Fugitive. Mikhail Lermontov - The Fugitive: Verse The Fugitive read online

Oleg Bubela

Instead of a preface

How do people usually start writing memoirs? So they sit quietly at home in a chair, with a glass of something tasty and not necessarily alcoholic in their hands, and suddenly they say to themselves: I’ll try to write something instructive, so that I myself won’t be ashamed! So, what? Maybe, but I think that what these people create will be interesting to read only for themselves. I also came across books that could only be used in a certain place, where everyone usually becomes thoughtful and pensive...

No, I am sure that every person should at some point have such a desire - to remember his whole life. And you don’t have to write anything, you can just relax and sort out all the events that happened to you. Why this happens, I don't know. It’s just that a person suddenly experiences a period when his thoughts begin to run back and forth, stirring up old memories, so that his hands naturally reach for the pen. Or maybe he will look at his children and sigh furtively, remembering what he himself was like a few decades ago.

I didn’t avoid such a moment either, but I just decided not only to remember all this, but also, according to my old habit, to throw it out on paper so that it would be more clear. My reason was simple - I suddenly wanted to understand why I became who I am now, how I managed to go through my path and why I took it in the first place. Yes, now I, in fact, have begun to regret that I decided to describe my whole life in detail, since some of the events that happened to me, some of my actions do not honor me at all. And much of what I decided not to hide shows that I am far from being the best side. Well, let! I did not intend, like many, to make myself into some kind of saint who lived righteously and according to his conscience all his life. I simply remembered myself, my thoughts and deeds, my victories and defeats, my feelings and sensations, and, in the end, I understood who I am and why.

So I warn those who suddenly take up reading my notes: do not look for a role model here, do not extract any wise thoughts, but just try to feel what I experienced. This is not a heroic epic, not philosophical reflections, but simply a biography of an ordinary person who, by the will of blind chance, became... I won’t get ahead of myself. If you are patient, you will find out for yourself, but in the meantime, I wish you pleasant reading!

How it all began

Many biographies begin with the author's childhood, but I will skip that period and begin with a turning point in my life. And it happened a week before I got into... No, I'm getting ahead of myself again! I'll start from the beginning.

About five days before the trip, which changed my whole life so dramatically, my family literally ate the bald spots on my head, running after me and repeating: “You need to rest, get some fresh air...” As if it was impossible to spend the free two days at home in peace weeks of vacation! And there were a lot of reasons to stay, a lot of weighty arguments not to go anywhere. After all, I also needed to make the program interesting by catching literally a few bugs, after which a substantial bonus would be provided. And be with the girl for your own pleasure, otherwise we work with her somehow out of sync - I come when she is already asleep, and she leaves when I just wake up. No personal life at all!

But no, I succumbed to the persuasion of my ancestors. They are terribly conservative, they prefer some kind of nonsense like hiking over rough terrain to the traditional concept of relaxation. And they wouldn’t be able to try all the delights of camp life themselves, because their tourist experiences are limited only to running through the garden beds at the dacha - so they began to persuade me to go out into nature only after they learned about my vacation. For almost a week I courageously resisted persuasion, but Natka finished me off by resolutely siding with my parents. Her main argument was the supposedly unhealthy appearance of my face. And what did she see there, in her face? It doesn’t look like a cucumber – it’s not greenish and the pimples don’t really stick out. But, firmly rejecting all my reasonable arguments, she said:

– You need to get some fresh air! Otherwise, you’ll soon put down roots near your computer and become overgrown with moss!

No, she blurted it out in vain, of course. IN last week I sat by the car for only four hours, no more. The rest of the time I tried to put things in order in the apartment, in which I was not very successful, and purposefully proved to my friend that I was also okay as a boyfriend. Maybe this also played a role. Well, I was a little overzealous with the attention that I tried to pay to Natka these days, or maybe I was just tired of her, so much so that she wanted to send me away. In general, all this led to the fact that through joint efforts I was pushed out of the house. To nature, motherfucker...

