Бесплатный фрагмент - Stories from Lyubavino. Chronicle of an extraordinary Incident

Chapter I The Bucket of Fate

The workers dug the trench without tears,

Mixing drinks, stories, and parties.

They came across a cable and said “hello” to the light.

Thus we get a funny storyline.)))

In a small, cozy provincial town with the pleasant-sounding name of Lyubavino, where life flowed along at a measured and comfortable pace, something truly extraordinary occurred! The sun had risen a little earlier than usual, the daily morning routine had been treacherously disrupted, and everyone’s beloved ritual morning beverages — hot tea and aromatic coffee, without which one simply cannot imagine a proper morning — had become the most coveted, yet, alas, utterly unattainable, like an evergreen oasis in the desert!

Why?

Because the town had been struck by a veritable emergency of catastrophic proportions!

The electricity had vanished without a trace!… And it had conveniently taken the gas, the water, and… oh, Heavens!… even the internet with it!

This catastrophe had befallen the townsfolk on a day sacred to every working person — a Friday. And right from the crack of dawn! To be even more precise, it had struck during the very night — precisely from Thursday into Friday.

At the time, no one could have guessed that the culprits were none other than the infamous “Whoo-hoo!” crew — consisting of Zhenya the excavator operator, Lyosha the tractor driver, and the dashing worker trio of Sasha, Dima, and Valera. And, of course, their ringleader, Mikhalych, a foreman with sky-blue eyes and a soul cheerful enough to liven up even a funeral home. Together, they formed a volatile mixture capable of unleashing chaos in the most peaceful corner of the universe.

It should be noted that they had pulled off this large-scale “stunt” not entirely of their own accord. Although, of course, it took a special kind of talent to make such a grand mess of things.

Now, recalling those most amusing events that stirred our — allow us to say without exaggeration — truly delightful little town, it’s impossible to suppress a good-natured smile.

And it all began quite ordinarily and innocently, giving no hint of the catastrophically funny things to come…

So, dear reader, a couple of days before this very incident, at one of the sites under the crew’s care, Zhenya the excavator operator, in the process of laying pipes, accidentally struck “manna from heaven” in the form of a defunct copper cable!

And that, friends, is where it all started. This is precisely why the Whoo-hoo Crew fell behind schedule and was forced to make up for lost time in crash mode, and at an ungodly hour at that. Which, in turn, led to those comical events that will be recounted shortly.

And really, who would have ever thought that in this sleepy, cozy town, as if it had stepped right out of a pastoral painting, where life flows at a leisurely pace and all the residents know each other not just by sight, but by the sound of their voice from behind a fence, such incredible stories could possibly occur? That right here, among the idyllic streets, drowning in greenery, where even the local cats merely raise a lazy eyebrow at the sight of a dog, and the postman knows everyone by name, something so unexpected and downright hilarious could unfold?

But let us lay it all out for you in order…

So, this defunct copper cable had apparently been lying there since the days when the word “internet” would only elicit bewilderment from a Soviet citizen. Then and there, after a brief consultation, Mikhanych’s brigade unanimously decided to pull out a bit of this very cable for their personal, so to speak, needs. Which Zhenya successfully did, procuring a couple of meters to the delight of the entire crew, which had immediately and noticeably perked up. Their working day concluded right then and there. Sasha and Lyosha promptly cashed in the found treasure at a non-ferrous metal collection point (fortunately, in Lyubavino, everything was close at hand).

The cable brought our crew a tidy sum, and, of course, the lads immediately threw a merry banquet and stocked up on the full spectrum of strong libations, not forgetting a modest but soul-warming snack — all in order to properly celebrate this generous gift from fate that had so timely fallen on their heads, literally from the heavens.

By the end of the shift, the site foreman found the entire “Whoo-hoo!” crew in a state of rare unanimity and exceptional mental elation. The men were munching on their latest rounds of fiery liquid with an appetite worthy of a king’s python. Witnessing this spectacle, the site supervisor unleashed a torrent of curses and, with a frustrated wave, disappeared beyond the horizon.

Meanwhile, it was getting late in the evening. The party was in full swing, and memories flowed like a river. The men were reminiscing about various incidents in their lives, delving into the most amusing details. Suddenly, Mikhalych became animated and slapped his knee, causing Sasha to shudder as if he had been electrocuted.

“Sasha, come on, confess,” Mikhalych’s voice rang out with intriguing notes, “you probably haven’t heard about our famous epic about Zhenya and the plumbers. Or has someone already blabbed about it?”

“No… I didn’t hear…” Sasha shook his head, feeling that something grand awaited him.

Sasha was a round-faced lad with a thick, straw-colored mop of hair sticking out in all directions, as if he’d just been pulled from an electrical socket. His most prominent feature was a snub, freckled nose. From his earliest days, he had been obsessed with motorcycles: he slept with “IZH” catalogues and dreamed of a “Yamaha.” Having recently joined this brigade, he didn’t know that the local stories were more than just bedtime tales; every story smelled of diesel fuel, alcohol, and adventure.

The men, immediately grasping what story was coming, exchanged glances and burst into joyful guffaws.

Zhenya — a swarthy, curly-haired fellow with enormous brown eyes that held the entire tragedy of his heroic past — merely let out a heavy sigh. Feigning a scowl, he cast a gaze around the laughing company, but the corners of his lips betrayed him with a treacherous quiver, revealing a hidden smile. For everyone else, it was a hilarious story. For Zhenya, it meant a month in a hospital bed and eternal ribbing from his comrades.

“And what are you all laughing at?! I spent a whole month laid up in the hospital after that!” he exclaimed with feigned indignation, the same roguish grin still on his face.

“But Zhenya, you’re a real HERO! No!” the excited foreman shouted even louder. “You are the most exemplary, responsible CI-TI-ZEN!!!” — and Mikhalych’s index finger hovered in the air above everyone’s heads, like a solid, physical exclamation mark.

Mikhalych, a wiry, hardy man in his fifties, had wide-open, childlike blue eyes, the corners of which were crinkled with laughter lines. He was barely containing the chuckle that bubbled up inside him. In good company, with a shot glass in his hand, Mikhalych was transformed — his energy was downright infectious.

“No, I mean it, good for you! You thought about the people around you, you worried about their safety…”

“So, what happened then?” Sasha couldn’t hold back, his whole demeanor radiating impatience to hear the story.

Mikhalych mysteriously raised his shot glass. Everyone clinked glasses together and heartily dug into the snacks. Only Zhenya, making a face, knocked it back in one gulp without even reaching for a bite.

And since Mikhalych was known among his friends as the most skilled storyteller, he was the one who began this entertaining tale:

“This happened last August. Our Zhenya here was backfilling the trench after connecting the heating main. It was a Friday evening, right before the weekend. Everyone had gone home, and there was nobody left at the site. Only our watchman, Ivanych, was around, and even then, the guy has been stone deaf in both ears for years. And you can hardly drag him out of his guard shack for anything. So anyway, Zhenya had been messing with something longer than everyone else and was the last one heading to get changed, when he suddenly sees — the manhole cover had been left open!”

“What manhole?” Sasha asked, interested.

“To the underground heating unit, you know, where all the pipes from the heat main are… valves, check valves, pressure gauges, and all that stuff… So, our valiant Zhenya is standing there, scratching his head and thinking: “Well, would you look at that! They left the manhole open! Two days off ahead, kids are running around here — who knows, someone might just fall in! Ought to cover it up…“” Mikhalych cartoonishly portrayed Zhenya scratching his head and, with the zeal of a seasoned storyteller, continued: “And since he couldn’t find the manhole cover anywhere nearby, he had a simply genius idea!” Here he jabbed his index finger against his forehead and declared with pathos: “Absolutely astounding, for an excavator operator!.. Our Zhenya starts up his excavator again, drives up to the manhole, and without a second thought, plops the enormous bucket right down on top of the opening!” Mikhalych accompanied this with a very eloquent gesture.

And then Zhenya, unable to contain himself, chimed in:

“Yeah… I’m walking away, all proud of myself. So, I think, now no one’s gonna take a tumble in there, can head home easy. Did a good deed…” He fell silent, heaved another deep, disappointed sigh, and then waved his hand dismissively into nowhere.

“So, here’s the thing,” said Mikhalych, nodding sympathetically at Zhenya, and continued in an ironic-mocking tone: “After having a good drink with us on Friday, going fishing with us again on Saturday,” — Mikhalych used a glass, filled to the brim, to gesture in a circle, indicating all the men sitting at the table — “and after celebrating some buddy’s birthday on Sunday, the poor fellow finally made it to work on Monday. The excavator, his pride and joy, is parked up, bucket on the ground. He fires up the engine and, of course, lifts the bucket!..” Mikhalych paused, hanging on an intriguing cliffhanger…

The men buzzed with eager interest, demanding the continuation.

“So, turns out, our valiant guardian of order locked up a whole crew of our plumbers there for the entire weekend!!!” What a coincidence, I ask you!..” Mikhalych, feigning wide-eyed astonishment, swept his gaze over the laughing faces of his friends and continued with drunken enthusiasm: “Can you imagine, just before leaving, these comrades, distinguished by their particular intellect and quick-wittedness, after their shift, decided it was a brilliant idea to polish off a bottle among the three of them! And they couldn’t find a single other place for it, the weirdos!..”

The men, chuckling, hung on every word uttered by their quick-tongued foreman. It wasn’t the first time they were listening to this comical yet simultaneously tragic story as told by Mikhalych, and and every time, it was an absolute masterpiece! And besides, Mikhalych was known as a humorous and eloquent fellow, with a good imagination and considerable storytelling talent. So even Zhenya, despite this being a tale of his own misadventures, was thoroughly enjoying being immersed once again in the captivating plot.

“So,” Mikhalych went on, “the heat was unbearable back then. They decided to sneak off somewhere for a quiet drink. They figured the coolest spot would be the utility vault, you know, where the heating pipes are! And why not? It was pretty comfortable in there… A little room, about two by two meters; you could get quite cozy. There was a place to lay out their snacks and booze, and room to sit down.

And so, as was to be expected, they went on a proper bender. They poured so much down their collars that they passed out cold, right there in the vault. And as fate would have it, it was precisely at that moment that our valiant Zhenya, wanting to protect the public, started up his excavator and placed the bucket squarely over the open manhole. He then headed home, proud of his good deed.

So the plumbers woke up in utter, tomb-like darkness, with no idea where they were or what had happened.’ He laughed, picturing the sheer absurdity of it all. ‘Just imagine — pitch black, concrete all around, cramped, terrifying! In their hungover haze, they’d completely forgotten where they’d chosen to sleep it off…

Well, one of them, Vasily Gavrilov — Vaska, you know him by now,” Mikhalych nodded at Sasha, “managed to strike a match to see what was going on. And that’s when, before the eyes of these hardened plumbers — men who’d seen a thing or two in their lives and were, let’s be frank, bricking it from fear — a reality no less harsh was revealed: they were trapped in a concrete box, sealed in by several tons of excavator bucket.”

Here, Mikhalych got slightly distracted, raising another shot. With a faux-profound look, he declared solemnly: “It’s not scary when your ass leads you to adventure… What’s scary is when adventure leads you to your ass! There!” As if to confirm the truth of his latest witticism, he raised his index finger affirmatively.

The men burst into unanimous guffaws, nodding their heads in agreement.

Mikhalych, snickering boyishly and unable to contain a fresh wave of laughter, went on:

“So let’s, fellas, hee-hee-hee… let’s drink to… to everything being in its proper place for each of us!.. And for adven… hee-hee… for for-tu…” — here he completely gave up, waved his hand dismissively, and burst into tears of laughter.

