.

And then I realized that war is a terrible thing, the most terrible thing that a person can go through. I sat at the window and fired at the enemy because they were firing at me. I spared no bullets and heard someone else howling in pain, and then everything was quiet. As dawn broke, the attacks became desperate. The enemy made every attempt to smoke us out. He was constantly shouting into a megaphone with a Caucasian accent:

— Russian Ivan, go home! We only need an officer…»

Among us was Akhmed, a Chechen. His parents were from Grozny, and his father, a deputy of the Chechen Republic, was thrown out of the window of the Dudayevtsy CityCouncilthree years ago.

— You are not Muslims, «You are devils who sold your souls for the money of the Arabs and corrupt officials of the Kremlin.

Ahmed is dead. A grenade fragment ripped open his stomach. I never thought this was possible. It’s so easy to cut a person like butter with a knife. Along with your clothes and ammunition. Steam billowed from his insides. Ahmed, my poor friend. I cry now, remembering your beautiful face, your eyes, in which I saw myself, a frightened eighteen-year-old boy who suddenly stood up as an adult.

The second day was drawing to a close. There are four of us left. We were all wounded. The officer was killed by a sniper when he tried to bandage the soldier. Our spirit was broken. We drew lots for who should stay. The lot fell to me. I covered, and others went to the breakthrough. Deep down, I envied them, but they didn’t run even a few meters… They were caught and their heads were cut off.

I didn’t like one Arab. He was as red as a fox and as brave as hell. Several times I tried to get it, but Allah kept it safe for me. I remember clutching my rifle and praying, because I didn’t have more than twenty rounds left. For every submachine gun burst of enemies, I shot single ones. Until he was completely silent.

«What, Vanya, are you out of bullets?» — the «Czechs» were laughing outside.

They were creeping up. I felt that they were ready to tear me apart, torture me before I died, humiliate me, rape me, castrate me, trample on me. They shouted all their threats out of the window, peering out into the darkness… and this red-bearded man shouted the most. I was promised, by Allah, that I would cut off all my limbs and eat my own organs in turn. They were not men, but beasts. In my worst dream, I never imagined that I would end up here. I shouted to them, bursting into tears. I was soaking wet with fear…

«Creatures, let me die a man!» I still have my bayonet…

It was funny. Who did not serve, he does not know that the bayonet from the machine gun bends when opening even a tin can.

«Come out, Russian! the bearded man shouted. — You’ll die like a dog.»

I got out, pale and exhausted… There were six of them. All that’s left of the gang. They stood with their weapons lowered, grinning at me in anticipation of what was coming. The bearded man took out his dagger and smiled.

— Now we will cut the intestines! — No, «he said.

And that’s how I wanted to live! And he broke his word… I did not go to the bayonet, gave a burst of remaining cartridges, putting all this evil spirits on the soot-dirty snow.

AFTER THE SHOT

A shot rang out, and the Estonian girl put down her rifle and frowned amusingly when she couldn’t find enough space for a new notch on the butt of her M-16. It was like a child’s game. For each notch, she was paid a thousand dollars, regardless of the rank of the deceased. Girls like that killed everything that moved. Often their own. The main thing is that there should be chaos, so that no one relaxes. The bullet hit me in the leg, and I crawled on, writhing in pain, while the sniper was already looking for a new victim. This time it was an old Chechen who was driving milk cans on a cart that caught her eye. The war caught a peaceful city unexpectedly. Markets and movie theaters were often open during the fighting. She pulled the trigger because she didn’t like the old man. She didn’t like old men.

I was overtaken by bandits. They tore off my cross and trampled it in the dirt, as if it was something disgusting to them. They stole my boots. My head was impaled on a stake and given to Chechen boys, who ran around the yard with it for several days, scaring the girls. My soul was restless. I wandered through the ruins of the city, mourning my torn body, leaving bare footprints in the wet snow. I don’t remember how I ended up in the broken mosque. A few tank shells had made huge, terrible holes in it, but it stood in the middle of a similarly ruined city, like a proud and defiant mountaineer in the last moments of his life. Then I heard the sounds of dhikr. It was rhythmic music pouring directly from the sky, through the shattered and sagging dome. Chechens were dancing somewhere. I saw a circle of them, as if in some kind of sacred, almost savage redemption, they were running around in this circle, holding each other’s shoulders. Sometimes they would stop and move their arms and legs in unnatural movements. Their bodies were airy, and their feet barely touched the ground. This dance exuded incredible energy. It was as if I was being sucked into this vortex, and I would have stood in this circle and run with them too, but I was uncomfortable. I was like an uninvited guest at someone else’s party. In addition, a very scary red-haired Arab was standing with his back to me, cursing at everyone as if they were small children. He was brandishing a very sharp dagger, and his speech was incomprehensible to me, I could only hear two or three Russian words. This is «cutting» and «killing». I think he was encouraging them to do some blasphemous wrong thing. And I was very glad that the Chechens did not pay any attention to him and were passionate about dancing.

Suddenly the Arab turned, and his angry grin startled me. I wanted to run, to hide behind rocks and exposed rebar, but he was already calling out to me, shaking his beard.

«Ah, Vanya, you tricked us so well,» he growled, and invited us to a table that stood against one of the walls of the mosque. On the tabletop lay the carcass of a bull, its belly slashed open and its throat slashed. Its entrails were steaming, and the poor animal was still kicking its legs in agony.

There were already several Chechens who did not want to dance dhikr. All of them had been slashed by bullets, and blood still dripped from their pale bodies, but they didn’t feel any pain or hatred for me. I recognized them and sat down next to them, waiting for something. Strangely, I didn’t hate them either.

«Allahu Akbar…» the militants I had killed suddenly threw themselves on their knees, and I followed their example.

In the bright light that flared up, I suddenly saw God. There was no doubt that it was a God, and I can’t describe it, not because of the bright light, but because of the emotions that filled my soul, after which you don’t understand anything. All I remember is that he had a white beard, soft as silk, that hung down to the ground, and we touched it with trembling fingers and kissed it with trembling lips. Animal fear permeated our unhappy souls. And there was no hiding from it. I knew that my fate depended on the severity of that gaze. A fiery sword flashed in the God’s hands. He swung it and sliced the animal into several pieces. He took the head for himself, gave the heart to the Arab, the liver to me, and the legs to the others. We felt a terrible, almost animal hunger and greedily began to eat, desperately tearing raw meat with our teeth. Blood trickled down our lips like wine at someone’s wild wedding, but I couldn’t taste it.

— You are lucky, brother, you became a shahid! the Arab whispered to me. «Here you go!»

And he gave me his terrible dagger, with which he had wanted to stab me while he was still alive. I thanked him dryly.

«The Almighty is very angry with me,» he said sadly, swallowing the bull’s heart.

— For what?» I was genuinely surprised. — You fought bravely and killed many of my comrades. And if it wasn’t for my desire for life, he would have killed me, too.

The Arab’s name was Valli. He still has a home, a wife, and a horse named McBoot in the United States. And Allah was angry that Walli hid a bank account in one of the Swiss banks from his relatives. And as the Holy Book says: it is a grave sin to be a usurer or to deal with him, because all the banks of the world belong to the God Yahweh.

The meal was coming to an end. We sated our dead stomachs, praising Allah for His bounty.

— You’re just a kid, «He smiled, patting me on the shoulder,» and you don’t even know how to chew meat with your teeth.» You’ve never even kissed a girl.

I was ashamed that everyone knew my secret. The bearded men laughed, rattling their gnawed bones on the table, but the old man’s stern gaze dampened their ardor.

— Why did you kill the Russians? The God was angry, his eyes flashing menacingly. — Didn’t I tell you that you can’t kill a man, because I give his life, and only I can take it?»

They looked down, and I began to cry.

«Go, child, in peace!» You deserve better company, «He told me, and I obeyed.