Moreover, my assurances that the nearby forest plantation is also nature (“Everyone can go out, lie on the grass, eat what they brought with them, and go home in the evening...”) did not go through. Of course, I didn’t agree with the first proposed option - to go on a hike in the Carpathian Mountains with mandatory mountaineering lessons and the awesome opportunity to fall off the nearest very picturesque cliff, so that I could spend my whole life saving for medicine, and this is only if I’m very lucky. I also rejected the option of kayaking along the tributaries of the Dnieper as extremely unsuccessful. Well, what can you do, I don’t know how to swim normally and I don’t want to learn - the water is so wet and cold, brrr... I better at home I’ll swim in the bath, my skills are quite enough for that!

In short, in the process of searching for options and heated debates, I came across the website “Shchukino Resorts”, and while others nearby were figuring out who was cooler - a diver or a climber, I quietly flipped through the page, looked at the prices, figured out future prospects (I’m with scuba gear - God forbid see in nightmares!) and decided to get off with little blood. With a joyful face, I turned to my family and began to describe the advantage of Shchukin’s nature, glancing at the site out of the corner of my eye: they say, there is a forest (“Ugh, mosquitoes, ticks - an abomination!”), and a river (“Brrr!..”), and fresh air that I need so much! I can also start running in the morning (“God forbid!”). In general, my family, looking into my honest eyes, decided to meet me halfway and made me happy with the decision:

– Tomorrow you’ll go there!

And although I still expected to finish the program in a day or two in order to somehow compensate for the health costs, but no, I had to give in to brute force. The whole evening they worked hard to get me ready. We packed a bunch of very necessary things that are indispensable at the resort - and warm clothes, because suddenly it’s freezing! (“Yeah, at the beginning of July!”), and replacement shoes for the forest, for the beach and for the house! (“And warm home slippers!”), and... In short, it turned out to be two bulky bags, which I pulled by the straps for the sake of experiment. The bags didn’t move; they didn’t care about my attempts at all. Quietly freaking out, I decided tomorrow morning to go through everything while no one is looking, and get rid of about ninety percent of the “necessary” things.

Mountain legend

Harun ran faster than a deer,
Faster than a hare from an eagle;
He fled in fear from the battlefield,
Where Circassian blood flowed;
Father and two siblings
They lay down there for honor and freedom,
And under the heel of the adversary
Their heads lie in the dust.
Their blood flows and asks for vengeance,
Harun forgot his duty and shame;

He lost in the heat of battle
A rifle, a saber - and he runs! -

And the day disappeared; swirling fogs
Dressed the dark glades
A wide white veil;
It smelled cold from the east,
And over the desert of the prophet
The golden month has risen quietly...

Tired, thirsty,
Wiping blood and sweat from my face,
Harun between the rocks aul darling
By moonlight he will know;
He crept up, unseen by anyone...
There is silence and peace all around,
Unharmed from the bloody battle
He was the only one who came home.

And he hurries to his acquaintance’s sakla,
The light shines there, the owner of the house;
Strengthening my soul as best I could,
Harun stepped across the threshold;
He used to call Selim friend,
Selim did not recognize the stranger;
On the bed, tormented by illness, -
Alone, he died silently...
“Great is Allah! from evil poison
He to his bright angels
I told you to take care of you for glory!”
- "What's new?" - asked Selim,
Lifting up my weakening eyelids,
And his gaze flashed with the fire of hope!..
And he stood up, and the fighter's blood
It played out again at the hour of the end.
“For two days we fought in the gorge;
My father fell, and my brothers with him;
And I hid alone in the desert,
We pursue and drive like an animal,
With bloody feet
From sharp stones and bushes,
I walked unknown paths
On the trail of boars and wolves.
Circassians are dying - the enemy is everywhere.

Accept me my old friend;
And here is the prophet! your services
I won’t forget until my grave!..”
And the dying man responded:
“Go - you are worthy of contempt.
No shelter, no blessing
I don’t have anything for a coward here!..”

Full of shame and secret torment,
Having endured the reproach without anger,
Silent Harun stepped again
Beyond the inhospitable threshold.