The entire work crew roared with laughter, following their foreman’s lead.

A little later, having had their fill of laughter, wiped away a tear, taken a drink and a bite to eat, Mikhalych, skillfully stoking everyone’s curiosity, continued:

“So, there they are, sitting in this tiny two-by-two meter cubicle, surrounded by concrete, and the only window to the outside world is blocked by something heavy and clearly immovable! The poor devils didn’t know then that they were stuck there, of all places, until Monday morning! They did have, fortunately for them, one bottle of water to share among themselves and half a loaf of sausage. Not to mention the fact that they had to improvise a latrine right there on the spot!!!”

Mikhalych’s face contorted into a perfect pantomime of tortured revulsion, his entire posture screaming the unbearable plight of plumbers trapped in a

latrine-less prison. Then, switching gears in a heartbeat, he brandished three splayed fingers under the noses of his listeners and carried on, his voice dripping with theatrical passion:

“Pushing three whole days! Can you conceive of it?! In a four-meter square!!! Just picture the scene!.. So there’s our three-man crew of plumbers, now completely and utterly feral… you have to imagine this spectacle! These are serious men, coarse, men of few words, with fists like blocks of granite… And then, when our ever-so-thoughtful Zhenya,” — Mikhalych jabbed mockingly — “hoisted his excavator bucket, they, naturally, were thirsting for blood. By that point, their rage was so absolute, they came spewing out of that hole like demons vomited forth from the infernal pits! And each face was a train wreck, uglier than Quasimodo’s worst day! And they’re armed, I tell you: one with an adjustable wrench, another with a beast of a thirty-two-millimeter… The moment Zhenya laid eyes on that whole apocalypse bearing down upon his very soul… he was blown out of the excavator’s cab at the speed of sound! And then, all hell broke loose!!!”

“And then Zhenya, with eyes as big as saucers, takes off running for all he’s worth, with no particular destination in mind. And hot on his heels, with curses that would make a sailor blush and the most blood-curdling death threats, come these three horsemen of the apocalypse, holy moly… in the form of these grimy, furious plumbers, clutching, and I mean clutching, these monstrous pipe wrenches in their gnarled, work-calloused hands!” — Mikhalych gestured vividly to convey the sheer, unimaginable size of the wrenches and the calloused hands — “Chasing after them comes the supervising foreman, white as a sheet from pure terror. Then our boys, seeing the commotion, joined in the fray, and I was right behind them… And so there we were, all running after one another in a giant circle, just running… We must have done a good five laps, for sure, when their Kostya upped and hurled that damn thirty-two-millimeter wrench, smack dab into our Zhenya’s head.”

“Well, it mowed down our intrepid soldier of the hidden fronts right in mid-stride! The vision, I tell you plainly, was not for the squeamish! The Battle of Kulikovo can take a holiday, right alongside the Battle on the Ice!* They swarmed over him, a single furious mob, and we swarmed over them… They wouldn’t back down an inch, pounding him with anything they could lay their hands on. And that Kostya, he was downright trying to gnaw his ear clean off…”

“Somehow, by some miracle, we managed to wrestle him back from the clutches of those zombie-plumbers. The final result? We carted our poor, unfortunate Zhenya off to the hospital with a shiner under his eye the size of a dinner plate, a broken rib, a cracked skull, and a thoroughly chewed-up ear.”

The whole boisterous, well-lubricated company was now bent double, howling with laughter, but Sasha’s infectious, pealing laugh rose above all others. Only Zhenya stood apart, barely suppressing a smile, gazing upon the rest with proud defiance as he gently rubbed his heroic, patched-up left ear — a veritable roadmap of stitches and glorious combat scars.

“Oh, he’s a great one for cooking up some weekend trouble, that one!” Mikhalych went on with gusto. “The stories about him are piled up to the rafters!..” — and to illustrate his point, he sketched something immense and immeasurable in the air with his hands.

“Take his first winter with us, for instance. He decided to save time on warming up his excavator in the mornings. So, you know what he dreamed up?!…” — Mikhalych turned to Sasha again, who responded with nothing but a puzzled shake of his head. “And the frosts we had that year — don’t even get me started!..” — He gave a sudden, full-body shudder, as if that bitter, icy cold had pierced him to the bone even now, and added with a dramatic sigh: “And it wasn’t just for a day or two…”

Here, Mikhalych paused and poured everyone another round. They clinked their glasses in unison, took their drinks, and followed them with a bite to eat.

“So, our bright spark was suffering then, warming up his machine for an hour, hour and a half every morning. He kept racking his brains, trying to figure out a scheme…”

He made a theatrical pause, allowing his listeners to fully absorb the anticipation.

“So, our local genius, our regular Kulibin, sees this — steam, hot steam, pouring out from a manhole cover… So-o-o, he just stands there, thinking, ‘What a brilliant solution! I’ll just park the belly of my excavator over that hot steam, and it’ll be absolutely perfect!’ Without a second thought, he drives right on over it, and then, his brilliant mind is already racing ahead, and he’s rejoicing: ‘What bliss! Come Monday, I’ll get to sleep in a whole hour longer!’”

Mikhalych rolled his eyes theatrically, imitating Zhenya’s blissful expression.

“And with a clear conscience and a sense of duty accomplished, he proudly carried his ‘bright little head’ home for the weekend, peace in his heart.”

The men, anticipating the punchline, exchanged merry glances and chuckled gleefully.

“So, we come in on Monday… The place is packed! The entire construction site is gathered! Over those two days, the excavator had turned into a literal iceberg! Can you even imagine?!.. A meter-thick layer of ice!!! A METER!!! There’s still a photo hanging in the site office to this day. It took us a whole week to thaw the thing out…”

The entire crew, groaning and snickering, their eyes wet with laughter, raised their glasses in unison to Zhenya — to his health and to his ever-so-“bright little head.”

Need I tell you, dear reader, that each of these men, in their work lives — which were meager on bonuses but rich in adventure — had their own share of absurd tales, and certainly more than one. But Zhenya stood out from the rest with a particular talent: thanks to his unconventional way of thinking, he consistently managed to get himself into situations that were… well, let us say, a touch more ludicrous than anyone else’s.

The next morning, so as not to cause any trouble for the site supervisor (and he was known to be a good sort), they put in a bit of work according to the schedule. After lunch, however, they returned to the previous day’s business, which had been left half-finished, and managed to pull out the entire cable, right to the end. Their haul was over fifty meters of a hefty, fat copper cable, for which they got a truly substantial sum. They gave the site supervisor a generous cut for his understanding of the situation and, naturally, stocked up on alcohol and snacks for another feast, to duly give thanks once more to the higher powers for their such benevolence towards them, mere mortals!

Once again, the air was filled with heated debates, discussions of burning issues, work stories, and army tall tales.

This time, Mikhalych, with great relish and fascinating detail, told the story of Lyosha the tractor driver, who, according to him, wasn’t just any tractor driver, but a genuine treasure hunter and a man blessed by Lady Luck.

“So, here’s how it went,” began Mikhalych, squinting and deliberately drawing out the pause to build suspense. “Lyosha was plowing a field for an acquaintance of his… An ordinary, everyday job, right? But that day, everything went, as they say, through a ve-ery well-known place…” Mikhalych gave a sly smirk, sweeping his assessing gaze over his audience. “Right at the edge of the field, his plow suddenly hit something — like it was a concrete slab. Lyosha, of course, started with a few choice curses, thinking he’d hit another damned boulder. But when he took a closer look, he was stunned: sticking out of the ground was a whole clump of fused copper plates, like the scaled skin of some giant serpent turned inside out. Turns out, it wasn’t just rusty junk, but the real deal — ancient coins, ‘scales’ they call them, from pre-Petrine times, I think! Well, can you imagine?! The uproar that caused — you wouldn’t believe it! Our local archaeologists were drooling — clearly, they’d been dreaming of such a find their whole lives, and then here’s our Lyosha, a tractor driver from the back of beyond, who goes and stumbles right into history! TV crews showed up with their cameras, newspapermen swarmed him like locusts, and our modest Lyosha was a local celebrity for a whole week. Right, Lyosha?” Mikhalych winked at the man of the hour, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “The find, of course, was promptly scooped up by the ‘right people,’ but the field’s owner still rewarded Lyosha — with cash. Not a gold ingot, mind you, but it was enough for a couple of crates of Zhiguli beer…”

Mikhalych proposed another toast, and the men, listening in rapt attention, could only shake their heads in wonder, glancing at Lyosha with a mixture of admiration and mild envy.

It must be noted, our dear reader, that Lyosha was, in general, a man upon whom life had smiled with particular favor. If he got into a car accident, he would emerge without a single scratch, although the car itself would be damaged beyond repair. He would frequently find money lying right on the road — and in bills, no less, and not small ones. He would regularly stumble upon forgotten troves of scrap metal — abundant remnants of metal structures left in the fields and rivers of Russia — which he would then sell for a handsome sum and use the proceeds to spoil his wife.

In short, Lyosha was lucky: one day he’d find a treasure, the next he’d win the lottery. The men, listening to Mikhalych, just kept shaking their heads: “Well, some people have all the luck!” — and with a certain degree of awe, they kept glancing in the direction of Lyosha, that born lucky charm.

“Yeees…” Mikhalych drew out the word philosophically, bringing the point home, “it seems if our Lyosha were sent to the Sahara, he’d manage to find a diamond vein there, and stumble upon an oil field for good measure!”

The company burst into unanimous guffaws, while Lyosha, casting a modest glance downward, merely smirked:

“Well, it happens…”

And so Mikhalych, holding forth on the benevolence of the heavenly powers as manifested in the discovery of the copper cable, came to a “sober” conclusion that such a stroke of luck was none other than the doing of Lyosha, their fortunate talisman. For, as soon as he had joined their crew, good fortune itself had simply floated right into their hands. Mikhalych raised a shot to Lyosha and his luck, which seemed to have been stashed in his pocket since the very day he was born. The men unanimously joined in, knocked back their last shots, and, content with both themselves and the presence of such a lucky individual in their ranks, began to leisurely gather their things and head home. Tomorrow was a new workday, the free-for-the-taking cable had been fully extracted, the celebration was over, and the usual work routine awaited them in the morning.

Mikhalych and Lyosha proudly carried home crumpled five-thousand-ruble notes to their wives — an ironclad justification for two evenings missed by the family hearth. The remaining members of the “whoo-hoo crew,” as yet unburdened by family ties, proudly carried their earnings home to themselves — without any need for excuses to anyone.

And so, the morning of the fateful day arrived. There was no sign of trouble — until the site foreman, flushed and agitated, burst in to tell Mikhalych that the inspectors were coming tomorrow and the crew was hopelessly behind schedule, all thanks to their irresponsible deviation from the plan over the last two days!

“What are we going to do?!” wailed Vasily Sergeich — for that was the foreman’s name — for the entire office to hear. “We’re this far behind! And you’re still here with your cables and your drunken orgies!”

Ninochka, the secretary, passing by, shot them a sidelong glance. Her mind operated on a unique and mysterious wavelength. She interpreted the word “cables” in the only way she found intelligible. But her brain failed to connect the image of Foreman Mikhalych with an orgy of drunken male dogs, and so, shaking her mane of curly red hair in disapproval, she hurried on her way.

“Mikhalych, we’re utterly screwed tomorrow if we don’t at least start digging for those pipes…”

“Ah, don’t you worry…” he replied calmly, scratching his stomach.