Valli came up to me and hugged me like a brother. I reciprocated. We were silent for a while.

«Good-bye,» I finally told him.

His red beard, stained with bull’s blood, tickled my face painfully.

— I’ll see you again, «he smiled,» when you know what it means to love a woman…»

«I wish I could find her,» I sighed.

«You’ll find it! Just promise me something… " and he stole a glance at the Chechens dancing dhikr.

— Stop Amina, — the Arab suddenly stammered — - She is my Chechen wife and will soon become a shahid, stupid girl…

Some heavenly force caught me and carried me away. My spirit hovered over the ice-bound swamps and the slumbering forest. When I was little, I used to wander there with my father, picking mushrooms and berries. It was winter now, but I recognized the places of my childhood. I remembered how my father had become rich, and instead of going out, I began to buy off expensive gifts, since there was no time left for me. My mother left us when I was six. My father was worried, and he blamed all his personal failures on me. Money and power have replaced love and created a chasm in our relationship. Now I flew into my parents ' house like an invisible shadow and saw my father. He was sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace, surrounded by luxury, silently leaning over the fire, trying to warm himself. He was holding my funeral card. His hands were shaking. I’d never seen tears in his eyes before, he’d never cried in front of me, and now I couldn’t bear to be around him. He didn’t know that his only son was looking at him, wanting to hug him, to tell him that he loved him. He had a bad heart and I was afraid to scare him, so I left him. But he still felt something, and he rushed to the window and shouted my name. Long and shrill. To the point of hoarseness. And I wept with him.

I used to walk along Tverskoy Boulevard before I was conscripted. It was always fun here, lovers were kissing on the benches, and I decided to take a walk here to recover a little. Suddenly someone called out to me, and I froze in disbelief.

«Who are you?» — there was a hollow voice from the monument to Sergei Yesenin.

— I am a Russian soldier who was killed in the Caucasus by a sniper’s bullet. I said.

«Have the English really not calmed down yet?» the voice sighed. — Have you seen Allah yet?»

I nodded and moved closer, careful not to trample on the red carnations at the foot of the monument.

— He let me go in peace because I’m still a child.

«Did he say ’child’?»

I nodded again. I wanted to look inside the monument.

«Children are the most amazing flowers in the universe,» the voice said sadly. «They’re like stars. There is no evil or vice in them. I would like to remain an eternal child, but I have already, unfortunately, known a woman.

— Why are you here?» I asked the stranger.

«Because I don’t want Heaven!» Give me my homeland!

And the stranger told me that he was quite happy here, but his beloved was waiting for him somewhere on the bank of some river. He suggested that I watch the monument while he went on a date with her. I agreed, and he breathed a sigh of relief, because he was afraid that in his absence, the monument would occupy the souls of the bureaucrats who constantly hang around McDonald’s. It is strange that I believed this patriot, even though I never saw his face and only heard his muffled voice.

«You, my Rasea… Ras… seya! Asian side!

And above me, a whirl of carnations shot up to the blue, blue sky.

A TRUE FRIEND

A true friend is known in joy. Sincerely enjoying the success of a friend is a great happiness.

ABOUT YOUR NATIVE PLACES

Where are these native places? Where will I find them after a long separation? But I am happy because I know the way in my heart. I run home barefoot through warm puddles. I run, and there is no such force to stop this restless run. For the sky, in its beautiful azure, also runs with me. God, I feel so good. How blissful on the way home!

It is far, far away, where the wind blows along the mountain slopes, where a clear stream flows and where the birches, like girls, whisper to the traveler sad songs about some distant, forgotten, impossible dream… Aplace where you can hear the laughter of our childhood, and where we remember the voice of our mother, and the smell of mown grass in the morning, where our heart is squeezed by the memory that everything passes irrevocably, and only love never dies, because it is the reason for our true life and it is the reason for our resurrection.

SHE LOVED IRISES

She loved irises, and never cheated on them, and I loved her and only her. Every time I watched another fan hand her these delicate flowers, I winced, feeling a nagging pain in my chest. Sometimes I was glad to see her throw roses or chrysanthemums at the next fan in anger. Oh, how she loved irises! Oh, how I loved her! One Christmas day, she stood beside me for a long time, looking at her watch and fiddling with her snow boots. Obviously, no one came to meet her. Her lovely mouth was steaming warmly. It swirled above me like a pure soul, rising to the sky. Her lips were trembling slightly, and I saw a tear roll down her cheeks.

«I love you,» I said to her then, breaking the silence.

I was afraid I wouldn’t see her again. The woman turned in my direction and looked surprised. Her sad eyes looked at me questioningly.

«I love you,» I said again.

She seemed to like my understatement and smiled. «Did she really hear me?» — I thought then. My stone heart felt very hot. I could feel her eyes on me. I was drawn like a magnet to her sweet lips. As I mentally touched my cheek to hers, my head spun with the desire to possess this beautiful woman.

— Why did God make me stone?»

I SOMETIMES WANT TO

I sometimes want to heal the poor and the sick with just the touch of my hand… Here, for example, I go to the subway. And a wretched man stumbles towards me, a cripple, almost crawling on all fours. And I hug him, gently stroke his head, and he becomes normal, his legs and arms grow back, the ulcers all disappear, and his face is beautiful and clear, like an angel’s. He looks at me, smiles, wants to remember me, thank me, but I disappear into the crowd. Sometimes I think I even have that gift.

A QUESTION FOR A BLIND GIRL

One day I was sitting on a bench on the boulevard eating ice cream. It was sunny and spring-like. Birds twittered on branches, and children launched paper boats in fountains. I was smiling. «It’s good when everything is good…", I thought. Suddenly I saw a golden retrieverleading a woman. I dropped my ice cream in surprise, and the four-legged guide looked at me with intelligent eyes. It stuck out its tongue and wagged its tail. I got a chance to see the blind woman. She was poorly dressed, in a gray raincoat, glasses, and plain shoes. In her hands was a walking stick, which she used to probe the space in front of her. I could hear the brass tip of this cane tapping gently on my bench until it bumped into my knee.

«I’m sorry…» the woman smiled with a good-natured smile. «I think my dog ate your ice cream.»

I didn’t say anything. I just watched the blind woman, the way the wind played with her hair. I was lost in the mirror of her dark glasses, and I was ashamed that I couldn’t say a word.

The blind woman tugged on the leash, and the guide dog barked happily at me and obediently walked on. My heart ached. God, how I longed to heal this woman with my magic kiss, to give her sight, to give her back what was taken from her for some reason hidden from me. I wanted to see her surprised face. As she hugs her dog, as her cane falls from her hands that are weak from great happiness, as tears glisten in her eyes, and she still feels my sweet taste from ice cream on her lips, searches for me, but does not find me… And I began to cry.

I cried so bitterly and sincerely that people who passed me stopped and shook their heads. They didn’t understand the reason for my tears. They didn’t understand anything, naively assuming that I was some kind of freak and crying because of accidentally dropped ice cream.

Wiping my eyes, I kept asking myself the same question that haunted me: «Can blind people see the beauty of their loved one?» Birds twittered happily on the branches. The children were still throwing paper boats into the fountain.

ABOUT POOR ARTHUR

For ten years I fought off the restless souls of bureaucrats. It’s like I’ve grown together with a monument. I glanced sullenly at the Tverskoy Boulevard in the faint hope that sooner or later my friend will return. But he forgot me. Nor did the girl who liked irises show up. Couples still gathered around me in love, and even in the cold, there were always flowers at the foot. Grateful Russia loves dead poets. The loneliness poisoned me. I was overgrown, and my hair hung down from my shoulders to my feet.