And, passing the new tree,
He stopped for a moment,
And the flying dream of former days
Suddenly the heat of a kiss washed over me
His cold brow.
And it became sweet and light
His soul; in the darkness of the night,
It seemed like fiery eyes
They flashed affectionately before him,
And he thought: I am loved,
She lives and breathes only me...
And he wants to ascend - and hears,
And hears the song of old...
And Harun became paler than the moon:

The moon floats
Quiet and calm
And the young man is a warrior
He goes to battle.
The horseman loads the gun,
And the maiden says to him:
My darling, be brave
Trust yourself to fate
Pray to the east
Be faithful to the prophet
Be true to glory.
Changed his own
Bloody treason,
Without defeating the enemy,
Will die without glory

The rains will not wash his wounds,
And the animals will not bury the bones.
The moon floats
And quiet and calm,
And the young man is a warrior
He goes to battle.

Hanging his head, with speed
Harun continues on his way,
And sometimes a big tear
An eyelash falls onto the chest...

But bent over from the storm
Before him his native house turns white;
Encouraged by hope again,
Harun is knocking under the window.
There are probably warm prayers there
They ascend to the sky for him,
The old mother is waiting for her son from the battle,
But he’s not the only one waiting for him!..

“Mother, open it! I'm a poor wanderer
I am your Harun! your youngest son;
Through Russian bullets harmlessly
I came to you!
- "One?"
- "One!.."
- “Where are your father and brothers?”
- “Fire!
The Prophet blessed their death,
And the angels took their souls.”
- “Have you taken revenge?”
- “I didn’t take revenge...
But I took off into the mountains like an arrow,
Left the sword in a foreign land,
To console your eyes
And wipe away your tears..."
- “Be quiet, be quiet! crafty giaur,
You couldn't die with glory
So go away, live alone.
By your shame, fugitive of freedom,
I will not darken my old years,
You are a slave and a coward - and not my son!..”
The word of rejection has fallen silent,

And everything around is engulfed in sleep.
Curses, groans and prayers
They sounded for a long time under the window;
And finally the blow of the dagger
Stopped the unfortunate shame...
And in the morning my mother saw...
And she coldly turned her gaze away.
And the corpse, driven away from the righteous,
No one took it to the cemetery,
And the blood from his deep wound
The family dog licked and growled;
The little guys were arguing
Over the cold body of a dead man,
Liberties remain in the legends
Shame and death of the fugitive.
His soul from the eyes of the prophet
She walked away in fear;
And his shadow in the mountains of the east
To this day he wanders into the dark night,
And under the window early in the morning
He asks to come to the sakli, knocking,
But, listening to the loud verse of the Koran,
He runs again under the shadow of the fog,
As before, he ran from the sword.

Analysis of the poem “The Fugitive” by Lermontov

“The Fugitive” (1837-1838) is one of Lermontov’s “Caucasian” poems, written by him under the influence of folk legends. The author himself placed the subtitle “mountain legend” under the title.

The plot is based on the story of a Caucasian warrior who, having lost his father and brothers in battle, cowardly left the battle and tried to take refuge in his native village. Taking a local legend as a basis, Lermontov expanded its moral meaning to a universal one. Harun is a sharply negative hero, a coward and a traitor. He commits betrayal not only in relation to his father and brothers, whose death remained unavenged. Harun betrays his native land and faith. In this image, Lermontov stigmatizes any cowardice and cowardice manifested in the performance of his civic duty. He focuses not on the values of the Muslim faith, but on “honor and freedom”, forgetting his “duty and shame”.

Harun's flight is accompanied by a silent condemnation of the surrounding nature. The fugitive makes his way through “dark glades” that “smelled the cold from the east.” He is forced to creep up to his native village like a wild animal. Anticipating the contempt that his action will cause, Harun carefully considers whom to turn to for help. His friend Selim, dying of illness (or from a mortal wound), listens with hope to the fugitive's speech. Even before his death, all his thoughts are aimed at protecting his native land. In the image of Selim, Lermontov embodied best qualities citizen and warrior. Harun in vain describes the battle and his happy deliverance in vivid colors. Now already ex-friend drives him out of his house with contempt.