“Don’t worry?! What do you mean, ‘don’t worry’? ! What kind of ‘don’t worry’ is that?!” Vasily Sergeich was on the verge of hysterics.

“It’s time to take a crap, and we haven’t even eaten!..” Mikhalych grumbled, for the hundredth time repeating his favorite saying about falling behind schedule. “Stop your trembling, Sergeich… The lads and I will put our backs into it now… We’ll sort this out properly, the way adults do. How does it go with them, over the hill? ‘Do or die…’ And how is it with us? ‘Die, but get it done…’ That’s the whole difference, Sergeich! And who are we? We’re Russian! Tha-a-a-at’s it!..” Jabbing a finger toward the sky and proudly lifting his chin, he strode off with a purposeful step toward his crew.

The men had been toiling like damned souls the entire shift, yet the lag behind schedule was atrocious. It was unanimously resolved — or, to be more precise, Vasily Sergeich resolved — that these good-for-nothings, meaning the entire crew, would have to make up for two days of slacking. He ordered them to work until full darkness. It was summer, the days were long, and even at ten in the evening it was still quite light. And if need be, they did have some lighting, however meager.

Mikhalych, not wishing to sour relations with the site foreman, reluctantly agreed. No one wanted a dressing-down or to be stripped of their bonuses. Their pay wasn’t great to begin with. And besides, at this time of year, the evenings were indeed as bright as day. It was June, the peak of the summer solstice. The fine weather was conducive, and so it was collectively decided to stay on until twilight.

With silent steps, the summer night drew near, filling the air with the many-voiced chorus of crickets and the whisper of foliage. With each passing minute, the sky grew a deeper hue, the world grew still, and the surrounding villages, as if on command, sank into slumber. But within the brigade, in defiance of the pervasive tranquility, the work did not cease for a second.

It must be noted, dear reader, that in these parts, one seldom saw light in the windows late at night. The locals had lived since time immemorial by an established principle: “Early to bed and early to rise!” Even in the district center, life gradually ground to a halt: in the freshly painted five-story buildings, the little lights winked out one after another, the streets grew empty, and only rarely did the late gleam of headlights flicker in the distance.

The “Whoo-hoo!” crew was already well on its way to the desired result when suddenly, let’s not be afraid of the word, IT arrived — that fateful moment!

From under the excavator’s bucket came a deafening “BO-BOOM!” A blinding flash erupted, the ground shuddered and for a moment gave way beneath their feet, and a dazzling pillar of light shot into the sky. Acrid smoke began to pour from the freshly dug pit, and Mikhalych only had time to catch a glimpse with one eye as his faithful eagles — Sasha, Dima, and Valera — illuminated by an infernal glow, were sent flying in different directions like rag dolls.

Sasha plummeted into the nearest bushes like a sack of potatoes; Dima, having spun gracefully in mid-air, landed in a nearby hole; and Valera, as if attempting to break the world record for the long jump, vanished beyond the visible horizon.

Casting a terrified glance toward the excavator cab where Zhenya was sitting (a dramatic image that would be seared into his memory for life), Mikhalych saw the enormous, saucer-wide, utterly deranged eyes of Zhenya the excavator operator.

The settlement with the charming name of Lyubavino and all the surrounding villages were instantly plunged into darkness. An ominous, tomb-like silence fell all around, promising nothing good.

Suddenly, this silence was torn apart by a strange sound — something between a muffled collective shriek and a drawn-out howl. It slowly spread across the land, swelling and filling everything around. The members of the “Whoo-hoo Crew,” already scared out of their wits, felt shivers running down their spines, and the hair on the back of their necks stood on end.

“Folks, is everyone alive?” Mikhalych croaked in a voice not his own, crouching down from fright.

His throat was parched from the shock, and in his chest, his heart, driven wild by terror, fluttered frantically, as if trying to leap out and make a run for it.

“Yeeeah… sort of…” came the discordant, out-of-sync replies from Sasha, Dima, and Valera. Their soot-smudged, haggard faces, with a feverish glint in their eyes, kept peeking out from the most unlikely hiding spots. Their disheveled hair and fear-contorted silhouettes looked cartoonish in the gathering dusk.

“We must’ve hit some power cables! Now we’re in a right mess!..” Mikhalych rasped out again.

“Mikhalych, are you crazy? We’re following the project plan, it’s not our fault!” Sasha and Valera started wailing in unison.

“They told us where to dig, so we dig there. How is any of this on us?” Dima chimed in.

“Oh, sure…” Mikhalych was breathing heavily, his hands planted on his knees, waiting for his heart to gradually settle down.

“Mikhalych, you should just catch your breath, look at you… you’re pale as a ghost…” Lyosha noted with concern.

“Catch my breath… for fuck’s sake…” Mikhalych gave a philosophical smirk. “To stay calm, I’d have to be gobbling down valerian! Striding across a field, tearing it up and swallowing it without even chewing… Roots and all!.. Till it’s sprouting out of my damn ears!”

The crew burst out laughing. Even in the darkest moments, when a situation felt like it was ripped from a horror film, Mikhalych maintained the serenity of a Buddhist monk. His jokes, sharp as a nail in your boot sole, served as an unmistakable signal: panic was hereby declared illegal.

“We’ve got two options, lads: we either laugh, or we panic. And our panic comes with a ‘deluxe’ package — complete with an ambulance, the big bosses, and possibly an exorcist. So laugh, boys, it’s cheaper and far better for your health!” Mikhalych was fond of saying in tough times.

“Now, just hold on, Mikhalych… They’ll figure out tomorrow where these cables came from. And as for us… we’re just the hands… the hired help,” Dima reasonably pointed out, a smile already playing on his lips.

“Only now we’re in for a world of trouble… a real earful,” Mikhalych exhaled with vexation. “And tomorrow, the inspectors will be descending on us… Damn them all…!” He clutched his chest once more. “Zhenya, you alive over there?”

“Yeah, sort of… alive,” Zhenya’s voice quivered. “The bucket was nearly torn clean off.” He wiped the sweat from his face and was surprised to find his hands shaking with a fine tremor. In fact, his whole body was shuddering slightly. He’d been through all sorts of things in his life, but this was a first.

“We’re actually lucky it didn’t turn out worse!” Dima remarked, cautiously peering into the trench. “Holy smokes! There are several cables in here!” he gasped, grabbing his head in disbelief.

“Yeeeah… we’re screwed…” Sasha muttered pensively, squatting down on his haunches and lighting a cigarette.

Mikhalych finally straightened up and with a tragic air, delivered his verdict:

“Yeah… A total clusterfuck!.. And I’ll tell you what, boys, the time has come to look this fuckup right in the eye.”

With a heavy sigh, he waved his hand and trudged off to report to the bosses on the emergency line, despite the late hour.

The following morning, the little town was abuzz like a disturbed beehive. Everyone, from the youngest to the oldest, was trying to figure out where the electricity and other customary blessings of civilization had vanished.

The more advanced pundits, those with but a superficial grasp of the issue, were foaming at the mouth, vehemently insisting: “That’s it, we’re done for! The Mayan apocalypse has arrived!”

And how could it be otherwise? The year was 2012 — the zenith of civilization, a time when humanity, having reached unprecedented heights, was awaiting with the greatest impatience… the end of the world. Surely, such a momentous year couldn’t pass in Lyubavino without a grand cosmic cataclysm!

And as you can see — they had finally gotten their wish! It had come to pass!.. Although, not quite in the form they had anticipated. But who pays any mind to such trivial details?

The local blogger, who fancied himself a sort of Raskolnikov chasing existential truth, or perhaps a Panikovsky in pursuit of the golden ratio of a sensational scoop, was dashing between administrative buildings like a fly in search of jam. He was greedily fishing for details, dreaming of crafting a bombshell report that would blow up the local social networks. The scent of a scandal was in the air! And this hero of our time was just about to rush beyond the district limits — if only to get his hands on the coveted “internet” — to immediately bestow upon humanity the blessing of his exposé.

Alas, the trail of the true culprits behind the collapse stubbornly eluded him. Instead, he found some hot-headed individuals who, threatening to relieve him of his expensive equipment (and, for good measure, a couple of his teeth), quickly explained to the promising journalist that silence is golden, while a scandal guaranteed a hole in the budget and some serious health issues.

As for the town’s mayor, he was beside himself. And not so much because of the sudden energy crisis, but rather because his personal, meticulously laid plans for the weekend had unexpectedly collapsed. Eyewitnesses claimed that the face of the city’s chief magistrate that day displayed the entire spectrum of human emotion — from righteous indignation to theatrical despair. It’s just that concern for the townsfolk seemed to have gotten lost somewhere within that spectrum.

Back at the office where our daring brigade worked, a great commotion had also ensued. It was no laughing matter — to leave an entire district without power. It was fortunate that a backup line existed for the local factory and hospital; the electricians were now working urgently to connect them to it.

The chief power engineer arrived with his entourage. A whole crowd of people with intelligent faces, armed with maps and schematics, was anxiously inspecting the area where Zhenya had stumbled upon the power cable just the day before.

“What the bloody hell is this cable doing here?! It can’t be here, it’s impossible! How on earth did this happen?!” the chief power engineer was indignantly exclaiming, waving his papers around.

Arguing amongst themselves, the noisy delegation spent a long time pacing back and forth across the site. After prolonged and heated disputes, a decision was reached: to dish out well-deserved reprimands to all responsible parties and to shift the trench thirty meters to the side.

Zhenya, who still hadn’t quite recovered from the previous day’s shock, timidly inquired:

“And are you sure… there’s absolutely nothing here?”

To which the chief power engineer replied with utmost conviction:

“Everything that was here, you bloody well pulverized yesterday!!!”

“Well, I guess… The boss is always right!” Zhenya muttered under his breath.

The excavator purred to life peacefully once more, and the crowd dispersed. And literally fifteen minutes later…

Dear reader, can you imagine what happened fifteen minutes later?!!!

Well, this time, against the backdrop of an unbelievably bright, blinding flash — so intense that Zhenya thought, “THAT’S IT!!! This is THE END!!!” — his entire short and somewhat wayward life began to flash before his eyes, slowly, frame by frame. And it must be said, he wasn’t too far from the truth.

The scene unfolded like something out of a top-tier Hollywood blockbuster, only in slow motion. A deafening clap, more akin to an explosion, accompanied by a tremendous detonation. A torrent of blinding light, erupting from beneath the earth and shooting straight up into the bluest of skies. Acrid smoke, lazily creeping out of the half-dug pit. And finally, the excavator’s bucket, now melted and bleached white, scraping metallically as it swayed dejectedly in the smoky haze right before Zhenya’s very eyes… For a fleeting moment, he thought he had died.

The other representatives of the “Whoo-hoo!” crew and other workers, well aware of yesterday’s events, wisely kept their distance from the working excavator this time. Just in case.… And when “all that crap” happened (as Mikhalych later so aptly dubbed the incident), they were all sent flying in an instant, like pins in a rundown bowling alley.

A minute later, the picture took on its final form: the clouds of smoke dissipated, revealing a truly epic scene. In the center of the chaos, sitting in his cockpit like a newly crowned emperor on a throne made of iron and diesel fuel, was Zhenya. However, the throne was swaying precariously, and the emperor had a slight pallor. Petrified, like an ancient statue, with eyes the size of soup plates, he looked around him with unseeing eyes, feeling his hair stand on end all over his body, including hair he never even knew he had.

The excavator’s bucket, now wobbling and missing one tooth, having ultimately failed to endure this second misfortune inflicted upon it in the last twelve hours, let out a drawn-out metallic groan of despair… And finally, the finishing touch: from the ravine, like timid groundhogs, the grimy faces of the workers were cautiously peeking out, clearly uncertain whether they should abandon such a safe haven at all.