One night I heard the crunch of snow. A lone shadow walked up to the monument and paused in thought. I looked into the eyes of an unfamiliar shadow and didn’t see myself. It turns out that even spirits don’t notice spirits if their suffering is unbearable. Grief blinds them and never lets them go. Like a wave, it covers them with their heads and throws them into the abyss, from which there is no escape. This bitter shadow was called Arthur. I wanted to feel sorry for him, to embrace him like a friend after a long separation. He looked to be in his thirties, tall and handsome, with jet-black curls. Like all Armenians, he had a pleasant voice and Oriental charm. His hands were golden and his heart was kind. When he spoke, the girls gathered from all the villages to listen to his soft voice. But it was rumored that he had already found a bride in Samarkand, and would soon bring her to Moscow. I want to introduce you to my mother.

Arthur sighed heavily. The snow fell on his pale face and did not melt. I saw that he was thinking of the Russian girl from Samarkand, whom he had not yet had time to love in life, and who still loved him in death. She loved him as an eighteen-year-old can. And her name was Galchonk. «Why Galchonok? — he was indignant. «It’s a black bird.» In the evenings, she would sit on the windowsill of her parents ' house and wait for him, and he would come and go, saying that he would come for an hour, and disappear for months, and she would wait and wait… He was the only one who filled her mind.

— Arthur — - she sighed — - where are you, my brown-eyed one, whom your kind heart loves now?

He liked Galchonok for her modesty. He met her when perestroika was raging. He rented a house with his brother in the village. They started mass production of popcorn. It was funny to see how they created their business. It was a heat gun, into which grains were pushed on one side, and sweet air flakes flew out of the nozzle on the other.

«Business in Armenian,» he laughed.

The whole house was littered with cereal. There, in the cornflakes, under the noise of a heat gun, he first got to know this girl. Then, like a decent man, he took her to meet his mother at the hospital. Yerevan. What a funny little Galchonok was! When Arthur stopped by to say hello to his cousin for a minute, the girl climbed a tree and threw rocks at the window because she thought he was having fun with someone else. The glass was replaced, and the neighbors had to explain that the breaking of windows in Samarkand is a common place. One day Jackdaw went to his mother’s house and saw a carpet on the floor and decided to take off her shoes.

«We don’t do that,» he smiled, and she blushed.

For three days and nights, Arthur took her to visit friends. They drank wine, grilled kebabs in the mountains, and sang Armenian songs. He told her stories about Akhtamar and wiped her tears with kisses. For a long time they sat on Sevan, hugging each other like children, listening to the sound of the incoming wave. And it seemed to them that they heard the voice of the despairing one.

«Ah, Tamar, ah, Tamar,» someone with a lost soul shouted, hoping to see the light of the extinguished torch of his beloved.

But soon the fairy tale ended. It’s time to send Galchonok to Samarkand. She didn’t want to leave without him, but she did. Arthur had other things to do here. He and his best friend Mishik drove the girl to the airport.

— When are you coming to see me, Arthur?“ — What is it? „she asked him just before they left.

«When you learn how to make khinkali,» he smiled, and they never saw each other again.

He watched her go with a sad look, as if he had a premonition that she was leaving forever. Myshik patted him on the shoulder and offered to drive the car himself, but Arthur refused. They were friends from childhood, went to school together, and both fought in Nagorno-Karabakh. If anyone knows what true Armenian friendship between men is, they will understand me. They may have cheated on each other in small ways, but the spiritual bond between friends can be so strong that even love can envy such a friendship. His big eyes were watering with pain. I suddenly began to see myself in them, and I felt that Arthur was noticing me. There was still a note in his pocket. He handed it to me, and the popcorn flakes fell to the snow.

«Mom and Tick, I’m sorry, but I can’t live anymore. I’m going after him.»

I suddenly saw the determination in Arthur’s eyes, the rope and the final agony, the darkness, the fear…

«Arthur,» I cried. — Don’t do this. What a stupid death!

But that had already happened a few years ago, and he only smiled sadly.

— We were drunk that day, and the sleepless nights made us tired. Mishik died on the spot, I injured my leg…

The thought that he was responsible for the death of his friend haunted him even now, tormenting his soul.

«My God, why are you taking the best ones?» I cried.

I didn’t want to let him go, so I offered him shelter. He was glad that I had invited him to my house, and for the first time in all his years of wandering, he fell asleep. For a long time I saw a Russian girl waiting for him on the windowsill of her parents ' house…

I left in the early morning. Now I wasn’t afraid to leave the monument. He was in good hands. While Arthur was sleeping, I took some money out of his pocket. He no longer needed them, and I still had my way to go in the human world. And the snow was falling again. It was like he was pestering me. Snowflakes swirled around me like annoying flies, and I walked on and on…

ABOUT SEXUAL FEMALE FANTASIES

I’m sure there are many sexual female fantasies that we men don’t know much about… Echo thefantasies of trapped wild animals in cages waiting in the wings to break out!

Anna

Anna was older than me. I liked her slimness. Oh, those legs, oh, those eyes! When she put on a skirt and tights with arrows, and her heels fervently beat a drum roll on the asphalt, men turned around, catching every movement of the woman’s buttocks playing on the move. «Well, where are you, my worthy knight?» — it was read in these movements. Men got lost and, sometimes afraid to disappoint such a woman, retreated without a fight. True, she had a grief-lover Dima, some military man from the special services. For twelve years, they met rarely, but violently. Usually, in the midst of a never-ending binge, he would crawl up to her and take her with a boorish, assertive passion, and then disappear again for months on his eternal business trips. Anna waited, pined, was jealous of the «hot spots» and each time swore that she would not let him go again at the next meeting. Then they quarreled completely. Once he let it slip that he was in captivity and converted to Islam, but he does not regret anything. He begged Anna to find him another girlfriend and live with the three of them. She was hysterical, shouting that this is not Islam, but bl… tvo.

Anna was charming. Competition in the service sector has taught you to feel the mood of the client and do everything in your power to ensure that the client remains satisfied. When I went to the beauty salon, my hair was hanging down to the ground. I was dressed in a shabby soldier’s uniform, barefoot, with a detached, wandering look. The guy with the «Peter» badge was looking through the journal entries for a long time, and when he found my name, he grimaced. His whole appearance showed a disdainful attitude towards me, and a little more and I would have walked away, although the level of the salon did not allow refusing customers with oddities.

— Hello, — Anna came out of the hall and smiled politely.

I don’t think the snowmen had signed up for her haircut before me.

«Are you Mr. N?» — What is it? «she asked, overcoming her excitement. — Have a seat.»

I sat down in the chair. The murmur of the water calmed me. This woman’s hands touched my phantom hair and applied shampoo to it.

— How are we going to get our hair cut?“ — What is it? „she asked, looking at my pale reflection in the mirror.

«At least up to my shoulders,» I said.

Strands of my hair began to fall to the floor. I watched them fall, remembering the last time I had my hair cut before being sent to Chechnya.

«Who’s Karl?» «He was recommended to me at the receptiondesk.

«Oh, Karl? So this is my colleague.

— I insisted that you cut my hair.»

— why? — What is it? «she asked, applying shaving foam to my beard.

«Because I don’t have anyone to go to the movies with tonight,» I said, «and Carl has Peter.»

I felt like she already liked me. During my years at the monument, I had matured from a boy to an attractive man.

— There are many people of non-traditional orientation in our profession, but Karl is normal.

— I’d still like to invite you, not him.»

We agreed to meet at the entrance to the cinema «October». Then there was a popular movie «Gloss». She was late, and we went straight to the cinema. While watching it, I sometimes looked at it. On a date with me, she came even more beautiful and desirable. I was happy to be sitting next to her, and I wanted to take her hand.

«Life is like a bridge over a river. Happy to meet the woman you love on it, «I said aloud after the session.

We didn’t want to part. We were walking along Novy Arbat and were already talking on «you». A couple of times I managed to make her laugh, and surprisingly, she didn’t notice that I was barefoot. Or maybe she didn’t want to notice. It was cool outside, and the snow was melting. It was getting dark. We went to warm up in a restaurant. A Chaldean in a sombrero offered a choice between French and Chilean wines, recommended sliced cheese. My companion ordered veal in a vegetable stew, and I avoided the meal, saying that I was going to lose weight. The wine was delicious. We drank to the meeting.