The next scene is more emotional. Harun remembers his beloved girl, who, it seems to him, will treat him with compassion. But the shameful meeting was not destined to take place. The fugitive hears a girl's song in which she sings of military courage. “Having dropped his head,” Harun understands that here, too, he will be received as a contemptible coward.

The emotional intensity reaches its peak in the third scene. Harun turns to where “warm prayers” are undoubtedly offered for him - to his mother. But even his own mother, having learned that her own son betrayed his father and brothers, angrily drives the fugitive away: “You are a slave and a coward - and not my son!”

The traitor, rejected by everyone, finds the only possible way out - suicide. Death saves him from torment, but not from shame. Harun's corpse is left lying on the street without burial. His mother turns away from him, children play near his body, and a dog licks his blood. Harun's soul becomes the same despicable fugitive, unsuccessfully trying to achieve forgiveness.

The poem contains great edifying meaning. Subsequently, it was often quoted by revolutionary figures, condemning cowardice in defending civil liberties.

Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

It was long procedure. At first, Pashka walked with his mother in the rain, first along a mown field, then along forest paths, where yellow leaves stuck to his boots, until it dawned. Then he stood in the dark hallway for two hours and waited for the door to be unlocked. In the entryway it was not as cold and damp as in the yard; there was a wind and rain splashes flew in here. When the entryway gradually became crowded with people, the squeezed Pashka pressed his face against someone’s sheepskin coat, which smelled strongly of salted fish, and took a nap. But then the latch clicked, the door swung open, and Pashka and his mother entered the reception room. Here again we had to wait a long time. All the patients sat on the benches, did not move and were silent. Pashka looked at them and was also silent, although he saw a lot of strange and funny things. Only once, when some guy came into the waiting room, jumping on one leg, Pashka himself wanted to jump; he nudged his mother by the elbow, sprayed into her sleeve and said:

Mom, look: a sparrow!

Shut up, baby, shut up! - said the mother.

A sleepy paramedic appeared in the small window.

Come sign up! - he said in a deep voice.

Everyone, including the funny jumping guy, reached out to the window. The paramedic asked each person's name and patronymic, age, place of residence, how long he had been ill, etc. From his mother’s answers, Pashka learned that his name was not Pashka, but Pavel Galaktionov, that he was seven years old, that he was illiterate and had been ill since Easter.

Shortly after recording, I had to stand up for a while; A doctor in a white apron and a towel walked through the waiting room. Passing by the bouncing guy, he shrugged his shoulders and said in a melodious tenor:

What a fool! Well, aren't you a fool? I told you to come on Monday, and you come on Friday. Even if you don’t walk on me at all, you idiot, your leg will be lost!

The guy made such a pitiful face, as if he was about to beg, blinked and said:

Do me such a favor, Ivan Mikolaich!

There is nothing here - Ivan Mikolaich! - the doctor mimicked. - It was said on Monday, and we must obey. Fool, that's all...

Acceptance has begun. The doctor sat in his room and called out the patients one by one. Every now and then, piercing screams, children's cries, or the doctor's angry exclamations were heard from the room:

Well, what are you yelling about? Am I cutting you, or what? Sit still!

It was Pashka's turn.

Pavel Galaktionov! - the doctor shouted.

The mother was stunned, as if she had not been expecting this challenge, and, taking Pashka by the hand, she led him into the room. The doctor sat at the table and mechanically knocked on a thick book with a hammer.

What hurts? - he asked, without looking at those who entered.

The boy has a sore on his elbow, father,” the mother answered, and her face took on an expression as if she were really terribly saddened by Pashka’s sore.

Undress him!

Pashka, puffing, unraveled the scarf around his neck, then wiped his nose with his sleeve and slowly began to pull off his sheepskin coat.

Baba, I didn’t come for a visit! - the doctor said angrily. - Why are you bothering? After all, you are not the only one here with me.

Pashka hastily threw his sheepskin coat to the ground and, with the help of his mother, took off his shirt... The doctor lazily looked at him and patted his bare stomach.

It’s important, brother Pashka, you’ve grown a belly,” he said and sighed. - Well, show me your elbow.