As it was later established, those were the emergency backup cables.

Oh yes… Those very ones… For the factory, the hospital, and something else besides…

Chapter II Friday’s Apocalypse

The power went out for the long haul, right over the weekend.

It’s hard to imagine what would become of the world.

But for those with a Russian soul, this fact is of no importance —

A Russian can tough it out, a Russian is fearless!

All this debacle struck with impeccably poor timing — on a Friday. And Friday, as everyone knows, is not merely a day of the week, but a sacred boundary between the heroic labors of the workweek and lawful idleness. This was especially true given that the weekend was looming, and half of the management was already blissfully basking on their vacation shores.

Consequently, no one was in any particular hurry to repair the damages. Everyone understood that the problem would be tackled in earnest only on Monday. Unless, of course, fortune smiled, and someone was given a little ‘motivational push’ to speed things up, in which case, perhaps, a bit earlier.

The people were not spoiled; they could endure a little hardship — it was summer, warm, and for the most part, light outside… these weren’t the nineties, after all. If anything, they’d manage somehow. And so, while there was a fair bit of grumbling, the people, having no means to influence the course of events, were forced to return to their daily routines, dealing with the lack of electricity, gas, and water as problems cropped up for each household.

Some had generators, purchased for their business or for the house, you know, just in case. Others still had wood-burning stoves in their homes. Some, for a rainy day, had stocked up on portable gas camping stoves. And in the villages, almost everyone had a banya and a well in their yard. So, they improvised as best they could.

The whole affair might have passed smoothly and without incident had we been, say, somewhere over there — in the civilized Western countries, where the local folk, with an air of refined resignation, patiently await the restoration of such strategic resources as light, gas, and water. But this all happened in the vast expanses of our God-preserved Mother Russia. In its very heartland. Where dwells a people of a most restless nature, blessed with that legendary restlessness that simply won’t give their hands, feet, or backsides (and most likely all of the above) a moment’s peace!

That enigmatic, unquiet Russian soul, forever thirsting for the unknown, tirelessly striving to break free from the shackles of stability and tranquility, found in this unprecedented collapse the most fertile soil for its unique self-expression. As a result, the local populace saw their already formidable imagination grow tenfold. And with it awoke an insatiable craving for ingenious inventiveness. And all this only served to exacerbate the locals’ peculiar propensity for truly farcical adventures.

To put it bluntly, every single thing that can get aggravated in a Russian in such a situation, did. And these lovely, simple, kind-hearted folks started getting into some fantastically bizarre mischief! Each as best they knew how! A performance dictated by their wits, their strength, and the enigmatic Russian soul residing within each of them…

Chapter III Football, Beer, and The Bucket of Fate

We watched the finale, full of cheer,

Then — darkness! What a nasty trick!

The fans let out a sigh, so sad and sincere.

That evening, a considerable portion of the male population of the settlement was forced to live through one of their most terrifying nightmares — a nightmare that any devoted football fan could only conjure in their most feverish dreams.

Just minutes before Zhenka stumbled upon that ill-fated cable, the television was broadcasting a football match that the settlement’s football-crazed males had been eagerly anticipating. The men, heated and intense, with a beer in one hand and dried fish in the other, were frozen before their television screens in a state of the highest possible mental tension, at times even forgetting to breathe.

Zenit was playing against Spartak, and the broadcast was at that very moment showing the match’s climactic peak. A player from one of the teams was taking a free kick from thirty-five meters out. He began his run-up from the center circle and, covering the long distance with immense, powerful strides, made an impressive wind-up with his kicking leg and, with all the passion of his footballing soul, connected solidly with the ball…

It was a curling shot… The ball spun and soared towards the goal on a trajectory known only to the two of them. The stands erupted in a frenzied roar… The supporters — both of Spartak and of Zenit — in a single, unrestrained surge, leaped from their chairs and sofas in unison with the fans from the television.

Frozen in ridiculous, contorted poses on half-bent legs, with bulging, crazed eyes and agape, twisted mouths, they were suspended in a paroxysm of rapturous ecstasy — some in anticipation of imminent victory, others in the face of inexorably looming defeat. A moment later, practically in an unconscious state, they were already completely and utterly glued to their television screens…

When suddenly, at this very (and let us not shy from the word) MEGA-DRAMATIC moment, the iron bucket of Zhenka’s excavator treacherously severed the television broadcast!

The light died in their eyes — both literally and figuratively… A sound, something between a piercing shriek and a heartrending wail of disappointment, tore from the chest of every poor soul who had jerked upright in convulsive agony before their now-darkened TV screens!

This collective cry of despair, bursting from the open windows of numerous houses, rolled like a thunderous rumble over the settlement, suddenly plunged into the darkness of night. It instilled a most unpleasant feeling in the entire “ooh-ah crew,” who were standing in utter, pitch-black silence beside the freshly severed power cable.

But this football-related disappointment was the most harmless of what was to unfold in the settlement thereafter…

And now, dear reader, we shall delve, step by step, into the abyss of the ensuing events, so as not to disrupt the integrity of the picture — so endearing, at times absurd and comical, yet so dear to the heart of every Russian. For in the place of each hero described below, any mortal could easily find themselves — including you and I…

Chapter IV Night, a Naked Doctor, a Cat, and a Frying Pan

A naked fall right through a hatch!

What a situation!

For a decent doctor, it’s

A shame and indignation!

So, having somehow survived the nerve-shredding tension of the abruptly ended match, a young doctor named Sergey — who had recently moved to the area under the “Zemsky Doctor” program — downed the last of his now-warm beer in frustration, trying to soothe the emotional pain of a true fan.

Tormented by the uncertainty of the match’s outcome — the internet had finally given up the ghost — Sergey decided to get some fresh air on the balcony to clear his head. He had just washed up with the last of the warm water from the boiler, and since the apartment was stifling, he hadn’t bothered to get dressed.

So, he stepped out onto the balcony, naked as the day he was born, hoping to cool off. He paced leisurely, enjoying the cool night air, his mind circling back to the final moments of the interrupted match. He even recalled an old joke:

“The Champions League final, the climactic moment, a cold beer, and a comfortable chair. Perfection! Suddenly, a knock at the door. Cursing his luck, the man rushes to answer it, only to find an incredibly beautiful woman standing there. She throws her arms around his neck, whispering, ‘Darling, I want to be yours!’ And he groans, ‘Damn! Nooo! Why now??!!’”

Sergey chuckled to himself, picturing the poor man’s face, and was abruptly yanked back to his own dismal reality… What a letdown! He didn’t even have a beautiful girl at his door — just a power cut. That was it!

He paced the balcony, lost in thought, until his foot suddenly landed on something fragile… With a sickening crack, he lost his balance and plunged through the floor, his naked body now dangling from the ceiling of his neighbor’s balcony below!

But, dear reader, we must now step back from the further narration of this, to put it mildly, extraordinary curiosity that befell our young man, and tell you the story that preceded it all, so you can understand how this respected citizen ended up in such a comical — if not downright farcical — predicament.

The fact was, he had just acquired a one-room apartment. More precisely, he had bought it using the payments he was entitled to under the program we mentioned earlier, and he had immediately started renovations.

The loggia floor, a legacy from the previous owners, was covered in old, badly swollen laminate. Naturally, he decided to replace it with something more respectable. In fact, he had embarked on his “dream renovation”: new windows, underfloor heating — all the trappings of proper folks.

The repair crew had successfully pulled up the flooring on Thursday afternoon. And beneath it, they discovered… a fire hatch.

It turned out such hatches were installed on every loggia in the building. The opening was plugged with insulation, since below it was the neighbor’s loggia — already properly insulated, fully renovated, and quite cozy.

As for the downstairs neighbors, they were a veterinary doctor named Yelena (the best in the district, by the way) and her gorgeous, handsome cat, Marquis. This mischievous but affectionate tomcat had entered her life a couple of years earlier after his previous owners abandoned him at the clinic to be euthanized due to a serious illness. Yelena had nursed him back to health, fattened him up, neutered him — and was now the proud owner of a sleek, black-and-white, fluffy rascal, a beloved and inveterate prankster.

The cat heard his noble name from his owner only on rare occasions. She usually addressed him as “my little fluffy booty” — and that was when he was being an absolute angel. If he was misbehaving (which was far more often), he would be greeted with a stern “you fluffy butt” or “you brazen, shameless mug.” And she had a vast reserve of such epithets for every possible mood of her beloved human.

As fate would have it, Marquis’s owner was young, devilishly attractive, and — as you might have guessed — quite single. So, when she noticed the new tenant in her building, the young lady immediately concluded that a rather handsome and promising young man had moved in next door. And every time their paths crossed on the street or in the stairwell, and their gazes met, she was the first to shyly lower her eyes, blush, and feel a strange, inexplicable awkwardness that often puzzled her greatly.

Sergey, of course, had also noticed the lovely blonde. But that was as far as it went. Although his mother was already broadly hinting at a wedding and grandchildren (preferably in bulk and in the near future), he stood firm: career first, then — if he survived — his personal life. He still had five years to serve in Lyubavino, time enough to build a reputation as a competent specialist, and only then — onward to the city, to private practice and, perhaps, even to matrimony. But not now. Oh no. Heroic acts like marriage were only to be contemplated after reaching professional heights.

That was exactly his train of thought… until one evening he stepped out onto the balcony to get some air in his birthday suit.

He had completely forgotten about that wretched service hatch, and besides, it was dark. His mind was entirely occupied with the final moments of the match and the old joke. In short, after crashing through the insulation with a loud crack and making a hole in his neighbor’s stretch ceiling, he ended up dangling like a New Year’s gift bag — only instead of sweets inside, it was him. Desperately clutching the concrete edge of his balcony and frantically kicking his legs in the void, he tried to hold on and not fall through completely onto his charming neighbor below.

At the moment of his crushing fiasco, from the sheer suddenness and mild shock, he only managed to emit a few strange, loud, inarticulate sounds, very much like the cry of a seagull caught in a meat grinder… if such a thing were possible. Anyway, the evening for Sergei Alexandrovich instantly lost its languidness.

The noise immediately attracted the attention of the downstairs neighbor and her rather playful cat (especially since for cats, as we know, the night is for hunting). The young woman was seriously frightened, thinking that under the cover of the power outage, some unsavory characters were trying to break in, most likely with dubious intentions.

Yelena, on the verge of surrendering to Morpheus, had been performing her traditional evening routine. Her head was adorned with curlers that gave her the look of a little imp. Her face was covered with a thick, light-green mask, making her resemble a victim of botched Halloween makeup; and, as the cherry on top, bright white toe separators were proudly on display. She had been drying her nails, which she’d had to finish painting by flashlight. In short, she was decidedly not expecting visitors.

But the strange noise and the feeling of someone’s presence on the balcony forced Yelena to act. Feeling utterly defenseless, she decided to arm herself, confidently grabbing a hefty frying pan from the stove. Switching off her flashlight to avoid giving herself away, she held her breath. Trembling with fear, she quietly crept up to the kitchen window that opened onto the balcony.

And then… Oh gods! A scene beyond all description unfolded before her! Against the backdrop of the dark, star-studded sky, in the ghostly moonlight streaming onto the loggia, swinging in an eerily senseless manner were… a pair of long male legs!

Recoiling from the window, Yelena gasped and dashed back across the room toward the loggia door, clutching the frying pan tightly to her chest. And her faithful cat, Marquis, as if switching into hunter mode, strode ahead with the dignity of a lion.