— I’d like to have another baby.» Imagine, I once had a dream that I found a newborn boy in a field of thick wheat, picked him up, and he poked at my breast and looked for milk, silly. I’m running around the field and I don’t know what to do. I’m so impressionable that I sketched a pencil sketch on the same day.

— Do you draw?» I asked, surprised.

— I used to draw well, I gave my work to all my friends, but I kept this drawing for myself. It hangs over my bed in my bedroom. When you come to visit, I’ll show you.

«Lately,» I rubbed the tip of my nose, «I’ve been avoiding the company of beautiful women.

— I don’t even know whether to be happy with the compliment or sad from the refusal…

«Let’s drink to luck!» I raised my glass of wine.

«Come on!» She took a small sip from her glass, «But I still can’t get my head around it.» Tomorrow you’ll be gone, and only memories will remain?

I knew that Anna longed for change and was afraid of it at the same time.

«We live in the future and the past, forgetting what is now,» I said, finishing my glass of wine.

«I really miss the’ now ’sometimes,» she said, her eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

— You often meet the wrong people in your life…

— It feels like you’ve known me for a long time.» What you say is all true and it really is…

«I’ll admit that I’m talented at it,» I smiled, tasting the tart taste of the wine.

During the years spent in the monument, I lost many feelings, and now I wanted to cry with happiness. Barely holding back my tears, I could hear the heartbeat of a woman who wants to be happy.

— What do you dream about?

She closed her eyes, and her lips, wet with wine, whispered:

«Imagine that candles are burning. Nearby, logs crackle in the fireplace, a pleasant melody plays, adding warmth to the atmosphere…

The waiter ran to get a second bottle of wine. I took her hand, which I wanted to press against my cheek. Anna felt something similar, but something stopped her impulse. Maybe women have forgotten how to fully trust men?

— You’re sitting in a rocking chair with a glass of wine — «I said, leaning toward her,» and a devoted dog is licking your feet, and you’re still waiting for me after a long time…»

— We should only be friends, «she said, suddenly opening her eyes, cutting off my kiss.

I smiled bitterly. I felt bad that she’d been waiting for years for someone she didn’t love just because there was no one to walk her dog. The quagmire of knowing that she had fallen out of love, and had fallen out of love, sucked her soul in, pulled her to the very bottom, and somewhere there let her go. In the swamp frenzy, like a helpless kitten, this woman paddled with her paws, and already saw the faceless faces of her rescuers. They also paddled helplessly towards her and more often away from her, which made it even more painful and hurtful.

— I’m getting material, «she complained. «Do you know where the word ’mother’ comes from?»

I shrugged my shoulders.

— From the word «matter», «earth».

I loved the way she delicately impaled a piece of meat on her fork and brought it to her mouth. My stomach rumbled. I remembered sharing a can of stew with a friend in the army. There was an open bottle of vodka on the table, and it didn’t seem so bad.

«I wonder why the word ’father’ comes from?» I wondered. «Father, Father, from something… We both laughed.

— But you noticed correctly, — Anna’s eyes twinkled, — father is the cosmos and, most likely, this word came from something that we will never be able to understand…

Then she looked sad, and I saw her eyes were wet with tears. I was listening to her own brother, a talented musician who died of a drug overdose.

— I always get the feeling that he’s not dead at all.“ I’m even sometimes afraid to meet him accidentally on the street, „she said, looking around.

I felt like someone was watching us, too. Perhaps I caught the eye of the waiter, who was watching us closely and pouring the wine out of the bottle just in time. The conversation turned to responsibility, and I noticed how much a man changes by the age of thirty.

— I feel responsible for every step, whereas before my actions were often purposeless and empty.

It was getting late. We went out into the cool street. The metro has closed. All I had left was enough money for a pack of cigarettes and a taxi for Anna, and that would be if I crossed the bridge. We walked and smoked, holding hands like children. Ahead, the building of the Ukraina Hotel was visible, looking like an ancient castle in the dark of night.

«But I haven’t smoked for a long time, and then I suddenly felt like…» said Anna, funnily puffing out clouds of smoke, «because it’s so good… and I can’t believe that tomorrow is a working day.» My daughter will be shocked if she sees me in this state, although now, probably, she walks, zas..nka.

A gloomy sky hung over the city, drizzling rain. After crossing the bridge, we went to the square in the direction of the Kievsky railway station. You could get a cheap taxi there. On the way, we passed a bench where the motionless figure of a woman was sitting, blending into the rain.

— Is there someone sitting there, or am I imagining it?» Anna asked me in a whisper and squeezed my hand out of fear.

«It’s Lesya’s lost ghost Ukrainian women, «I said, leading my companion into the courtyards of dormant high-rise buildings.

Under a large, sprawling tree, I hugged Anna and kissed her. We spun around in a long, wistful kiss and, dropping her relaxed body right on the roots protruding from the ground, I began to shower her with warm kisses, forgetting myself and not noticing anything around…

— What are you doing?“ They might see us, „she whispered in the rustle of leaves, struggling weakly.

I’M SORRY I CHOSE YOU

I’ve been looking at you for a long time. You looked at me too, and as if you sensed my desire, you hid behind others like you, unwilling. You were all doomed, every singleone of you, and if a miracle could have happened and you were given your freedom, you would still have died! You had intelligent eyes. I’ll never forget that look. There was hope in him.

Maybe that’s why I pointed my finger at you and thus accelerated your suffering.

I was a god to you, your fate was in my hands, and in those moments I was already ascending, watching you being dragged to me.

I’m sorry I chose you, but I couldn’t help it. It could have been someone else, but they didn’t know what it meant to love you. You were choking on my kisses. You couldn’t get enough air, and you were silent all the time… ah, you didn’t give up, watching your death ritual with dignity, and when I raised the knife over you, you flinched, convulsed even before the blow, and I flinched with you, sobbing and cursing the injustice. I could feel your last hope melting away, your life slipping away into oblivion. And my heart fluttered, trying to understand your pain. I’m sorry I chose you, but I meant well. Our meeting was not in vain. I’ve made a good fish soup, I’ll last another day. Maybe next time someone will choose me…

ON THE BRIDGE

As I write these lines, an unfamiliar song sounds. Where does this song come from? Who sent it down to me, why now, when there is no turning back? This song touches me in a way that makes me feel like God. You are so close, my good god! Your breath stirs my hair pleasantly, your hands reflect light and power, and I close my eyes. The wave of life passes pleasantly through the body. You look at me and smile. Why are there tears in your eyes, why are you always silent?

Fragments of memory, like fallen leaves, the November wind whirls. The final touch of autumn is in the air. I know this will never happen again… I walk with the girl, trying to remember her name… In the blue lamplight, she is mysteriously beautiful, her body beckoning to me. We’d had a mint Mahito an hour earlier. She said how difficult it is for her with her husband, that she wants to file for divorce, but is afraid… I believe. You can’t help but believe such beautiful eyes. Her husband is sitting with his daughter, thinking that his wife is with a friend. He believes it too… We are similar in this respect. I don’t know her phone number, but it’s probably a passion. The one they write about in books…

Old embankment. As always, it is deserted and silent. We stop, enchanted by the panorama of the night. This girl is afraid of heights, so she snuggles up to me. I catch her perfume. Tenderness escapes my lips. My head is spinning as I hug her. We kiss right on the bridge in front of the Government House. The wind is blowing. I can hear her breathing fast, how she wants me. I try to stop myself, but I can’t… and it’s only a shout that saves us from being physically close.

GOING TO HEAVEN

Amina walked past the fountains alone, and the cold soldiers looked after her wistfully. The heady perfume wafted to their boyish nostrils, stirring fire, and they couldn’t help but smile as they drew fantasies. Amina was on the subway. A terrible pain tore at her heart, and a desire for revenge burned in her chest. Her black hair fluttered in the wind. She was never allowed to put on a headscarf, as they were afraid that it would attract attention. She was whispering a prayer to Allah, who was leading her to Walli, promising a long-awaited meeting, but her thin lips seemed not to obey, and tightly compressed, which turned the whisper into a kind of terrible howl. I could hear it clearly, understand every word, and fly after it. It was a prayer thread that bound us together and united us into one whole. Amina walked on, her boots stubbornly tapping on the cobblestones. The journey was tiring her. Her heels clung to the ledges of the cobblestones. The wind gusted in her face, knocking her off her feet, and she had to turn her back to it all the time. At that moment, I would lie down at her feet as a fallen leaf and also be quiet. She didn’t notice me, and I looked at her oriental features and tried to understand what love is. I could see her fingers nervously searching her pockets for a lighter and cigarettes. She wanted to smoke, but the Gym absolutely forbade her any contact with fire, and she couldn’t disobey her brother. Her brother was everything to her, and to let her brother down, especially now, when the situation of the Wahhabis in the North Caucasus left much to be desired, was for her a terrible shame and an unquenchable sin. It seemed to her that the fate of an entire nation, of an entire people, was in her hands, that if she crossed the line, those damned Russians would flinch. Besides, her lover would never forgive her for such an oversight. When he was alive, he hadn’t known she smoked, and now it was even more frightening.

At the entrance to the metro station, Amina lit a cigarette. She took a deep breath of smoke and rolled her eyes slightly. I felt her instant joy and was also happy for her. At this moment, she looked like a child. How old was she really? No more than eighteen years old. «What if it’s all wrong?» Amina’s thought flashed through my mind, and I saw her push it away. But the thought stuck when the faces of passers-by flashed past the girl, and the children, seeing the suicide bomber’s eyes clouded with hatred, began to cry.

— The main thing is not to look at the children! They might betray you, or worse, they might make you feel sorry for you, «she said through gritted teeth.

Shaitan’s Kingdom, as her older brother Jimhan called нit, was running like clockwork, and as Amina walked down the turnstile, she was afraid she wouldn’t make it in time. She was getting scared. She could already hear the hum of the approaching train, the abyss drawing her in with a bright light, and only prayer helped her focus on the sacred goal. Go in and click.

She wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye to her father and sisters. For them, Amina went to Moscow to enroll in a medical institute. I imagined her in her white coat treating the children, and the tenderness and care with which she treated each child, but that future was as hazy as I was. Someone who was indirectly guilty. Now she thought of the red-bearded Arab who had been shot by an infidel. Did she love Valli? I loved her. And I envied him just for having such a wife. I was ashamed that I had ruined their happiness.

Amina was the last to get into the train, and in the tight circle of people she was surrounded by, she tried not to look at those who were supposed to follow her. She stood with her back to them, thus showing contempt for them, and began to pray. The train picked up speed with every passing second, and I could see the shahid’s hand clutching her mobile phone, her knuckles turning white from exertion. She was supposed to dial Valli’s number, and I knew that as soon as the signal went through, the circuit would close and the detonator would go off. But the girl hesitated. It seemed to her that someone was staring at her intently. Like two friends among strangers, we shuddered, as if struck by an electric shock, when we noticed each other. We stared at our reflections on the train doors without taking our eyes off them. I was standing right behind her, a head taller than she was, and I couldn’t help but smell her black hair. They smelled of streams and the sky against the snow-capped mountains, like the robes of Allah.

— Why?» I asked, resting my chin on her shoulder, «You’re too young to leave.»

My cheek barely brushed hers, and she felt uneasy at the touch.

«That’s what Allah wants,» the girl smiled faintly, moving her head slightly away.

«Allah wants children, He wants peace,» I said, and the whisper of my lips brushed her soft neck with sweet kisses.

The girl trembled even more. I could hear her heart pounding. And from this instantaneous closeness, from the fact that we were drawn to each other as a man and a woman, I believed that all was not lost, that I could stop her rash act.

«What about Valli?» Go to heaven shouted, her eyes flashing angrily.

She noticed that I was wearing a soldier’s uniform, a submachine gun slung over my shoulders, and most importantly, Valli’s dagger, which he never parted with even in bed, and realized that I had killed her lover. Her anger shot right through me, tearing and throwing me in all directions. The car shook. The passengers gripped the handrails. As if drowning in the abyss, I grabbed the Chechen woman’s shoulder.

«Amina…»

She turned to me so suddenly that a few of her tears fell on my face. Our lips touched. Her hand holding the phone dropped to her side.

I thought, kissing her nervous lips.

The doors opened and the crowd carried us onto the platform. Amina ran away from me like a leper and got on the escalator. I watched her go. Did she know that Valli also had an American wife and an Arab horse that he ran in the Derby? Maybe. Did her older brother Jimhan foreseethat his sister would return to her native village and throw herself at the feet of her parents with words of remorse, and he himself would be shot by the feds the next night? Did Valli himself enjoylooking down on us as his Chechen wife with a Shahid’s belt kissed me in the cramped subway? Oh, I didn’t know myself! People passed me, jostled me, and I just stood there, motionless, still tasting the blood from the bitten lips of the one who was going to heaven.

ABOUT LOVE

The black water was bitterly cold. Cautiously, I approached the shore and looked into the soul of the lake. Leaves slowly swirled across the water. On the other side, the old church was disappearing into the darkness, and if it hadn’t been for the yellow eye of the moon, it would have been completely invisible. Involuntarily, I raised my hand to make the sign of the cross, but instead of praying, my lips whispered a frightening revelation:

«Love is still a great force on earth. So greatthat not everyone can keep it in their heart.

My fingers still smelled the dizzyingly intoxicating scent of this beautiful woman.

ABANDONED BEACH AND GHOST

I never thought I’d find myself in such a mysterious place on a late autumn evening. If you find yourself in the Shchukinskaya metro area and, getting to the embankment, turn left under the bridge, then you will see a wild coast. There are no streetlights here, only occasionally the lights of foreign cars with tinted windows flash out, and God only knows why they come here, and what happens in them when they are parked.

It’s quiet here. A rare bird will sing its trill, but occasionally a ship will pass by, and the sound of a coastal wave will remind you that the Moscow River is flowing somewhere nearby… You will notice its beauty, and longing will fill your soul. The distant lights of civilization twinkle on the other side. There’s Strogino. At this time, it is almost deserted. You can meet a fisherman returning from an evening fishing trip, there are probably maniacs here and their doomed victims roam, rustling the fallen leaves. This place attracts, attracts with its silence, and not everyone will dare to go down in the late evening and touch the cool surface of the water. I’m going down a slippery cliff, almost falling, running… ancient willows… black branches hanging down and lightly touching you. You embrace the crown and feel how the history of this place is transmitted to you by fragments of memories. You want to smoke, you rummage in your pockets and look for a cigarette and lighter. A strong wind puts out the fire. A slight shiver passes over your skin when a shadow slips by and you catch a glimpse of its silhouette out of the corner of your eye. Please don’t smoke! This attracts an extra glance. The darkness is watching, and thousands of invisible eyes are sizing you up like a stranger. It is not comfortable here, but you can no longer leave, give in to a sense of fear. You must fully experience the mystery of the abandoned beach. Here lives the soul of a lost girl. Her lone shadow on such moonlit nights sits on a rock by the water and waits for you to speak. I ask her if she is happy here. And she replies that she hasn’t felt the cold in a long time. She says my lips are very sweet.

«No wonder! — I answer, — after all, I drank a sweet shake.

I’m as drunk as I’ve ever been. I want her, even though I can’t see her face, but she pushes me away and says she’s married, that her husband is a monster, and she’s afraid of getting burned. I smile and whisper that I am long-dead ashes, scattered a hundred thousand times to the wind. And we still don’t know which of us is the real ghost. I think I’m just saying this to get her to follow me, and it hurts.

ABOUT INTIMATE CONVERSATIONS OF A MARRIED WOMAN WITH A STRANGE MAN

Any man likes intimate conversations with women. But if a woman has intimate conversations with a man, that is, she confides in him or confesses to some secrets or sins, and often, as a rule, these conversations are connected with some problems with her husband, discord within the family, or she complains about her situation, then this is the surest signal that such a situation is happening. a woman is driven to the extreme and is capable of anything up to sexual acts, because her husband is not an authority for her at the moment. That is, she is looking for a different authority, more profitable and convenient.

AS FROM I WAS ONCE MADE A MORAL GEEK

A bald Black man in a red doublet and general’s trousers pulled on a chopper. I entered the foyer, brushing snow from my collar. The luxury and decoration of the hotel impressed me. I felt like a stranger here, walking barefoot on the red carpet past the columns and marble statues. It seemed that the maitre d ' was about to approach me and ask me to leave. I stopped at a shop window selling Italian designer jewelry and handicrafts. The saleswoman gave me a cursory, blank look andturned back to Forbesmagazine.

«Can I have one candy?» I asked, and took a ladybug from the vase on her desk.

There was still plenty of time, and I sat down on the antique velour couch, one leg propped casually on the carved oak table. I wanted attention, because the general indifference to my modest person in this extravagant place caused me unpleasant feelings. Across from me sat a solid-looking man ina Versace shirt withthe collar open, smoking a cigar. As luck would have it, a puff of cigar smoke hid my brusque behavior from the maitre d ' ’s view. And the scandal failed.

Customers were walking slowly past us. They were mostly foreigners with VIP prostitutes, but there were also some Russians. One of them dropped a hundred-dollar bill as he let a lady into the elevator and didn’t notice. The bill lay on the carpet until the head waiter picked it up. His well-groomed face, glistening with fat, was impassive. It seemed that picking up hundred-dollar bills was a common occurrence for him. And I suddenly felt sorry for those boys who gave their lives in the trenches of Chechnya. There was a merciless, useless war, and here money flowed like a river. It was as if thousands of angry dead were stirring in their graves from injustice. I could even hear their brittle bones crunching.

Glancing up at the inner balcony that overlooked the foyer, I noticed a woman blowing me kisses while holding a glass of champagne. At first I thought her attention was directed at the smoking gentleman, but I nodded and went up the marble staircase. Most likely, the woman was drunk and made a mistake. Once on the second floor, I lost sight of her. Apparently, there was some kind of presentation going on here. Well-groomed women of Balzac’s age, sparkling with expensive jewelry, drank tea and cakes at tables. They felt like goddesses, forcing fake smiles out of themselves. A poster of a little girl towered over the commotion. They explained to me that the girl had been missing for several years, and asked me to participate in a fundraiser to find the unfortunate girl and other missing children. But there was something wrong with this general noble impulse. I wandered between the tables, still hesitating to get rid of the last coin, and looked into the mouths of these «Mother Teres» who were chewing their buns appetizingly. There were also photographs of the missing on the tables, smeared with the greasy fingers of the searchers. Slightly reeling from the abomination of this event, I decided to leave, but the delicious chomping of the «saviours» around me sharpened my hunger. When I went to the buffet to eat, I noticed the woman who had recently blown me kisses.

«Hello,» she smiled and offered me her hand, but I ignored the casual gesture, devouring a red fish sandwich with both cheeks.

The woman wasn’t offended at all.

«My name is Vera,» she said. — I called you…»

— Wow! I said indifferently and went to the bar, where the waiter was pouring out juices and champagne.

Vera was wearing an elegant evening dress, and a large emerald shone on her ample chest. It was strange to see this well-to-do woman following the barefoot soldier like a bath leaf. We each took a glass of champagne and retreated into the shadow of a pillar.

— I have to Vera said, taking a modest sip while I finished my sandwich. — I don’t have anyone to go to a nightclub with tonight, and my husband’s gone to London.

— There are still men here — " I said, pointing to a boy with a fashionable hairstyle who had just walked in, sporting a pair of thigh-skimming trousers.

«He’s blue,» my companion laughed, showing her even ceramic teeth.

She suddenly noticed that I was glancing earnestly in the direction of the buffet, where the ladies were actively filling their plates.

— Are you hungry?»

I nodded, and her eyes lit up with motherly concern.

«Can I get you anything?»

«Yes, caviar pancakes and cream pie.

When Vera left, I quickly drained my glass of champagne and went to the exit, but she noticed my flight in time and caught up with me on the steps.

— You’re leaving already?» she was slightly upset, holding a plate full of delicacies in her hand.

I nodded apologetically.

— You didn’t like my suggestion?»

— We don’t know each other at all…»

«Sometimes you live with one person all your life and don’t know them at all…»

— What are we going to do?»

«Brighten up my loneliness.» We’ll be drinking Hennessy XO, smoking hookahs, and I don’t mindif you’re attracted to some girl there.

Suddenly, an arrogant old lady intervened in our conversation. Her heavy earrings made the lobes of her flaccid ears look ugly. It was obvious from her demeanor that she was the organizer of this charity event.

— Vera, why did you hide from us your passion for the poor? she smiled haughtily, looking me up and down with a cold stare.

Her predatory, hooked nose suddenly pointed like a vulture’s beak, ready to stab me at any moment.

«Men lose their heads in the company of beautiful ladies, and this one has also lost his shoes,» she said, noticing my bare feet. «How disrespectful to the missing children!

Everything stopped abruptly. The music stopped, the waiters stopped serving glasses and pouring wine, and hundreds of indignant eyes stared at me. A murmur of disapproval passed through the room. Vera took my arm, trying to lead me away from the scandal, but I pulled away.

— Dear ladies, I said, jumping up on one of the tables. — The purpose of such events is to fool you by playing on your empathy. If you really want to help someone, go to the train station. There are a lot of people who are really lost. Real help doesn’t have PR. How can you even help children? Each of you will happily rip out the other’s throat just because she allowed herself to doubt her lofty intentions.

The women rose from their chairs, chewing slowly on their cakes, and surrounded me. They spread their fingers, moving them menacingly like crabs on the prowl. The hostile ring of diamonds and luxury tightened around me. The banner of virtue, suddenly torn from under their feet, was now like a red rag to an angry bull. From smiling and good-natured women, they turned into terrible and ugly furies, eager to tear me apart just because I doubted their virtue.

«Here, you bastard! — I heard from the crowd.

— My brain will explode.» Maybe there’s something I don’t understand in life…

«Trample him, babonki! Trample on it! — the organizer of the evening called for battle, pushing forward the poster of the missing girl, like an icon before the devil.

The old lady clutched her heart, and her faithful friends waved their motley fans around her. Her venomous saliva spattered the parquet floor.

«Natasha, don’t pay any attention to him,» one of them said. — If you pay attention to everyone, you can go crazy.

— It’s scary, because he is not the only one, — the founder of the foundation was amazed. «I wish he’d kept his mouth shut, like most people do. He just impressed me with his pofigizmom. Such a person will pass by a child walking at night in panties.

— Well, such a person is not something that will pass by, he can also do something bad. A moral geek. It is useless to fight it, only it will be more expensive for yourself.

«What if he still has a conscience?» someone whispered softly behind them.

«The man is in complete ecstasy,» boomed one respectable lady.

«Well, the man’s head is obviously not friendly. If he’d had a good doctor, it might have helped.

— We draw attention not to the loss of this girl, but to the problem that children are missing, and volunteers are looking for them. Another insulted person was beating her chest.

— I’m not interested. I said firmly, grinning.

I was still standing on the table, looking down at all this squalor.

«And he’s grinning like an absolute egocentric person.» The navel of the universe. It’s not cured, «one lady tried to push me off the table.

— I forgive you all — - I bowed to these women and jumped down, and they attacked me with shouts and screams, as if a man had accidentally entered the women’s bathhouse. I got out of the pile and grabbed Vera’s arm myself. We hurried away. The commotion upstairs continued for a long time.

DO NOT TELL A WOMAN THAT SHE IS NOT COMPLETELY HAPPY IN HER MARRIAGE

Do not tell a woman that she is unhappy in her marriage, even if it seems true or she wants to hear it. You risk opening Pandora’s box. The curiosity of a married woman will play a cruel joke on her, and even with her husband. You, too.

MALE STRIPTEASE

Our Mercedes sped through the night capital. Vera was driving, and all the way I thought that life is not such an easy thing. She had a husband who was away on business in London, I had no one, and I had nothing in common with this woman. Some unknown force was carrying us towards the unknown. We stopped at the Captain Drake Nightclub. I thought of the Lame Horse, where two hundred people were burned alive. The place was similar. The same narrow corridors, combustible materials. As Vera got out of the car, she gave me a five-thousand-dollar bill.

«Let you have the money.

The guard illuminated the bill and began counting out the change. We were given the best table. The waiter was helpful but talkative, although the loud music made his speech difficult to hear. He treated Vera with undisguised respect, as she often gave him a good tip.

I liked the idea of the club’s designers. The room was decorated like a ship in dark wood. A DJ was working on the mast, and black sailors were standing on the stairs in striped vests and distinctive caps that reminded me of Leo Boniface from the cartoon of my childhood. Energetic music was playing. All the attention of the customers was focused on the dancefloor, where girls were twitching and bouncing in the ultraviolet rays, as if under an electric shock. We ordered XO cognac, juice and Greek salad.

«Choose any one,» Vera shouted to me over the music. «How do you like this one?» she laughed, pointing to one of the dancers.

I looked unconcerned and even yawned, but sometimes my eyes still caught on this or that dancing girl. I loved the way they moved, the way youth breathed in their heated bodies. I knew how easily I could get each of them, imagined them in my arms, mentally stripping off their masks of decency. The girls answered me with smiles and whispered to each other. Everyone thought I was rich, because only a confident and well-to-do person can afford such a quirk as coming to the club in a worn-out soldier’s uniform and barefoot. They wanted to know more about me. No one knew what was going on in my heart, and even Vera was afraid to ask me about it. A young couple was dancing in front of us. The model-looking girl was wearing a shiny open blouse and tight jeans. She danced expertly and gave off smiles to the surrounding men at the same time. Her date was a thin guy with amorous and sad eyes. Obviously a student. I’ve already seen the near-term fate of their relationship. Soon his companion would find a better match, perhaps an older and richer man. Several times our eyes met under the spotlight, and I sensed her intense interest in me.

With Faith, I was silent, but not because of the loud music. I had nothing to talk about with this woman. She was as simple as five kopecks, although she ordered XO. I slowly got drunk, thinking to myself that life was a success if the cognac you were drinking was older than the woman you were sleeping with. Sometimes we would exchange words, leaning closer to each other. There were intimate illusions in the whisper. It was as if we were already conspiratorial lovers. I could feel myself raising her self-esteem by lightly brushing my unshaven cheek against her skin.

My lover suddenly made a displeased face. It turned out that she had caught her expensive stockings on a stud that was sticking out on a chair. I even had to switch chairs, but Vera couldn’t calm down. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

«I can hardly see the arrow,» I said, taking her hand and reassuring her.

— Oscar de la Renta cashmere and silk stockings for $ 990. She was wiping away her tears with a handkerchief.

— On Two hundred thousand people died in Haiti recently, and you’re upset about nothing. I shouted toher over the music.

— You can soothe…»

The waitress came up to us, a young blonde girl who had been talking for a long time with a frustrated Vera, and my companion nodded in understanding.

«She’ll make a good manager,» Vera smiled, watching her go.

— What did she say?»

«Excuse us, please.»

— It’s so simple…»

As a moral compensation, they brought us a hookah. At this moment, the Negro sailors brought out a table on which they placed a black-and-white photograph of a woman, and opposite it a clock with large hands. To an oriental tune, a decrepit old man appeared with a stick. He was wearing a checked jacket and short, old-fashioned trousers with suspenders that showed off his white socks. The audience greeted the actor with a standing ovation. The hands of the clock began to run in the opposite direction. The old man cradled the photograph to his chest. His hands trembled in a rush of memories, and he began to dance, transforming into a young man. Suddenly the gray beard and baldness disappeared. The dancer took off his jacket and showed off the athlete’s body. It was as if he had straightened up, grown taller. The bold gleam of his eyes under false gray brows caught the crowd’s attention. I kept a close eye on the customers, among whom I saw again a girl in a shiny blouse. There was something special about her now that made me instantly want to be close. I could feel her involuntary shudder, hear her heartbeat as I watched the stripper’s movements. He floated in the clouds of her dreams like Apollo, his muscles flashing, his perfect body moving in a beautiful dance. There were tears in her eyes, which made her face even more expressive.

It swayed slightly from side to side, as if it were about to plunge into the abyss. In that disastrous leap, she longed to touch her idol, to smell its scent and feel its power over her. I saw her bite her lip until it hurt. Meanwhile, the dancer was completely naked, covering his body with a red rose. He’d managed to make a lot of women want him, but this girl was the one who’d been most bewitched by his magic. She hugged her slender body with her hands, trembling with excitement, and the fragrance of these delicate petals intoxicated her unripe soul. I could tell by the trembling of her lips that she was praying to God that a stripper among a dozen enthusiastic spectators would not pass by and choose her.

I see him pass by as if he doesn’t notice her. She is afraid that they will choose anotherone. She’s shaking. Lips whisper incantations. Now the wave will cover it. Her fingers are tense on the strap of her belt. They pull down, and her jeans almost fall off her skinny thighs, revealing her navel earring and shaved pubic hair. I look at her poor boyfriend. He’s standing off to the side, paler than a cloud, holding the fruit-decorated cocktail she just rejected. Now she is absorbed in something else. The tempter demon takes her hand and leads her to the center of the dancefloor. Instinctively, she turns her back on the dancer, bending down, ready to give herself to him. He teases her mercilessly, slips a rose under her blouse, touches the petals to her hard nipples. Everyone applauds. She’s crying with happiness… Me too.

Vera is offended and gets up from the table, asks for the bill. He thinks she’s old and ugly, that her time is long gone. She is annoyed by the youth, this carefree laughter. She wants to go home. She says she will punish me for all the pain that men have caused her in her life. When I resist, she digs her fingers into my arm so hard that it hurts. I ask her to hurt me even more, and she slaps me across the cheek with a backhand. I don’t want to go anywhere. I’m not a teddy bear. But still, we go outside.

— You should call a taxi!» I worry, watching her barely stand on her feet.

I’m sick of her torn чулков$ 990 stockings. Those fat thighs are killing my humanity. No wonder I’m throwing up on the hood of her car. Vera gets behind the wheel, but I don’t let her go.

— Get out, s — ka.» You might get killed!

She obediently goes out and throws me a bunch of keys. I love that I called her "s..coy». We’re off.»

HOW I LOVED LIFE

Ramstein was playing. The Moscow Ring Road at night resembled the Milky Way. As I circled at breakneck speed, I overtook the crawlingSchumachersand smiled that strange smile that suddenly appears on the lips in moments of enlightenment. My eyes were closed with fatigue and a completely wild intoxication. Our Mercedes swung sideways when I passed out for a second. My heart sank, and a pleasant wave of adrenaline burned my soul. I loved life, and she loved me. We’d been lovers for almost thirty years, and it was only now, as I slid out of the Milky Way and into the black holes, that I gave myself to her completely, sincerely, irrevocably. A person often has silly and ridiculous thoughts, especially someone like me, but as I looked at the unfamiliar woman on my right, whose sweet head was rising and falling over my lap, I was thinking only of orgasm.

worth WHETHER TO TRUST PEOPLE

Man to man discord. Some people can be trusted, others can’t. If you were deceived, then the fault lies with you, because you did not understand this person and trusted your illusions and hopes. If you perceived this person as a possible deceiver initially and dealt with him for some hidden reasons, and he still upset you, disappointed you, then this was not deception on his part, but self-deception on your part.

THE HUNGER TEST

I can hear the door lock turning, and I can feel the telltale saliva running down my throat. With an unbearable cramp in my stomach, I throw myself against the wall, miserable and insignificant, unwashed and beaten, hating myself for being weak, for being more hungry than I am. The lady always comes in with a plate of red caviar sandwiches that glow teasingly. She starts eating them in front of my miserable eyes. With such a monstrous appetite. The sandwiches melt in this woman’s mouth like snow. She licks her lips, says, «Mmm. How delicious!» This is the easiest test, the easiest… Her husband is still in London. He doesn’t call her at all, doesn’t write letters. Abandoned women want to be comforted. And I start to comfort her. Mistress sits on the edge of the bed, looks at me sadly, and hands me a plate of crumbs.

I kiss her embalmed skin and look away from the plate in shame.

— Well! she sighs heavily and leaves. — You’re not ready yet.»

I know what she wants, I know, and she knows. Another three or four days and I won’t be able to stand it… I will close my greedy jaws on her greasy throat, and nibble and nibble until my Hunger is satisfied.

ABOUT SAD-MAZ

Sometimes it seems to me that God loves sada-maza very much, because all this life is one big sada-maza and all this is for fun.

The room was dark, and a flicker of flame lit up my face. The candle burned out. Paraffin dripped onto the countertop, enveloping the overturned glass. Vera was sitting on the bed with her legs tucked under her. I swung the whip and froze.

— If knowledge increases sorrow, then God is absolute pain?» I asked suddenly.

«Everyone has their own god, you have pain and suffering, I have joy and love — » she turned, baring my back.

The whip fell, leaving a red trail. Vera screamed. I raised the whip over her again, and the flexible, snake-like essence of the whip hovered in the air again, despite the laws of physics.

— You’re not afraid of me at all, «I said with a bitter smile.

— Love is when you are not afraid of anything.

The whip came down again, and the woman screamed again.

— Are you happy with me, my love?» Yes? «What is it?» she asked, her voice trembling in pain.

— No, I’m not happy with you. I don’t feel good because you’re nothing! I slapped her mercilessly on the back.

— And you all… — she repeated, biting her lips in pain.

I was tired, so I put down the whip and sat down on the bed next to it.

«It’s one step from cruelty to pity. Now the devil and God are holding hands.

I felt sorry for this poor woman. I leaned down and kissed her shoulders and neck.

the escape

The next night I decided to run away. It wasn’t because I couldn’t stand all the vulgarities anymore. Not at all! I must admit that I found myself enjoying being with Vera, being a partaker of her ugly loneliness and wounded ego, which poured out on my head the dregs of a perverted understanding of love. All madness degrades and bores. I was so aware of this trend that I knew exactly what Vera would do in the next few days. She has already consulted with a plastic surgeon in my presence on how to make a woman out of a man. They discussed my fate as if it were a matter of changing my hair. Vera giggled into the phone, marveled at the simplicity of the operation, and was indignant at knocking down the price. Then she would calm me down like a silly child, babbling that Mikhail Iosifovich was a first-class specialistст в свin his field, who had been trained in one of the best Israeli clinics. «Honey, you’ll thank me again!» — she made grand plans, showing me her new breasts with such pride that I had to agree. Perhaps at the last minute, before the surgeon’s scalpel would have cut off my manhood, she would have come up to me and kissed my trembling lips with tears in her eyes, looking into my eyes, hoping to see a plea for mercy. Perhaps she would have hesitated after all. But what I do not doubt is that she was surprised by my sudden disappearance from the locked room. She didn’t believe in phantoms.

Vera promised to buy me a white yacht and help me with a trip to India, even though I knew that all these were just promises and nothing more. Sooner or later, she would have just dissolved me in sulfuric acid and flushed me down the toilet, as she always did with those who bothered her.

«Crocodile leather boots look good on you,» I said to Vera the day before.

— I bought them to walk you around at night, «she smiled, lighting one of her many cigarettes. «Tell me, what doesn’t suit me?»

My jailer squatted down, her knees spread shamelessly, and blew a cloud of smoke at me.

«That you’re not wearing any panties,» I said as she took a deep drag on her cigarette, clearly enjoying her superiority over me.

A woman’s laughter came from the bathroom, and I looked at Vera questioningly.

— I thought I’d give you a little last gift, «she said, flicking ash on my head.

All her gifts were predictable. She had a fancy hot tub. Sometimes this strange woman arranged a holiday for me, inviting VIP prostitutes. Usually two or three girls, dyed blonde with blue eyes. For more y Vera lacked imagination. Naturally, these girls had doll-like porcelain faces, and even in their gait there was something of a mannequin. They wore chastity belts, so classic sex with them was impossible for me. Every time I managed to get around these women’s tricks, but today, the day before the surgery, Vera exceeded my expectations. She pulled the girls ' leather helmets over their heads and laced up their visors with special care. It reminded me of the image of gladiators bathing before a fight. Then Vera pushed me into their modest group, and she sat down on the edge of the Jacuzzi and thought about something, watching these carefree furies frolic with laughter, splashing each other with water and foam. I swam between them, resigned to my fate and resisting the senseless desire for intimacy with them, until the hostess brought me a terry towel. I was silent, a little annoyed, and she kept looking at me as if to say, «Well, how did you wake up, honey?»

Ancient murky mirrors reflect the glare of hopelessness. High ceilings, crystal chandeliers. Wet footprints on the marble floor. The distant laughter of the girls behind the screen. Bubbling water, sparkling foam, smoking incense… I’m crowned with a laurel wreath like Caesar, sucking on a Martini bottle. A naked gladiator washes me with a soapy sponge.

— Vera, why do you miss me? I swim out of the hot tub and grab a towel from the mistress.

«I gave myself away, all right.

She wipes my back herself.

«You need affection, attention,» I say.

«I think you’re right. A blind man can probably see. My husband is not bad. He’s even cute, but I need subtlety in feelings and at the same time a real man, and I’ve known him so long and well, and I just get annoyed by his antics, his rudeness. One day I can play the role of a happy woman, and the next day I can’t. Here is such a gimmick I have.

— Is he jealous of you?»

«Yes, he’s jealous…»

I let her fasten the collar around my neck. Vera especially likes the ending of the failed orgy. She leads me on a gold chain to my place of confinement.

— Not when a person is jealous when he loves, but when he wants to be loved.

«Who said that?» she shudders.

«An English philosopher.

«Don’t tell me about London.

Vera is angry. Her husband has been detained there for more than the prescribed period. She stops before closing the door behind her and turns around. I sit on my bed and leaf through a volume of lyrics.

— Why don’t you ever join us?» I look up from my book.

«It’s all blonde!» Vera smiles.

Usually after a hot tub, I don’t want to let her go. I’m hot right now. Instincts play, rush out like eager horses at the sight of an endless field. I won’t be here tomorrow. When Vera walks into my room, all she sees is an empty collar and a broken chain. I will break the chain on purpose, showing this haughty woman that I could leave her at any moment and only allow myself to be humiliated at will, not at her whim. She’ll be hurt. Perhaps she will suffer, look for me, accuse Mikhail Iosifovich of all the deadly sins, and in a few days her husband will return. And it’s like she’ll forget about me, forget my name, and maybe someday in a dream I’ll come to her, but it’ll just be a dream — a sweet moment of her bitter life that she won’t even be able to feel. «My poor Vera, you can be very beautiful in your dreams…»

POLITE ANIMALS

18+

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