Pashka glanced sideways at the basin with the bloody slop, looked at the doctor’s apron and began to cry.

Meh! - the doctor mimicked. - It’s time to marry the spoiled man, and he’s roaring! Unscrupulous.

Trying not to cry, Pashka looked at his mother, and in that look of his was written a request: “Don’t tell me at home that I cried in the hospital!”

The doctor examined his elbow, squeezed it, sighed, smacked his lips, then squeezed it again.

There’s no one to beat you, woman,” he said. - Why didn’t you bring him before? The hand is a waste! Look, you fool, this joint hurts!

You know better, father... - the woman sighed.

Father... The guy’s hand rotted, and now Father too. What kind of worker is he without a hand? For a whole century you will have to babysit him. You'll probably get a pimple on your nose, and you'll immediately run to the hospital, but the boy has been rotting for six months. All of you are like that.

The doctor lit a cigarette. While the cigarette was smoking, he scolded the woman and shook his head to the beat of the song that he hummed in his mind, and kept thinking about something. Naked Pashka stood in front of him, listened and looked at the smoke. When the cigarette went out, the doctor perked up and spoke in a lower tone:

Well, listen, grandma. Ointments and drops will not help here. We need to leave him in the hospital.

If it is necessary, father, then why not leave it?

Oleg Bubela

Instead of a preface

I didn’t avoid such a moment either, but I just decided not only to remember all this, but also, according to my old habit, to throw it out on paper so that it would be more clear. My reason was simple - I suddenly wanted to understand why I became who I am now, how I managed to go through my path and why I took it in the first place. Yes, now I, in fact, have begun to regret that I decided to describe my whole life in detail, since some of the events that happened to me, some of my actions do not honor me at all. And much of what I decided not to hide shows me far from my best side. Well, let! I did not intend, like many, to make myself into some kind of saint who lived righteously and according to his conscience all his life. I simply remembered myself, my thoughts and deeds, my victories and defeats, my feelings and sensations, and, in the end, I understood who I am and why.

How it all began

About five days before the trip, which changed my whole life so dramatically, my family literally ate the bald spots on my head, running after me and repeating: “You need to rest, get some fresh air...” As if it was impossible to quietly spend the free two weeks of vacation at home ! And there were a lot of reasons to stay, a lot of weighty arguments not to go anywhere. After all, I also needed to make the program interesting by catching literally a few bugs, after which a substantial bonus would be provided. And be with the girl for your own pleasure, otherwise we work with her somehow out of sync - I come when she is already asleep, and she leaves when I just wake up. No personal life at all!

But no, I succumbed to the persuasion of my ancestors. They are terribly conservative, they prefer some kind of nonsense like hiking over rough terrain to the traditional concept of relaxation. And they wouldn’t like to try all the delights of camp life themselves, because their tourist experiences are limited only to running through the garden beds at the dacha - so they began to persuade me to go out into nature only after they learned about my vacation. For almost a week I courageously resisted persuasion, but Natka finished me off by resolutely siding with my parents. Her main argument was the supposedly unhealthy appearance of my face. And what did she see there, in her face? It doesn't look like a cucumber - it's not greenish and the pimples don't really stick out. But, firmly rejecting all my reasonable arguments, she said:

You need some fresh air! Otherwise, you’ll soon put down roots near your computer and become overgrown with moss!

No, she blurted it out in vain, of course. In the last week, I only sat at the car for about four hours, no more. The rest of the time I tried to put things in order in the apartment, in which I was not very successful, and purposefully proved to my friend that I was also okay as a boyfriend. Maybe this also played a role. Well, I was a little overzealous with the attention that I tried to pay to Natka these days, or maybe I was just tired of her, so much so that she wanted to send me away. In general, all this led to the fact that through joint efforts I was pushed out of the house. To nature, motherfucker...