Somewhere near the ceiling, in the darkness of the loggia, a silhouette was discernible. A male one. Or rather, only its lower half.

Her heart began to pound so loudly it seemed about to shatter the nocturnal silence — and her ribcage along with it. Her glasses were forgotten, and now only the vague outlines of the frightening figure were before her eyes. Was it a trick of the shadows, or something far more sinister? In the semi-darkness, her feminine imagination obligingly supplied the most terrifying scenarios — from burglars specializing in balcony break-ins to maniacs hunting single women.

She cautiously moved a little closer, threateningly raising the frying pan just in case.

The cat — that furry scoundrel — had taken a seat nearby, like the lord of the manor, and with undisguised curiosity began to study the twitching limbs of the newly appeared biped who had the unprecedented audacity to invade his domain. He, unlike his mistress, possessed excellent night vision and a sharp sense of smell and had immediately figured out where this mishap had fallen from.

Yelena, on wobbly legs, crept closer and, squinting hard (as all visually impaired people do), peered intently at the object of her interest… A-a-and… Indeed discovered bare, hairy male legs dangling in the air.

Not trusting her myopic eyes, she risked raising her gaze higher — to the point from which those very legs were growing! But whether it was disbelief at the sudden windfall of female happiness in the form of a naked man, or being even more frightened by it, she squeezed her eyes shut so tightly that her eyeballs nearly pierced the back of her own skull; from such a squeeze, she reflexively jerked backward.

And then it dawned on her: it was her upstairs neighbor. Or rather, his lower half.

But just how in the blazes did he end up here?! And absolutely stark naked, to boot!

With a purely feminine curiosity, after briefly studying the neighbor’s dangling lower portion, she suddenly came to her senses and, covering her eyes with her palm in a show of modesty, addressed the unexpected visitor with a rather strange question:

“Is that you?..”

Silence hung in the air… Only the cat sitting nearby, raising an eyebrow meaningfully, seemed to say: “Well, yes, of course it’s him. Who else could it be?”

Then she realized she had asked an absolutely foolish thing and posed a more sensible, or so it seemed to her, question:

“And how did you end up here??!” She still didn’t know the neighbor’s name.

Sergei, who until the last moment had naively believed his acrobatic sketch would remain a secret, upon hearing this fatal question from below, understood — his hopes were utterly shattered. He even thought he could hear the clinking sound of those shattering hopes.

What to say? His mind was filled with nothing but white noise. With a grimace of martyrdom on his face, he closed his eyes, pressed his lips together, and tried to pull himself up again. But yet another heroic attempt to climb back onto his own loggia ended in complete fiasco.

He was desperately lacking support. His shoulders and arms remained up top, but maintaining this position was becoming more and more difficult — the muscles in his arms were hopelessly beginning to tire. An acute necessity arose to haul up, as quickly as possible, everything that was so helplessly dangling down below.

Suddenly picturing his lower body in the company of the unfamiliar but very pretty girl, he realized with horror: he was absolutely, categorically naked!

Shame and awkwardness overwhelmed him. He was ready to sink through the ground! Although, dear reader, as you can see, he had already successfully managed to do just that!.. From a feeling of utter helplessness, Sergei let out a quiet whimper.

Meanwhile, Yelena cast a fleeting glance at her cat. He was focused to the utmost, and despite her own eyesight problems, she understood as clear as day: her fluffy strategist had declared a hunt on the neighbor’s “jingling bells” and was already preparing to charge after his prey with his signature victory cry of “Murr-meow!”

Having assessed the situation in the blink of an eye, she snatched a towel from the dryer with one graceful motion. She girded the loins of the poor soul whose future was now literally hanging by a thread, thereby saving not only him but also his reproductive prospects.

And, while she was at it, if truth be told, she covered up those anatomical details that so embarrassed her.

Sergei, feeling that his gaping nakedness had finally been charitably covered, was deeply embarrassed and, stammering slightly, shouted from above:

“Thank you… M-ma’am… I don’t know your name…”

For a moment, he considered going downstairs, but when he imagined the eyes of this young and attractive neighbor, he immediately dismissed the idea. “I’d better get up there somehow,” he decided. He would be unbearably ashamed to look into those eyes.

“Y-you’re welcome… Yelena, my name is Yelena Yuryevna…” she replied, matching his tone and also stammering from awkwardness.

“V-very nice to meet you… Sergei… Sergei Alexandrovich…”

“Likewise…” came the voice from below.

“What a wildly absurd situation I’ve gotten into… What a complete disaster!” he continued his mental monologue with inexpressible indignation. “Me, an educated man, a third-generation doctor, from a good family, and I end up in such a mess…!”

Fully aware that gravity is a treacherous lady and one can’t hang in such a position for long, the hereditary doctor nevertheless decided to try to get back up. In a slightly strained voice, he addressed his neighbor:

“Yelena, please don’t think me impudent… Would it be too much trouble to put something under my feet? P-please… I just need something to brace against…”

“Yes, yes, right away!” Yelena instantly vanished into the darkness of the apartment.

She, in turn, was also absolutely not keen on having the neighbor end up in her apartment, since she was in a state completely unsuitable for any kind of visit: practically half-naked, in a ridiculous short nightgown, without any underwear, in curlers, with a face mask on, and with her toes splayed apart due to the separators. And in the dead of night, no less! Quite a sight indeed! Therefore, just a moment later, Sergei found a pouf under his feet, and on it, a stool. Leaning on this wobbly but salvific construction, he managed to hoist himself back up.

Yelena followed the disappearing bare heels vanishing into the gaping hole in the ceiling with a pensive gaze. Suddenly, a realization dawned on her: she was going to miss this guest, who had appeared so unexpectedly and so dramatically. Along with it came the understanding of a bitter truth — her brand-new stretch ceiling was irrevocably ruined.

The towel that had slipped from Sergei Alexandrovich’s hips during his “vertical takeoff” lay forlornly on the floor.

“I’m sorry… Sergei Alexandrovich…” Yelena shouted into the black abyss. “You’ve gone and torn my ceiling here…”

After a short pause, a familiar, slightly guilty voice came from the hole:

“Yes, yes… I apologize, Yelena… Yelena Yuryevna… It turns out I have a hatch to the balcony here… And I completely forgot about it in the dark… I’ll compensate you for everything. I’ll send my ceiling guy over. Thank you… Sorry again… I’ll make it all right…”

“It’s quite alright…” Yelena replied, picking up the towel from the floor. “These things happen…”

But only one thought was spinning in her head: “Do these things really happen?!”

But, dear friend, the story of Yelena and Sergei does not end here at all. Oh no! It is only just beginning. And you and I are going to witness the development of their relationship, which undoubtedly promises to be no less spicy than the scene we have just described. Perhaps even more so…

We most certainly promise to share all the amusing details of their further interactions with you, a bit later, following the strictest chronology.

For now… meanwhile…

Chapter V The Glass Epic: The Beginning

Kids are life’s bouquet, it’s true,

But only when they’re not getting on you.

Meanwhile, it was Friday morning. In an apartment of a modest five-story building nearby, an intriguing series of events was beginning to unfold — a cycle so tragically comical and absurdly farcical that it could make even the most hardened cynic question the laws of the universe.

But as we all know, reality is what happens to us while we’re making other plans. And it must be said that reality’s plans for Nikolai Vladimirovich that weekend were truly grandiose.

And it all started with a Gogolesque prank. In fact, it was too Gogolesque.

On this fateful Friday, Nikolai Vladimirovich — a young man who seemed the picture of balance, with a good job, an exemplary family man, and the father of two charming children of the same age (a walking monument to domestic bliss, straight out of a mortgage advertisement) — instead of gently waking his wife with kisses, felt an irresistible urge…

No, not to work hard, but to crawl to his wife’s side of the bed. Yes, to that sacred territory of the marital bed where mere mortals are strictly and categorically forbidden to tread!

Why? A question worthy of Shakespeare’s pen! Perhaps it was retrograde Mercury, or perhaps simply a man’s desire for change. In any case, his wife’s spot seemed an oasis of comfort and coziness at that moment. He was determined to move there at all costs, eager to spend his precious morning hours in bliss.

With the tact of a bulldozer but the softness of a cat, Nikolai Vladimirovich carefully (yet persistently!) nudged his wife over and sprawled out on the conquered territory with the triumph of Napoleon entering a subdued Moscow. With relish, he inhaled the delicate scent of perfume and cosmetics emanating from her pillow.

His wife’s place, we must note, was on the side of the bedroom door.

Nikolai Vladimirovich was in a state of complete bliss! Vacation! No work! His wife — right there, next to him! The kids — somewhere around the house!

What more did this slightly portly cupid need for happiness?

Anna Vasilievna, his spouse — a pretty woman of about thirty, with a great sense of humor and a love of playing jokes on her beloved husband — was also enjoying the long-awaited vacation. Awakened by her husband’s maneuvering, she lay quietly beside him, buried in her phone, unsuccessfully trying to find a signal.

At that moment, the head of the family was blissfully lost in the deep embrace of Morpheus on his trophy pillow, sleeping, as they say, “without his hind legs” — that is, dead to the world. His excessively hairy feet, by the way, were sticking out from under the blanket with utter disregard for decorum.

And then his little daughter, Lyolya — an angelic sunbeam of a girl with pigtails, four years old — padded into her parents’ bedroom as usual, rubbing her sleepy eyes with a little pink fist, and suddenly froze in the doorway.

In her mama’s place — the most beautiful mama in the world — rested… hairy legs!

Lyolya’s eyes, usually the size of decent cherries, widened to the size of respectable saucers. A complex thought process was clearly taking place in her childish mind.

“Mama, wow, you have such hairy legs!” gasped the child, clearly impressed by this unexpected discovery.

“Want to give them a pull?” her mother whispered mischievously, with a sly smile.

Lyolya was intrigued by the offer…

“Don’t worry, just give a tug, that’s all…” her kind mother encouraged.

“But it’s going to hurt you!” the girl objected. “Don’t you worry about that…” Mom replied with a mischievous smile and froze in curious anticipation.

And Lyolya, clinging with her little hands, pulled with all her might…

Nikolai Vladimirovich, who had not expected such a trick from his family, let out a sound rivaling the death throes of a castrated cat. Startled awake by his own scream, he catapulted out of bed with bulging eyes, as if he had just lost something very important.

After performing a complex acrobatic maneuver in the air, he crashed to the floor with a thud and attempted to jump up, but instead slammed into the bedside table and knocked over the lamp.

In an attempt to grab his injured head, Nikolai Vladimirovich slammed his elbow into the glass pane of the door with all his might. The glass seemed to have been waiting for this moment! With a joyful tinkle, it shattered on the floor…

Thus began the enchanting epic of replacing the banal frosted glass in an ordinary interior door, an epic that lasted several unforgettable weeks. But that is a different story, dear reader, which we will gladly tell you another time.

Chapter VI Adventures with Glass: Day One

The glass dimensions were a total mismatch,

The poor sod didn’t know this was the first hitch…

And so… Nikolay Vladimirovich and glass! Day One… Friday…

Having cut his elbow and acquired a magnificent bump on his forehead, and after scolding his daughter for her innocent, yet fateful initiative, Nikolai Vladimirovich made the astonishing discovery that behind this entire provocation (as, indeed, one might have expected) stood his indefatigable, mischief-making wife! After giving her a thorough telling-off, he ate a hearty breakfast and set off for the glazier’s workshop.

There, a note on the door awaited him:

“Workshop closed today due to a power outage.”