Moreover, my assurances that the nearby forest plantation is also nature (“Everyone can go out, lie on the grass, eat what they brought with them, and go home in the evening...”) did not go through. Of course, I did not agree with the first proposed option - to go on a hiking trip in the Carpathian Mountains with mandatory mountaineering lessons and the awesome opportunity to fall off the nearest very picturesque cliff, so that you can spend your entire life saving for medicine, and this is only if you are very lucky. I also rejected the option of kayaking along the tributaries of the Dnieper as extremely unsuccessful. Well, what can you do, I don’t know how to swim normally and I don’t want to learn - the water is so wet and cold, brrr... I’d rather swim at home in the bathtub, for that my skills are quite enough!

You'll go there tomorrow!

Yeah, good luck! All night I had nightmares about how I was climbing a rope in scuba gear onto a high rock, two heavy bags were hanging behind me, there was an abyss below and fog swirling, and the rock, bitch, did not end... I woke up covered in sweat, at eight o’clock - The family is waiting for me to deign to have breakfast on the road. Cursing to myself, I went to wash myself. After breakfast, he resolutely refused to see off. He slung a bag onto his shoulders and hissed in response to his mother’s question: “No, what are you talking about! It’s not hard at all!” I squeezed into the elevator, which closed with an angry clang, carrying me along the path to recovery.

On the second floor I went out and was very glad that my neighbor Seryoga was at home. Having asked him for a small favor - to look after my things for a few days, I took some old backpack from him and dug out in my oversized trunks a mug with a spoon, a boiler, a razor and a toothbrush, as well as a change of underwear and a bag with a laptop. Regarding the latter, yesterday I had to endure a very difficult battle and swear that I would turn on the laptop only to look at the weather forecast. Yes, I even believed myself at the moment when I promised, although I knew for sure that the unfinished program was eagerly awaiting me.

In general, having left the really necessary things in my backpack and promising Seryoga to check in, I went to the station. Then it was as usual - buying a ticket, waiting for the train, because the unearthly resort is only a few hours away, a carriage and half-asleep, rarely interrupted by hysterical exclamations:

Let's buy glue! (“Damn, these drug addicts are everywhere!”)

Ice cream, cold beer! (“I want to, but I’m too lazy to wake up…”)

Blue moon is to blame! (“What-what?! Oh, these are just wandering musicians. Vagrant guitarists, their mother... We’re sleeping...")

When the train arrived at the desired station, I was almost asleep. Feeling relieved to leave the stuffy, hot carriage, I learned the bus number from a printout I had prepared in advance and went to look for it. Along the way, I did my best to brush off the annoying taxi drivers, casually thinking about how they live if there are ten people for every one who comes?

The bus reached the village in half an hour, despite the heart-rending rattling and frightening sneeze of the engine. The driver was simply an ace, driving almost without looking at the road, sometimes throwing the steering wheel to change gear with both hands. During this action, everyone in the cabin listened in fear to the grinding sound from the bottom, thinking only about one thing: have the brakes already failed or are they still hanging on some nozzle? When we arrived at the place, all the future vacationers left this wreck, which, due to some wild misunderstanding, had not yet been sent for scrap, and breathed a sigh of relief. Several locals looked at our worries with grins.

It was not difficult to settle in - despite the height of the holidays, there were plenty of free places in the boarding house. Although what kind of boarding house is there, the name is the same! A bunch of small one-story houses with a couple of rooms of the “garage with beds” type, a shared kitchen, shower and toilet of the “toilet” type (well, of course, “me” and “jo”). Fairy tale! It’s good that I only have to live in this fairy tale for six days. I categorically will not agree to more, even if they pay me extra, but less is simply not possible, because my family may then come up with the idea of sending me somewhere else.

They gave me a room on the outskirts, two steps from the forest. The room itself was spacious, most of it was occupied by two sofa-type beds with mattresses, and it also had a large window that had been clean once upon a time, but was now full of dead flies and covered with cobwebs in the corners. Having made a simple choice between two seemingly identical beds, I placed my backpack next to one and carefully lay down on it. The mattress creaked pitifully with old springs and pleased me with a small dusty cloud.

Yes-ah... - I drawled. - Not a fountain, however.

So, lying on the bed, I thought about my plans for the week. The first step is to establish more or less normal operation of the grid, then work with the program, where one of the bugs is right on the surface; last time I almost discovered it. Then go somewhere for dinner, take a walk, look at the sights that I find, and - at the side. Great, the plan is ready for today, you can act!

With high spirits, I began to unpack my things. He laid everything out on the bed - where could he go, there was no bedside table - and took out his cell phone. A small fur-bearing animal began to carefully creep up on my plans - the display read: “No network.”

Disgusting! - I couldn’t resist.

Now you still need to look for the network. There should be an Internet cafe or a telephone point here. Oh well, it doesn’t light up, I’ll find it later. I'll definitely have to chat with the natives in the evening. Taking my laptop out of my bag, I opened it, but for some reason it refused to start.

The little furry wretch has already come close to my plans. But then I remembered that I had just watched a movie on it on the bus and completely discharged it. Well, it’s okay, this matter can be fixed! Thank God, at least the charger is in place, I exhaled with relief, feeling the cord in one of the pockets of my bag. Having plugged the wire into the laptop, I looked around for an outlet. After a thorough inspection and inspired swearing, the one I was looking for was found under the bed, nailed to the baseboard with two rusty nails. Mindful of the devil, I climbed into this corner, simultaneously helping the local cleaners earn their living. Although I haven’t seen these cleaners here yet, and, judging by the centimeter-long build-up of dust, I’m unlikely to ever see them.

Sneezing, I stuck the fork in and climbed free. True, just to see that the laptop is not interested in my efforts. He remained a lifeless piece of plastic, indifferently looking at me through the pupil of the webcam. I didn’t swear at expensive Japanese electronics, because I knew one truth firsthand - how you treat technology is how it serves. One of my friends changed the system units several times a year, and no matter how hard he tried, they weren’t enough for a long time - either a virus would creep in, then the hardware would heat up and slow down, or the coolers would start to make noise so loud that the neighbors would knock on the wall.

And then one day one eccentric advised him - you, they say, start assembling a computer from scratch. Find all the parts yourself, place them carefully, gently, saying all sorts of kind words, then wipe everything thoroughly, park the car so you don’t move it in vain, attach some trinkets, a sticker or an LED and give the computer a name. Only the real, so that later you can always call it that. My friend, of course, laughed, and then thought about it and a week later decided to try it. He did everything as he was advised and named the computer Valya.

Whether it was a miracle or not, you can think whatever you want, but since then he hasn’t known grief for a year and a half. And all the viruses do not cause any particular harm, but the especially evil ones are bypassed, and I have never had to do an upgrade - the machine flies like new. All his acquaintances laugh at him quietly when, coming home, he says hello to the computer, but he doesn’t care about them. And since then they have become good friends with that eccentric. True, his wife became jealous of the computer; after all, she is also called Valentina. I wonder what it will turn into for him...

Well, I didn’t scold my Asya, but thought for a couple of minutes and went to check the wiring. I didn’t go further than the second house - I met a woman with two idiots about seven years old, who turned out to be my neighbor in the house. She kindly explained to me that there is no electricity in our village and there never will be. And there is one in a Georgian restaurant, where there is a generator. The idiots, no less kindly, reported that the Internet had never been observed here either, and the communication point was located in the city, where the bus on which I arrived here runs three times a day, in the morning, in the afternoon and late in the evening. Like this!

Having thanked them for such valuable information, I trudged to my room and collapsed on the bed, which readily gave me a new portion of many years of dust.

Dog! - I exhaled and sneezed.

My imagination helpfully painted me a picture of how a furry animal with a malicious face settles into my plans, shits on them with pleasure and, whistling cheerfully, retreats back into the depths of my subconscious.

So, the plans collapsed, what to do now is absolutely unclear. Well, why not go to the city every day and return after seven hours? And I didn’t take a lot of money with me to spend on daily trips. And I will never see those who paid for six days of stay in this “fairy tale”. They have this thing - money is not returned, and that’s it! So even if tomorrow a crank bear finds me for lunch in the nearest forest and my relatives bury what’s left of me, the number I rented will still be waiting for me. After all, what if I come back again, albeit in an otherworldly state, and have nowhere to rest? Disorder!