But Nikolai Vladimirovich was in a determined mood. In a small town like theirs, as is customary, everyone knows where everyone lives — and so he headed straight for the glazier’s home.

To his immense good fortune, he found the master at home. Launching into a brief but emotionally charged speech about the importance of both the integrity of glazed doors and one’s own peace of mind, Nikolai Vladimirovich desperately pleaded for the man to see things from his perspective. In the end, he managed to persuade the glazier to go to the workshop to cut the required piece of glass.

The fact of the matter was that, at that particular moment, our hero was more troubled by the absence of glass in his bedroom door than by the lack of electricity and other civilized comforts. What can you do — he was a perfectionist! He demanded completeness and order in all things. And a phenomenon such as a door with a yawning, blatant hole was, to put it mildly, somewhat irritating to him.

The glazier, having listened with sympathy and heeded Nikolai Vladimirovich’s impassioned appeals, readily agreed to help. They went together to the workshop, where the master carefully cut a piece of glass to the required size based on the provided measurements. Then, having kindly supplied Nikolai Vladimirovich with some useful installation tips, he sent him on his way.

Armed with this sacred knowledge, Nikolai Vladimirovich carried the fragile cargo home, picturing in his mind the perfectly installed glass in his bedroom door. It seemed the coveted goal was now within close reach…

But the path to a fervently desired outcome, as we know, is often thorny. Deciding to save time, Nikolai Vladimirovich cut through the labyrinth of the garage cooperative, hoping to avoid any unwanted (or indeed, any) encounters. However, Fate, as if on purpose, thrust Vasilich right under his nose — his stairwell neighbor, who was proudly soaping down his sparkling “swallow,” a brand-new Lada.

“Hey there, Vladimych! Check out the babe I managed to snag for myself!” bellowed Vasilich, beaming like a polished nickel. “Spacious — it’s like a cosmos inside! And fuel-efficient — words fail me, especially after my old rickety jalopy… Just look at this interior, will you!”

With an ardent enthusiasm bordering on obsession, he flung open the driver’s door as if inviting him aboard a spaceship.

Nikolai Vladimirovich, possessing decent reflexes for a man of his age, miraculously dodged this grand gesture, saving the brand-new glass from certain doom.

“Whoa there, Vasilich! Take it easy! Don’t shatter my glass! I barely managed to talk the glazier into cutting it now…”

“What, he’s working today?” Vasilich asked in surprise, vigorously wringing out his car-wash towel.

“Well, that’s just the thing, he isn’t,” sighed Nikolai Vladimirovich. After a moment’s thought, he added with almost genuine enthusiasm: “Yeeeah… that’s a classy ride you’ve got, no argument there.” He decided to praise his neighbor’s acquisition, if only to get to his bedroom door faster and seal that unpleasantly gaping breach. “Alright, Vasilich, I’ve got to run, and this glass, as you see, is no feather.”

He turned, took a couple of steps, and… stepped (without looking, of course, as always) right onto a cat lazily sunbathing.

The cat, as if deeply offended (which, to be fair, was the absolute truth), let out a shriek like a wounded groundhog and shot into the air like a rocket-propelled grenade. In the course of its epic flight, it collided with the off-balance Nikolai Vladimirovich, knocking the precious glass from his hands!

The glass, as if giving a final salute with its smooth surface, slipped from Nikolai Vladimirovich’s grasp. Hitting the asphalt with a deafening crash, it shattered into hundreds of fragments, glittering in the sun like a scattering of diamonds…

No words exist to describe the grief of Nikolai Vladimirovich. His eyes reflected a catastrophe of planetary proportions…

The angry and offended cat, having landed at a safe distance from this Armageddon, was drilling him with a gaze full of reproach and a thirst for vengeance. One could almost read in its eyes: “All sorts of people wandering about here, stepping on decent cats, the scoundrels…”

But Nikolai Vladimirovich had no time for the cat or its wounded feline pride. All that was left for him now was to rush back to the workshop at a waltz tempo — or rather, at the rhythm of a panicked gallop — praying that the glazier had not yet managed to vanish in an unknown direction. To his indescribable joy, the man was still there, fiddling with some mysterious tools.

Just five minutes ago, a client had happily scurried off with a sheet of glass under his arm. Now he was back on the workshop’s threshold. His face no longer expressed joy, but the despair of a man in urgent need of a new piece of glass — preferably as of yesterday. The master’s surprise was genuine. Without asking unnecessary questions, he cut another rectangle of the fragile material.

After lunch, with an air of importance and a clever expression on his face, Nikolai Vladimirovich attempted to install it. But, to his utmost astonishment, the glass pane, as if smirking with malicious glee, turned out to be slightly smaller than required.

Noticing this mishap, Anna Vasilievna, with her customary mocking look, proceeded to poke fun at her husband’s ability to measure anything with a tape measure. True to form, she couldn’t resist a biting jibe in his direction:

“Do tell me, my dear husband, don’t your golden little hands sometimes get in your own way?!”

He, in turn, let out a loud chuckle and was not to be outdone:

“Well, at least my hands, my joy, aren’t attached right where your slender legs begin when it comes to ironing trousers!”

In response, she wrinkled her neat little nose and uttered her signature:

“Pfft…”

And on that note, each chuckling contentedly at their own little jab, they went their separate ways…

I must inform you, ladies and gentlemen, that Nikolai Vladimirovich was distinguished in life by a unique — one might even say, extraordinary — “dexterity.” If the matter at hand was apartment repairs, he would invariably hit his fingers with the hammer. If he was tightening something, he would do so until the threads stripped.

Once, Anna Vasilievna asked him to pack down some cabbage for fermenting into glass jars. Nikolai Vladimirovich, armed with a wooden pounder, set to the task with inspiration. But, as was often the case with him, he set about pounding the unfortunate cabbage with such zeal that the jar simply shattered into smithereens.

Whereupon Anna Vasilievna, barely containing her laughter, remarked:

“Brawn you’ve got, but brains you need not! A regular Popovich!” — thus comparing him to the hero of a famous cartoon.

From that day forth, this nickname stuck to Nikolai Vladimirovich for good.

But his “gracefulness” was not confined to domestic life. Since childhood, he had been plagued by spectacular tumbles, occurring in the most inappropriate places and always with a special comedic flair.

Take, for instance, that incident at the cinema. Tripping on a perfectly flat surface, he went flying into the aisle. His mortal frame, like a ping-pong ball, ricocheted from one row to another until the poor wretch, utterly vanquished by gravity, landed face-down on the floor. His friends and the other spectators who witnessed this ballet of chaos collapsed right beside him — though from hysterical laughter.

But that, as they say, was just the warm-up.

When our hero rose to his feet with the look of a man who had just encountered a train and cast a triumphant gaze over the people writhing with laughter, he even felt somewhat offended. Not only were they guffawing like a herd of horses, but they were also pointing fingers!

With a bewildered and slightly offended air, he left the auditorium and found himself in the lobby, where he attracted new puzzled stares. It turned out that as a result of his epic fall, the top part of his hat had torn off and was now dangling picturesquely to one side. Much like a loose manhole cover, it wobbled in time with his steps.

To this day, his friends still bring up that incident whenever they meet.

And as for the spectacular manner in which he managed to tumble down numerous staircases — that was his favorite pastime! It seemed that for him, gravity existed only as a pesky misunderstanding.

Instead of a mundane descent on his own two feet, he “preferred” a dizzying slalom on his fifth point, striking the most impressive poses along the way. And if he got a chance to ride a zip-line — well, you’d better watch out!

To fall off it with unimaginable somersaults and an expression of cosmic sorrow on his face — that was a matter of personal honor for him. His relationship with vehicles of any kind was, to put it mildly, downright karmic.

All in all, life was never dull for him. And for those close to him — it was especially eventful

His wife, Anna Vasilyevna, was a perfect match for him — a jokester of the highest order and a born humorist. Allow us to recount one significant incident from the very beginning of their life together, so that you may fully appreciate the caliber of this woman who stood by his side all these years…

And so, it happened during their wedding…

Whether from nerves and anxiety, or simply because that was her inherent nature, something unimaginable occurred at the registry office, right in the middle of the marriage ceremony. At the most solemn moment, when she was supposed to slip the ring onto the finger of her blissful groom, Anna Vasilyevna could bear it no longer. She was utterly undone by the impossibly serious expression on her fiancé’s face — and she burst into loud, pealing laughter. She laughed so uproariously that her mirth proved infectious, spreading to everyone present.

First, the groom himself began to chuckle restrainedly. Then, like an epidemic, the laughter leaped to the guests. Soon, even the photographer and the videographer, who until then had been valiantly striving to capture the solemn moment, lost their composure — they, too, were shaking with uncontrollable laughter.

As for Anna Vasilyevna, she was powerless to stop. She was stamping her little heels, clutching her stomach, alternating between squealing and completely uncontrolled, snorting guffaws. It seemed she was about to collapse on the floor, which finished off everyone present — they were now laughing to the point of utter delirium.

Only the registrar, a woman with a face as if carved from granite, stood motionless, like a monument. She observed this madness with the expression of a person whose internal gears had seized up completely. Only occasionally would she snort with displeasure, casting murderous glances at the howling bride.

Anna Vasilyevna began to calm down little by little. The laughter subsided, the guests caught their breath — everyone thought that now, at last, the ceremony would continue. But then a new, mischievous idea suddenly popped into her head. Instead of placing the hapless ring on her husband’s finger, she, before the eyes of the astonished audience… demonstratively popped it into her own mouth!

Seeing her husband’s eyes widen sharply and his jaw drop with precipitous speed, her brain received such a powerful surge of emotion that she snorted with laughter with renewed vigor… But then something unforeseen happened, and it was her own eyes that became wide and oval…

The ring, which she had intended to hold under her tongue for a moment as a prank, accidentally slipped down her throat on an inhale and blocked her airway. She convulsively grabbed her throat, tried to cough, but to no avail. Anna Vasilyevna was inevitably beginning to choke. Panic was mounting in her eyes.

Fortunately for the newlyweds, one of the guests was well-versed in such matters and, swiftly positioning himself behind her, expertly performed the life-saving Heimlich maneuver. The bride gave a cough, and the ring flew out of her throat, landing squarely and neatly… right on the groom’s forehead! The poor fellow stood frozen, with a golden “adornment” on his brow and an expression of cosmic horror in his eyes.

And so began their tumultuous family life. And we must duly note, our kind reader, that Anna Vasilyevna would sometimes feel profoundly ashamed of the stunts she occasionally pulled. But, after suffering only briefly from pangs of conscience, she would admit to herself, deep down: she wanted to shut her eyes tight and… go and do something like that all over again…

And so now you, dear reader, have at least a small, but more or less clear, idea of his dear wife, Anna Vasilyevna.

As for Nikolai Vladimirovich, he decided not to bother the glazier any further today. He was counting on a new, beautiful tomorrow and sincerely hoped that he would definitely resolve this matter with the glass then. Or so he naively assumed…

But let us not get ahead of ourselves for now. We shall temporarily set aside the tale of the unfortunate Nikolai Vladimirovich and his wayward pane of glass — and move on to the next story. So that everything is in order. In the chronological sense, of course…

Chapter VII Vasily, the Prosecutor, and the Logs

A “screw it all” attitude washis second name, he thought,

But no — he was a “Killer” though!

In a local electrical goods store, nestled in the very heart of a cozy urban-type settlement with the alluring name of Lyubavino, at the beginning of June, as was the custom there year after year, some young lads were hired for temporary work to assist the more experienced staff. Among them was one particularly special young man named Vasily. And it is about him that our story today will be told…

To put it plainly, Vasily was a rather extraordinary individual. It seemed that Nature had decided to take a break while crafting his appearance, and was apparently in a deep faint altogether while working on the neural connections inside his cranium. But later, it appears, she magnanimously compensated for her oversights by endowing Vasily with a generous portion of sheer nonchalance. Lanky, of not very robust health, and devoid of any interests common to almost all young men his age, he was somewhat of an enigma to those around him.

Since childhood, he had disliked his own name and had protested for a long time, demanding that his parents immediately replace it with something more attractive, in his opinion — like Arnold, Harry, Legolas, or something along those lines.

To which he was told, in a polite manner, to stop engaging in such nonsense. After all, he already bore a wonderful name, and one with deep meaning at that — named after his marvelous grandfather! And that in itself was a great honor. So he ought to be fully proud of it! And that was that; the name issue was conclusively closed.

Among his few acquaintances, he had only one true and tested friend — Vitya. The two had been thick as thieves since kindergarten. Since childhood, Vitya had been seriously passionate about weightlifting. He was solidly built, muscular, broad-shouldered, short, and stocky.

Outwardly, they were an impossibly absolute contrast to one another. Vasily was a brown-haired young man with dark eyes, tall, scrawny, and pale to the point of bluishness. Vitya, however, was a fair-haired lad with gray eyes, stout, with rosy cheeks, and radiating health. Vasily and Vitya — two completely opposite poles, yet by some mysterious laws of the universe, they had in time become the closest of friends, so inseparable that they couldn’t imagine life without each other. Can you, dear reader, imagine a more comical pair than these two?!

Their behavior was at times utterly unpredictable, and on occasion, as is often the case in youth, even verging on the reckless. But the most peculiar and eccentric of the two, as you have no doubt gathered, was the main hero of this story — Vasily.

His father had barely managed to persuade his old friend, Yevgeny Vladimirovich, the director of the electrical goods store, to take his son on. He had done everything possible to get the boy a job, at least for the summer.

As we have already mentioned, Vasily was a peculiar fellow — quirky, but interesting. His appearance, to be honest, slightly resembled that of a vampire — pale skin, sharp facial features. However, far more important was his ability to find a common language with people. At eighteen years old, he was perfectly capable of handling simple tasks, and that was enough.

Ah, youth! Reckless acts, eccentric self-expression through unusual clothing (and not only that), incredible dreams and desires, an indomitable belief in a beautiful future! And, of course, the tremulous anticipation of first true love…

Although, it seems we have digressed slightly…

So then, in recent days, a local artist, Serafim Nikiforovich, had passed on to the next world — a grandfather of very advanced years, a man of complex and heroic destiny, highly respected throughout the district.

The lavish funeral, scheduled for Friday, was not going to be canceled, despite a major power outage having occurred. The director of the electrical goods store, being a man who deeply respected Serafim Nikiforovich, decided to contribute his modest share to the expenses of the upcoming event.

The expenses were managed by a certain responsible official, who, on his own initiative, had organized a collection of funds in his office at the local administration. Vasily was entrusted with carefully delivering this very contribution — neatly placed in a sealed envelope — to the aforementioned official.

There was little use from Vasily at work anyway, and Yevgeny Vladimirovich himself couldn’t possibly get away today. He had decided to use the suddenly available day off to maximum benefit: to arrange a minor rearrangement in the store, combined with a long-overdue thorough cleaning. And he intended to personally supervise this important process, without stepping away for a moment.

“You know where our administration building is?” he inquired of Vasily, who was enthusiastically chewing gum while simultaneously listening to some clanging music through a single wireless earbud protruding from his ear.

“Nope…” Vasily shook his head in negation, continuing to chew.

“Then listen up and remember… And spit out that gum already when your superior is talking to you…”

“Just a sec…” Vasily nodded quickly, transforming his demeanor into one of pure attentiveness and obedience, and spat the gum into a trash bin.

“You’ll exit the store, turn right, then walk straight along the sidewalk to the intersection, cross the road, bear left, and in about two hundred meters you’ll come upon a two-story, light-colored building — well, that will be our administration. Go up to the second floor, right in front of you will be a door. You’ll enter, hand over the envelope, and say it’s for the funeral. Got all that?”

“Uh-huh…” Vasily nodded briskly, taking the envelope from Evgeny Vladimirovich’s hands.

With a carefree, springy gait, he set off to carry out his assignment, swaying his head to the beat of the clanging music in one ear.

And so, about twenty minutes later, an angry phone call came through on the landline in the director’s office. Evgeny Vladimirovich had once prudently kept the wired telephone — just in case. And would you believe it, it came in handy…

Just a few minutes after that call, Evgeny Vladimirovich burst out of his office, crimson and huffing like a boiling samovar, the pathetic remnants of his hair standing on end.

“Can you imagine! Do you know who just called me?!” — and without waiting for an answer from his stunned subordinates, who were lazily polishing the shelves, he suddenly wailed:

“The prosecutor herself!.. Yes, yes, the one from our district! Furious as a witch on a diet, and she asks me: ‘Why would you do this to me?! What did I ever do to you?!’”

He made a dramatic pause, his eyes wide open:

“I’m standing there, listening, not understanding a thing! And she says to me: ‘Why are you wishing me dead?! Why did you send me money for my own funeral?! What is the meaning of this outrage, Evgeny Vladimirovich?!’”

And suddenly, his face contorted with a horrifying realization:

“And that’s when it hit me! That blockhead Vasily managed to mix up the administration building with the prosecutor’s office! I ask you, where is our administration and where is the prosecutor’s office?!”

Evgeny Vladimirovich scanned his employees with a look that conveyed a silent question and utter indignation. Satisfied to see the required mixture of bewilderment and righteous anger on their faces, he continued with renewed vigor:

“When he gets back — I’ll kill him on the spot! Although, no…” he suddenly thought better of it, “first, let him explain what on earth he said to that prosecutor. And then I’ll kill him!”

He delivered this last phrase with particular inspiration:

“And then I’ll hand over the money for his funeral! Personally! Into the grateful hands of his overjoyed father! Who will probably kiss me for it!”

Evgeny Vladimirovich took a greedy gulp of water from a half-liter plastic bottle — indignation had left his throat parched. Then, with unquenchable fervor, he continued to depict for his team the nightmarish situation that had caused everyone to drop their work in a hurry.

“So there I was, explaining myself to the prosecutor like an idiot, telling her that the money wasn’t for her funeral, but for our Serafim Nikiforovich, that Vasily, that good-for-nothing, mixed up both the buildings, and the floors, and the offices. Now I have to go around explaining to her why the hell I sent her money for her funeral, and while she’s still alive! Should I send her flowers now, or what?”

The team let out a unified, disapproving murmur and waved their hands in horror.

“Oh, right, of course, now, in this context, she’d take that as a downright mockery!”

The team nodded in agreement, humming and mumbling their assent.

Frustrated, the boss took a powerful breath, retreated into his office, and threw over his shoulder:

“As soon as that cutthroat appears — send him straight to me!”

The entire staff nodded in servile unison and immediately abandoned all their ‘frantic’ activities. They were now eagerly awaiting the continuation of this unprecedented incident. Whispering and animatedly discussing the event, they all instantly forgot what they had actually come to work for today.

Vasily, however, evidently decided not to keep anyone in agonizing suspense. Still nodding his head in time with the insane music blasting in his ear, he walked into the hushed store.

The staff immediately perked up and, with a single impulse, stared at him with wide eyes, anticipating something thrilling. With an air of importance, he marched silently past them into the director’s office, on the way studying his colleagues’ frozen faces with mild bewilderment.

The door had barely slammed shut behind him when, with remarkable unity, they tiptoed over to the director’s office door. Pressing against it with whatever body part was most convenient and holding their breath, they began eavesdropping on what was happening inside.

“Vasily,” began Yevgeny Vladimirovich, barely containing his emotions, “which building did I ask you to find?”

“The Administration building…” the subordinate replied, perplexed.

“Then what the hell were you doing in the Prosecutor’s Office??!”

“???” Vasily stared at his boss with a look full of silent question.

“How did you even get in there? The place is swarming with security! Ah, to hell with it…” the director waved his hand dismissively. “Better tell me… my dear Vasily, what exactly did you say to our highly respected prosecutor?”

“Well… I — I–I…” Vasily hesitated.

“Well?!” the boss snapped.

“Well, I saw a two-story building, went up to the second floor, like you said, and walked into an office… There was a woman sitting in a chair, reading some papers. I walked up, put the envelope on her desk, and said: ‘This is for the funeral, from Yevgeny Vladimirovich.’ And that’s it… I left…”

Yevgeny Vladimirovich instantly pictured this vivid scene and shuddered in horror at the position he was now in! Vasily’s appearance, his behavior, and his slightly strange manner of speaking — in this context, it would have provoked one unambiguous reaction in anyone: a direct death threat! Nothing more, nothing less!

“Do you have any idea what kind of position you’ve put me in?! You blockhead!.. I’ll be having a word with your father today. Some way to help out a friend! Getting his precious son a job! Now he can help me mend fences with our dear prosecutor!”

He ran a hand nervously over his face before continuing with renewed vigor.

“Who, I might add, thanks to you, just called me and lodged a serious complaint! About how I’m apparently wishing her dead and sending her funeral money via some thug of questionable appearance! Now this is your father’s problem, too!”

Yevgeny Vladimirovich measured Vasily with a gaze full of utter bewilderment:

“Well, I’ll be damned… such an intelligent, responsible man, and he has a son… like you! You’ve landed on my head like a ton of bricks! Get out of my sight! I don’t want to see a trace of you here. And I’ll be paying a visit to your father today…”

Vasily listened to this thunderous tirade from his superior, and the understanding was slowly beginning to dawn on him that he had done something wrong — something very, very wrong, in fact. He slowly backed toward the door, wanting to slip away quickly, to vanish through the doorway, to dissolve into thin air, but then he unexpectedly stumbled upon the cluster of colleagues who had been impudently eavesdropping by the door.

“So, what’s the word, ‘Killer’?! ” one from the group addressed him.

“Ha, that’s right, ‘Killer’! ” others chimed in cheerfully and with a sort of wild glee.

As if on cue, Vasily tripped over someone’s feet and, flailing his arms helplessly, crashed to the floor in the middle of the aisle. In an instant, he scrambled up and, without brushing himself off, dashed out of the store, which had suddenly become unbearably cramped.

For the first time in his life, he felt an immense, crushing frustration for having failed at the most elementary of tasks — mixing up two completely different buildings. And now, he was most likely facing a shameful dismissal, even though he had barely even started working.

But the worst part was the impending explanations: the just reproaches of a disappointed father and the sad eyes of his mother. And that cursed nickname — “Killer” — now hanging over him like a storm cloud in a clear sky!

He had never had a nickname or a moniker; somehow, this particular circumstance had luckily passed him by in his childhood and youth. And it must be said that he was quite content with this state of affairs. His own name, which he considered uninteresting and unmelodious, was perfectly sufficient for him.

But then suddenly, in his nineteenth year of life — it happened! He understood perfectly well that this strange, sinister nickname would now be attached to him forever. Against its backdrop, even the name “Vasily” suddenly sounded noble, almost regal — exactly as his mother had always tried to explain to him. And he somehow suddenly saw everything in a new light. And to his greatest surprise, he made an unusual discovery: he was starting to like his name very much indeed.

Anything but “Killer”!

That evening, at home, after receiving the scolding he deserved from his father, and utterly dejected by the hopelessness of his affairs, he got ready to go to his faithful pal, Vitya. The electricity was still out, and he was languishing from boredom, so he decided to stay overnight at his friend’s place, which he duly informed his parents about.

His father and mother thought highly of Victor and believed, between themselves, that he was a good influence on Vasily. Moreover, the boys were bound by a strong friendship dating back to the days when they used to dig around together in the sandbox. Therefore, despite the dressing-down that had just taken place, they let their son go with light hearts and the firm conviction that at Vitya’s he would at least not get into any new mischief.

Dusk was falling. Vasily’s mood was rotten, absolutely rotten! In such a state, he didn’t want to arrive at his friend’s place and decided to distract himself a little.

But there was particularly nothing to do. No internet, couldn’t lose himself in video games, couldn’t watch TV — no power! A profound melancholy seized the hapless head of our fine young lad, Vasily; he sat down on a bench and sank into despondency.

And right there in front of him was a little beer store. He bought himself some strong beer — one and a half liters — and for the first time in his life decided to drown his sorrows in this manner. To ponder a little over recent events, to be alone with his thoughts, and only then to visit his faithful friend — to pour out his troubled soul to him, to talk about the injustices of life. His friend, after all, was an athlete and didn’t drink.

Vasily sat down on a bench in a shady spot where no one could see him, and until the sun had completely set, he drowned his grief and anguish in beer. It grew dark. His mood improved slightly, and the desire to pour out his soul to his faithful friend Vitya became even stronger than before.

So off he went, the poor wretch, through the dark alleys and streets. He walked and walked, thinking all sorts of unpleasant thoughts about his boss, about that nasty female prosecutor, about his unkind colleagues who had thought up such a vile nickname for him, about his own good-for-nothing self…

“So what if I gave the envelope to the wrong person. And I said what I said. What else was I supposed to say in a situation like that?”

In short, he walked and walked, and all around was just a dark abyss! The sky was covered with clouds — no moon, not a single star, not even the faintest glimmer of a streetlamp. Utter, pitch-black darkness! And then suddenly, from out of this gloom — WHAM! — someone swung and hit him right under his right eye! Out of the blue and for absolutely no reason!!!

Stunned by such an unexpected turn and literally knocked off his feet by the powerful blow, Vasily let out a loud “Oof!” and fell flat on his back.

Instantly realizing that his assailant would certainly try to hit him again, Vasily quickly rolled across the ground and, shielding himself with his hands, shouted into the darkness:

“Who’s there?.. What do you want?..”

In response — a strange silence.

Vasily strained his hearing and the remnants of his vision (in the form of his left eye) and, swaying, got back onto his shaky legs, trying unsuccessfully to make out anything at all around him. But it was dark as pitch. He assumed a fighting stance and, with his fists tightly clenched, lunged forward at the invisible enemy:

“Who are you?.. What do you want?”

WHAM! Taking a hard blow now right to the nose, Vasily mumbled something, sank down, and grabbed his face with his hands. Such insolent behavior from the invisible attacker infuriated him, and in his frustration, he began throwing punches while jumping, spinning like a top, attacking now with his feet, now with his hands.

These absurd combat gyrations were performed in pitch darkness, at random. Vasily hoped to land a blow on the bastard — to the head, the groin, the solar plexus — anywhere would do! But to his great astonishment (and horror), he didn’t manage to hit anyone at all. In the impenetrable gloom, he could hear only his own ragged breath and the scuffing of his own footsteps. Vasily fell still…

The sudden, crushing fear born of the dead silence and the unbroken murk made him take to his heels. He ran wherever his eyes led him — or, more precisely, wherever his one surviving left eye was looking.

He dashed to Vitya’s house practically blind. He only avoided getting lost because he knew the area like the back of his hand. Even in the absolute darkness, he unerringly found his way to the right street with its five-story apartment blocks. In the dark windows, candles flickered dimly here and there.

Guided by memory, Vasily walked briskly towards the right entrance. As he went, he wiped the blood, which stubbornly streamed from his broken nose, with his shirt sleeve…

Vitya opened the door immediately and, after briefly hearing out his buddy’s story about the attack, decided without a moment’s hesitation to go and punish that brazen foe before he could make his escape.

“But listen, Vitya, the guy’s some kind of lunatic with fists of steel, a real hefty one,” Vasily shared his impressions.

“Don’t sweat it, Vasily! The main thing isn’t that nutjob’s height or weight. The main thing is not to chicken out! We’ll break through!..” he replied, hurriedly pulling on his shoes.

Vitya, unlike Vasily, was of sturdy, athletic build and possessed powerful, sinewy arms with hefty fists resembling two sledgehammers; he was, as people jokingly say, big-boned.

Without a second thought, the friends set off to confront the unknown malefactor — a vile character who attacked innocent people, treacherously using the pitch darkness to his advantage.

Vasily walked almost on tiptoe, speaking in a whisper and pointing the way with a flashlight “borrowed” from Vitya. The flashlight was small, weak, and kept cutting out. Its yellow beam timidly illuminated the road at their feet, and soon they were almost at the scene of the recent assault…

When suddenly — WHAM! — this time, it was Vitya who received a powerful blow to the nose. He was knocked out cold on the spot, his powerful body collapsing to the ground. The flashlight went out along with him.

Stunned by the sudden attack on his friend, Vasily, out of sheer fright, began jumping and hopping on the spot, waving his modest, Vitya-incomparable fists in the dark, slicing through the air at random.

“Ah, you scum, you bastards! I’ll show you now!” he howled, hurling several sharp, what he believed to be lethal, punches into the darkness: “Where are you, you lowlifes?! Attacking people in the dark, from behind! Vermin!”

At that moment, he stumbled headlong over Vitya, who was lying there unconscious. Vitya, jerking upright, received a solid blow to the head, causing him to collapse once more, senseless, to the ground.

Coming to his senses a couple of minutes later, Vitya made another, more successful attempt to get up. Immediately switching into combat mode and adopting a fighting stance, he began pummeling the presumed opponent with his sledgehammer fists, but the foe deftly and silently kept evading his knockout blows. In the end, he landed a punch right on the jaw of Vasily, who was hopping about nearby like a little goat. Vasily let out a furious howl and returned blow for blow, hitting his comrade with all his might under the right eye. This time, it was Vitya who swore loudly and profanely.

“Hold on, Vasily, seems like we’re beating the crap out of each other!”

“Yeah, right, looks like it…” the other agreed after a moment’s thought.

“Hey, where are you, you fucking assholes?!” Vitya prepared to attack, but in response — only a ringing silence. “This is some seriously messed-up crap… They’re trolling us!”

“I hit you the same way just now. I kept asking, asking, and in response — silence…” whispered a perplexed Vasily.

“Let’s get the hell out of here!” proposed the freaked-out Vitya.

“Yeah, let’s go to your place…”

Edging away sideways, at first unhurriedly, then picking up speed, they bolted back to Vitya’s house.

Waking up early in the morning and seeing each other’s faces painted with bruises and their noses swollen, the young men were at first somewhat stunned. But, recalling the misadventures of the previous day, they quickly drank a cup of tea with sushki and hurried to that ill-fated spot where they had been so generously thrashed the day before.

The night before, as they were going to bed, they had racked their brains for a long time: who could it have been? The assailant had moved without a sound, struck with hard, precise blows, without uttering a single sound, and had navigated in the pitch darkness as if he were at home!

They had even sinfully thought of aliens — the circumstances seemed far too suspicious…

And so, as they approached the place where they presumed they had been attacked the day before, they saw on the ground the extinguished flashlight they had forgotten, and next to it — a pile of debarked logs. A few of these logs jutted out from the main pile in a brazen and disorderly fashion.

Vitya walked over, sized it up — and was dumbfounded: a couple of the logs were positioned right at head-level! Carefully bumping one of them with his swollen nose, he suddenly saw the light. So this was who had so brazenly “attacked” them yesterday! It was not an ambush, nor was it treacherous aliens, but merely a harmless pile of timber, carelessly dumped on the vacant lot.

They began to circle the logs with a suspicious air, constantly measuring them up, first with a black eye, then with a broken nose. And then it hit them: first a quiet chuckle, then laughter until they cried, and Vitya even got the hiccups — he was shaking so hard from laughter.

And so it was that one fine day, Vasily gained notoriety throughout the entire settlement for threatening to bury the local prosecutor — a woman who was, and still is, alive and well. For this, he was mercilessly fired before he could even properly start his job, and thanks to the same incident, he earned the fearsome and first nickname of his life: “Killer.” And as a final touch, much like the glorious Don Quixote, he had entered into an unequal battle with a pile of logs serenely resting on a vacant lot, alongside his faithful friend Vitya.

From that day on, he swore off alcohol, never went out after dark without a flashlight, and also took the earphone out of his ear when spoken to, trying to listen and comprehend what was being said as attentively as he could. But the thought of restoring his reputation with the prosecutor and his boss began to slowly trouble his wondrous mind…

Chapter VIII A Bloody Comedy in MalieKoshki

A son-in-law’s a handy scapegoat,

But has a trick up his coat.

For his wife’s mom, he will prepare

A crazy stunt — a real dare!

At that very same moment, in another little village called Little Cats, a genuine, blood-soaked tragedy was playing out!

Truth be told, it was playing out only in the head of one elderly lady — Zinaida Ivanovna, the mother-in-law of our Pyotr Rogov. And he, of course, played a significant role in the matter.

Yes, dear reader, this story turned out to be, let’s say straight, bloody… Although, strange as it may seem, no bloodshed actually occurred! Well… more precisely, it almost didn’t occur. Or rather, it did occur, but not in the sense you’re thinking…

Ah, but pshaw! We seem to have completely confused you. Alright, better to start from the beginning — and tell everything just as it happened, in proper order.

This whole phantasmagorical madness didn’t just randomly pop into the mother-in-law’s head. As we’ve already noted, her “dear” son-in-law had outdone himself — and, by the way, never regretted it for a second afterward.

And then the good folks, as is the custom in Mother Russia, seized upon this amusing incident and, roaring with laughter, began retelling it to one another, embellishing and fibbing as they went. So the story of this curious affair spread far beyond the district, and in such variations it would make the saints weep. But we shall tell you how it all really happened…

Pyotr Rogov lived with his wife, Nastya, and their two-year-old child in a solid, well-built house — a sturdy five-walled log home with a fine renovation, a modern bathroom, crystal chandeliers, and new furniture.

Together, of course, with his mother-in-law — Zinaida Ivanovna.

They had already been living together for going on three years. But to Petya, those two years and a bit felt, in every conceivable way, like a full ten! And these feelings arose from the fact that his “beloved” mother-in-law practically chewed him up and spat him out almost every day, nitpicking over every little thing. She nagged him for this and for that, and was constantly turning his own wife against him.

He once complained to his brother, Andrey, that with praying mantises, the female eats the male right after mating, but in his family, the mother-in-law does it, and she sadistically drags the process out for years.

So, it’s morning, Friday…

Due to a sudden power outage, Petya’s work at his workshop was canceled (he was engaged in turning all sorts of various wooden trinkets out of linden wood). And so, fate had gifted Petya an unexpected day off. And he felt a desire to spend this gifted free day in some special way.

The weather was delightful, little birds were chirping playfully in the garden. The gentle summer sun brought him immense joy. And Petya’s mood turned out the same — joyful, playful, one might even say, mischievous.

Petya found out that his mother-in-law was heading to some relatives to get some pig’s blood. They had decided to slaughter a pig today — and were immediately distributing the fresh meat among the family, since they had all fattened it up together, chipping in.