After thinking for a couple more minutes in a similar vein and promising the bear severe indigestion if something happened, I decided that it would be nice to have a snack. Having hidden all my things in my backpack, I counted the cash, locked the room and followed the smells. There were a lot of them here, and they were all delicious. In the open air, in some places even without awnings, further along a small street with houses there were various kebab shops, snack bars, there was even a sushi bar, although I still don’t understand who needed it here. Deciding that it was better not to take anything from small stalls (what if it turns out like in the joke - buy four chebureks and collect a cat!), I went to a large establishment, where laughter was heard every now and then and loud music was playing.

Approaching this restaurant, I heard the faint rumble of a diesel engine and realized that in front of me was the very place that my recent acquaintance had told me about. But what kind of restaurant is there? A covered pavilion on a wooden platform, fenced with a fence and plastic film. The most ordinary summer cafe. After standing on the threshold for a while and realizing that I still wanted to eat, but the smells alone wouldn’t satisfy me, I went inside.

If not the entire population of the village, then at least half gathered here. There were practically no free tables; waiters in denim overalls scurried between noisy groups. Looking around, I saw a lonely small table in the corner. The main attractions of this place were the plastic chair with a crack in the middle, trash can Next to him was a red cat, studying him with a concentrated look. Moreover, from the cat’s plump face it was clear that he did not want to eat and was rummaging through the garbage only out of sporting interest.

I carefully sat down on the chair. The crack under me widened, threatening to pinch a certain part of the body as soon as I gaped. The cat, whom I had already mentally named Red, turned his head at the unknown alien who dared to encroach on his territory, and hissed menacingly. I looked him in the eyes and said calmly and friendly:

You don't touch me, and I won't touch you.

The cat looked into my eyes for a few seconds, then, snorting, returned to studying the contents of the tank. Apparently, he decided that getting involved with such an insignificant little man was unworthy of his highest attention. Well, okay, as if I wanted to!

While establishing neutrality with Red, I didn’t notice someone sneaking up behind me.

Shall we order? - they suddenly barked in my ear.

Naturally, I jumped. At the same time, the chair clenched its jaws joyfully and grabbed my left buttock. I howled, mentally cursing the stupid furniture, my decision to go out to lunch, my relatives who sent me to rest, and all the aborigines along with their fabulous village. The waiter and Red looked with interest as I tried to unhook the chair from my ass. Finally, the waiter got tired of watching the restaurant property being damaged, and with one jerk he pulled this plastic jaw off my body.

"Krack!" - the chair clicked offendedly, parting with my butt.

Thank you! - I said, looking at this sadistic furniture and checking whether a piece of my trousers was left in his mouth.

The waiter placed the chair on the floor with a crash.

So shall we order? - He looked at me sternly.

I looked at him in response and, appreciating his physical mass, hot blood and serious expression on his face, which said: “I’ll hurt you,” I decided not to joke and said:

I shouldn't have said that. The waiter's face began to change, gradually filling with all the shades of a juicy tomato. Under his gaze, I turned sour and sank into a chair, which readily opened its jaw again. Anticipating that now not only my butt, but also other parts of my body would suffer, I hastened to mitigate the situation.

Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

It was a long procedure. At first, Pashka walked with his mother in the rain, first along a mown field, then along forest paths, where yellow leaves stuck to his boots, until it dawned. Then he stood in the dark hallway for two hours and waited for the door to be unlocked. In the entryway it was not as cold and damp as in the yard; there was a wind and rain splashes flew in here. When the entryway gradually became crowded with people, the squeezed Pashka pressed his face against someone’s sheepskin coat, which smelled strongly of salted fish, and took a nap. But then the latch clicked, the door swung open, and Pashka and his mother entered the reception room. Here again we had to wait a long time. All the patients sat on the benches, did not move and were silent. Pashka looked at them and was also silent, although he saw a lot of strange and funny things. Only once, when some guy came into the waiting room, jumping on one leg, Pashka himself wanted to jump; he nudged his mother by the elbow, sprayed into her sleeve and said: