Teacher: Children, write down the sentence: “The fish was sitting on the tree.”
Student: Do fish sit on trees?
Teacher: Well... It was a crazy fish.
School joke
I was approaching my destination. Around me, clinging to the road itself, the forest was green, occasionally giving way to clearings overgrown with yellow sedge. The sun had been setting for an hour, but still could not set and hung low above the horizon. The car rolled along a narrow road covered with crisp gravel. I threw large stones under the wheel, and every time empty cans clanged and rumbled in the trunk.
To the right, two people came out of the forest, stepped onto the side of the road and stopped, looking in my direction. One of them raised his hand. I let off the gas, looking at them. It seemed to me that they were hunters, young people, maybe a little older than me. I liked their faces and stopped. The one who raised his hand stuck his dark, hook-nosed face into the car and asked, smiling:
– Can you give us a lift to Solovets?
The second one, with a red beard and no mustache, also smiled, looking over his shoulder. Positively, these were nice people.
“Let’s sit down,” I said. “One forward, one back, otherwise I have some junk in the back seat.”
- Benefactor! – the hook-nosed man said joyfully, took the gun off his shoulder and sat down next to me.
The bearded man, looking hesitantly into the back door, said:
– Can I have a little bit of that here?..
I leaned over the back and helped him clear the space occupied by a sleeping bag and a rolled-up tent. He sat down delicately, placing the gun between his knees.
“Close the door better,” I said.
Everything went as usual. The car started moving. The hook-nosed man turned back and started talking animatedly about how much more pleasant it was to ride in a car than to walk. The bearded man vaguely agreed and slammed and slammed the door. “Pick up a raincoat,” I advised, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Your coat is pinched.” After about five minutes everything finally settled down. I asked: “Ten kilometers to Solovets?” “Yes,” answered the hook-nosed man. – Or a little more. The road, however, is not good for trucks.” “The road is quite decent,” I objected. “They promised me that I wouldn’t pass at all.” “You can drive along this road even in the fall.” “Here, perhaps, but from Korobets it’s dirt.” - “This year the summer is dry, everything has dried up.” “They say it’s raining near Zatonya,” remarked the bearded man in the back seat. "Who is speaking?" – asked the hook-nosed one. "Merlin speaks." For some reason they laughed. I took out my cigarettes, lit them and offered them a treat. “Clara Zetkin’s factory,” said the hook-nosed man, looking at the pack. “Are you from Leningrad?” - "Yes". - “Are you traveling?” “I’m traveling,” I said. “Are you from here?” “Indigenous,” said the hook-nosed man. “I’m from Murmansk,” said the bearded man. “For Leningrad, probably, Solovets and Murmansk are one and the same: the North,” said the hook-nosed man. “No, why not,” I said politely. “Will you be staying in Solovets?” – asked the hook-nosed one. “Of course,” I said. “I’m going to Solovets.” - “Do you have relatives or friends there?” “No,” I said. - I'll just wait for the guys. They are walking along the shore, and Solovets is our rendezvous point.”
I saw a large scattering of stones ahead, slowed down and said: “Hold on tight.” The car shook and jumped. The hook-nosed man bruised his nose on the barrel of a gun. The engine roared, stones hit the bottom. “Poor car,” said the hunchbacked one. “What should I do...” I said. “Not everyone would drive their car down this road.” “I would go,” I said. The scattering is over. “Oh, so this is not your car,” the hook-nosed guy guessed. “Well, where did I get the car from? This is a rental." “I see,” said the hook-nosed man, as it seemed to me, disappointed. I felt offended. “What’s the point of buying a car to drive on asphalt? Where there is asphalt, there is nothing interesting, and where it is interesting, there is no asphalt.” “Yes, of course,” the hook-nosed man politely agreed. “It’s stupid, in my opinion, to make an idol out of a car,” I said. “Stupid,” said the bearded man. “But not everyone thinks so.” We talked about cars and came to the conclusion that if we were to buy anything, it would be a GAZ-69, an all-terrain vehicle, but, unfortunately, they don’t sell them. Then the hook-nosed man asked: “Where do you work?” I answered. “Colossal! - exclaimed the hook-nosed man. - Programmer! We need a programmer. Listen, leave your institute and come to us!” - “What do you have?” - “What do we have?” – asked the hook-nosed one, turning around. “Aldan-3,” said the bearded man. “Rich car,” I said. “And does it work well?” “How can I tell you...” “I see,” I said. “Actually, it hasn’t been debugged yet,” said the bearded man. “Stay with us, fix it…” “And we’ll arrange a translation for you in no time,” added the hook-nosed one. "What are you doing?" – I asked. “Like all science,” said the hunchbacked one. “Human happiness.” “I see,” I said. “Anything wrong with space?” “And with space too,” said the hook-nosed one. “They don’t seek good from good,” I said. “A capital city and a decent salary,” the bearded man said quietly, but I heard. “No need,” I said. “You don’t have to measure it with money.” “No, I was joking,” said the bearded man. “He’s joking like that,” said the hook-nosed man. “You won’t find anywhere more interesting than here.” - "Why do you think so?" - "Sure". - “I’m not sure.” The hook-nosed man grinned. “We’ll talk about this again,” he said. “Will you stay long in Solovets?” - “Two days maximum.” - “We’ll talk on the second day.” The bearded man said: “Personally, I see the finger of fate in this - we were walking through the forest and met a programmer. I think you're doomed." - “Do you really need a programmer that much?” – I asked. “We desperately need a programmer.” “I’ll talk to the guys,” I promised. “I know people who are dissatisfied.” “We don’t need just any programmer,” said the hunchbacked one. “Programmers are a people in short supply, they have become spoiled, but we need someone who is not spoiled.” “Yes, it’s more complicated,” I said. The hook-nosed man began to bend his fingers: “We need a programmer: a - not spoiled, be - a volunteer, tse - to agree to live in a hostel...” - “De,” the bearded man picked up, “for a hundred and twenty rubles.” - “What about wings? – I asked. – Or, say, a glow around the head? One in a thousand!" “And we only need one,” said the hook-nosed one. “What if there are only nine hundred of them?” - “We agree nine-tenths.”
The forest parted, we crossed the bridge and drove between potato fields. “Nine o’clock,” said the hook-nosed man. “Where are you going to spend the night?” - “I’ll spend the night in the car. What time are your stores open until? “Our stores are already closed,” said the hook-nosed man. “We can go to the hostel,” said the bearded man. “I have a free bed in my room.” “You can’t drive up to the hostel,” said the hook-nosed man thoughtfully. “Yes, perhaps,” the bearded man said and for some reason laughed. “The car can be parked near the police,” said the hook-nosed man. “Yes, this is nonsense,” said the bearded man. - I talk nonsense, and you follow me. How will he get to the hostel?” “Y-yes, damn it,” said the hunchbacked one. “Really, if you don’t work for a day, you forget about all these things.” - “Or maybe transgress him?” “Well, well,” said the hunchbacked one. - This is not a sofa for you. And you are not Cristobal Junta, and neither am I..."
“Don’t worry,” I said. – I’ll spend the night in the car, not the first time.
I suddenly really wanted to sleep on the sheets. I've already slept in a sleeping bag for four nights.
“Listen,” said the hook-nosed man, “ho-ho!” From inside the knife!
- Right! – the bearded man exclaimed. - It’s in Lukomorye!
“By God, I’ll spend the night in the car,” I said.
“You will spend the night in the house,” said the hook-nosed man, “in relatively clean linen.” We must thank you somehow...
“It’s not a good idea to give you fifty dollars,” said the bearded man.
We entered the city. There were old strong fences, powerful log houses made of giant blackened logs, with narrow windows, carved frames, and wooden cockerels on the roofs. I came across several dirty brick buildings with iron doors, the sight of which brought the semi-familiar word “storage store” out of my memory. The street was straight and wide and was called Prospekt Mira. Ahead, closer to the center, two-story cinder block houses with open gardens could be seen.
“Next lane to the right,” said the hunchbacked one.
I turned on the turn signal, slowed down and turned right. The road here was overgrown with grass, but a brand new Zaporozhets was standing huddled at some gate. House numbers hung above the gates, and the numbers were barely visible on the rusty tin of the signs. The lane was named gracefully: “St. Lukomorye". It was not wide and sandwiched between heavy ancient fences, probably erected back in the days when Swedish and Norwegian pirates roamed here.
“Stop,” said the hook-nosed man. I braked, and he again hit his nose on the barrel of the gun. “Now it’s like this,” he said, rubbing his nose. “You wait for me, and I’ll go now and arrange everything.”
“Really, it’s not worth it,” I said for the last time.
- No talking. Volodya, keep him at gunpoint.
The hook-nosed man got out of the car and, bending down, squeezed through the low gate. The house was not visible behind the tall gray fence. The gates were absolutely phenomenal, like in a locomotive depot, with rusty iron hinges weighing a pound. I read the signs in amazement. There were three of them. On the left gate, thick glass sternly glittered a solid blue sign with silver letters:
NIICHAVO
hut on chicken legs
monument to Solovetsky antiquity
On the top of the right gate hung a rusty tin sign: “St. Lukomorye, No. 13, N.K. Gorynych,” and under it was a piece of plywood with an inscription in ink at random:
THE CAT DOESN'T WORK
Administration
– Which CAT? – I asked. – Defense Technology Committee?
The bearded man chuckled.
“The main thing is don’t worry,” he said. “It’s funny here, but everything will be fine.”
I got out of the car and began wiping the windshield. There was suddenly a fuss over my head. I looked. At the gate, making himself comfortable, a gigantic cat—I’ve never seen anything like it—black and gray, with streaks, was anointing himself. Having sat down, he satedly and indifferently looked at me with yellow eyes. “Kiss-kiss-kiss,” I said automatically. The cat politely and coldly opened his toothy mouth, made a hoarse sound in his throat, and then turned away and began to look inside the yard. From there, from behind the fence, the voice of the hook-nosed man said:
- Vasily, my friend, allow me to disturb you.
The bolt squealed. The cat got up and silently disappeared into the yard. The gate swayed heavily, a terrifying creaking and crackling sound was heard, and the left gate slowly opened. The hook-nosed man's face, red from exertion, appeared.
- Benefactor! – he called. - Come on in!
I got back into the car and slowly drove into the yard. The yard was vast, in the back stood a house made of thick logs, and in front of the house stood a squat, immense oak tree, wide, dense, with a thick crown obscuring the roof. From the gate to the house, going around the oak tree, there was a path lined with stone slabs. To the right of the path was a vegetable garden, and to the left, in the middle of the lawn, stood a well frame with a collar, black from antiquity and covered with moss.
I parked the car aside, turned off the engine and got out. Bearded Volodya also got out and, leaning his gun against the side, began to adjust his backpack.
“Here you are at home,” he said.
The hook-nosed man closed the gate with a creak and a crash, but I, feeling rather awkward, looked around, not knowing what to do.
- And here is the hostess! - the bearded man cried. - Are you healthy, grandma, Naina Svet Kievna!
The owner was probably over a hundred. She walked towards us slowly, leaning on a gnarled stick, dragging her feet in felt boots and galoshes. Her face was dark brown; from a continuous mass of wrinkles, a nose protruded forward and downwards, crooked and sharp, like a scimitar, and the eyes were pale, dull, as if closed by cataracts.
“Hello, hello, grandson,” she said in an unexpectedly sonorous bass. – This means there will be a new programmer? Hello, father, welcome!..
I bowed, realizing that I needed to keep quiet. The grandmother's head, on top of a black down scarf tied under her chin, was covered with a cheerful nylon scarf with multi-colored images of the Atomium and with inscriptions in different languages: “International Exhibition in Brussels.” There was sparse gray stubble sticking out on his chin and under his nose. The grandmother was dressed in a cotton vest and a black cloth dress.
- In this way, Naina Kievna! - said the hook-nosed man, coming up and wiping the rust from his palms. – We need to arrange for our new employee for two nights. Let me introduce... mmmm...
“Don’t,” said the old woman, looking at me intently. - I see it myself. Privalov Alexander Ivanovich, one thousand nine hundred and thirty-eighth, male, Russian, member of the Komsomol, no, no, did not participate, was not, does not have, but you, diamond, will have a long journey and interest in the government house, but you will be afraid, diamond, We need a red-haired, unkind man, and gild the handle, Yachon...
- Hmm! – the hook-nosed man said loudly, and the grandmother stopped short. An awkward silence reigned.
“You can just call me Sasha...” I squeezed out a pre-prepared phrase.
- And where will I put it? - the grandmother inquired.
“In the storeroom, of course,” said the hook-nosed man somewhat irritably.
– Who will answer?
“Naina Kievna!..” the hook-nosed man roared like a provincial tragedian, grabbed the old woman by the arm and dragged her to the house. You could hear them arguing: “After all, we agreed!..” - “...And if he steals something?..” - “Be quiet! This is a programmer, you know? Komsomolets! Scientist!..” - “And if he starts tutting?..”
I shyly turned to Volodya. Volodya giggled.
“It’s kind of awkward,” I said.
- Don't worry - everything will be fine...
He wanted to say something else, but then the grandmother screamed wildly: “And the sofa, the sofa!..” I shuddered and said:
“You know, I guess I’ll go, huh?”
- Out of the question! – Volodya said decisively. - Everything will be fine. It’s just that grandma needs a bribe, and Roman and I don’t have cash.
“I’ll pay,” I said. Now I really wanted to leave: I can’t stand these so-called everyday collisions.
Volodya shook his head.
- Nothing like this. There he is already coming. Everything is fine.
Hump-nosed Roman came up to us, took me by the hand and said:
- Well, everything worked out. Went.
“Listen, it’s somehow inconvenient,” I said. “After all, she doesn’t have to...
But we were already walking towards the house.
“I have to, I have to,” Roman said.
We walked around the oak tree and came to the back porch. Roman pushed the leatherette door, and we found ourselves in the hallway, spacious and clean, but poorly lit. The old woman was waiting for us, her hands folded on her stomach and her lips pursed. When she saw us, she said in a vindictive voice:
- And a receipt right away!
Roman howled quietly, and we entered the room assigned to me. It was a cool room with one window covered with a chintz curtain. Roman said in a tense voice:
– Make yourself comfortable and make yourself at home.
The old woman from the hallway immediately jealously inquired:
- Don’t they click their teeth?
Roman, without turning around, barked:
- They don’t tut! They tell you there are no teeth.
- Then let’s go and write a receipt...
Roman raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes, bared his teeth and shook his head, but still left. I looked around. There was little furniture in the room. There was a massive table by the window, covered with a shabby gray tablecloth with fringe, and in front of the table there was a rickety stool. Near the bare log wall there was a large sofa; on the other wall, covered with wallpaper of different sizes, there was a hanger with some kind of junk (quilted jackets, loose fur coats, tattered caps and earflaps). A large Russian stove jutted into the room, shining with fresh whitewash, and opposite in the corner hung a large, cloudy mirror in a shabby frame. The floor had been scraped and covered with striped rugs.
There were two voices muttering behind the wall: the old woman was booming on one note, Roman’s voice was rising and falling. “Tablecloth, inventory number two hundred and forty-five...” - “You still need to write down every floorboard!..” - “The dining table...” - “Will you also write down the stove?..” - “We need order... Sofa...”
I went to the window and pulled back the curtain. There was an oak tree outside the window, nothing else was visible. I began to look at the oak tree. It was apparently a very ancient plant. The bark on it was gray and somehow dead, and the monstrous roots that came out of the ground were covered with red and white lichen. “And write down the oak tree!” – Roman said behind the wall. There was a plump, greasy book lying on the windowsill; I thoughtlessly leafed through it, walked away from the window and sat down on the sofa. And I immediately wanted to sleep. I thought that I drove the car for fourteen hours today, that perhaps I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry, that my back hurts, and everything in my head is confused, that in the end I don’t give a damn about this boring old woman, and that it would all be over soon and I could lie down and go to sleep...
“Well,” said Roman, appearing on the threshold. - The formalities are over. “He shook his hand, his fingers splayed and smeared with ink. - Our fingers are tired: we wrote, we wrote... Go to bed. We leave, and you go to bed peacefully. What are you doing tomorrow?
“I’m waiting,” I answered sluggishly.
- Here. And near the post office.
– You probably won’t leave tomorrow?
– Tomorrow is unlikely... Most likely the day after tomorrow.
“Then we’ll see each other again.” Our love is ahead. “He smiled, waved his hand and left. I lazily thought that I should see him off and say goodbye to Volodya, and lay down. Now an old woman entered the room. I wake up. The old woman looked at me intently for some time.
“I’m afraid, father, that you’ll start to bite your teeth,” she said with concern.
“I won’t tut,” I said wearily. - I'll go to sleep.
- Go to bed and sleep... Just pay the money and sleep...
I reached into my back pocket for my wallet.
- How much do I have to pay?
The old woman raised her eyes to the ceiling.
- We’ll put a ruble for the premises... Fifty dollars for the bed linen - it’s mine, not the government’s. For two nights it comes out to three rubles... And how much you will throw in from generosity - for trouble, that means - I don’t even know...
I handed her a five.
“The generosity is only a ruble so far,” I said. - And we’ll see from there.
The old woman quickly grabbed the money and left, muttering something about change. She was gone for quite a long time, and I was about to give up on both the change and the laundry, but she returned and laid out a handful of dirty coppers on the table.
“Here’s your change, father,” she said. - Exactly a ruble, you don’t have to count it.
“I won’t count it,” I said. – How about underwear?
- I’ll go to bed now. You go out into the yard, take a walk, and I’ll go to bed.
I went out, taking out cigarettes as I went. The sun finally set and a white night fell. Somewhere dogs were barking. I sat down under an oak tree on a bench rooted into the ground, lit a cigarette and began to look at the pale starless sky. A cat silently appeared from somewhere, looked at me with fluorescent eyes, then quickly climbed up the oak tree and disappeared into the dark foliage. I immediately forgot about him and shuddered when he fussed somewhere upstairs. Garbage fell on my head. “For you...” I said out loud and began to shake myself off. I was extremely sleepy. An old woman came out of the house, without noticing me, and wandered to the well. I understood this to mean that the bed was ready, and returned to the room.
The bad old woman made a bed for me on the floor. Well, no, I thought, I locked the door, dragged the bed onto the sofa and began to undress. A gloomy light fell from the window; a cat was noisily fiddling around in an oak tree. I shook my head, shaking the debris out of my hair. It was strange, unexpected garbage: large dry fish scales. It will be hard to sleep, I thought, I collapsed on the pillow and immediately fell asleep.
Monday starts on Saturday A fairy tale for junior researchers
But what’s strangest, what’s most incomprehensible of all, is how authors can take such plots, I admit, it’s completely incomprehensible, that’s for sure... no, no, I don’t understand at all.
N.V. Gogol
Story one
NUTS AROUND THE SOFA
Chapter first
Teacher: Children, write down the sentence: “The fish was sitting on the tree.”
Student: Do fish really sit on trees?
Teacher: Well... It was a crazy fish.
School joke
I was approaching my destination. Around me, clinging to the road itself, the forest was green, occasionally giving way to clearings overgrown with yellow sedge. The sun had been setting for an hour, but still could not set and hung low above the horizon. The car rolled along a narrow road covered with crisp gravel. I threw large stones under the wheel, and every time empty cans clanged and rumbled in the trunk.
To the right, two people came out of the forest, stepped onto the side of the road and stopped, looking in my direction. One of them raised his hand. I let off the gas, looking at them. It seemed to me that they were hunters, young people, maybe a little older than me. I liked their faces and stopped. The one who raised his hand stuck his dark, hook-nosed face into the car and asked, smiling:
– Can you give us a lift to Solovets?
The second one, with a red beard and no mustache, also smiled, looking over his shoulder. Positively, these were nice people.
“Let’s sit down,” I said. - One forward, one back, otherwise I have junk there, in the back seat.
- Benefactor! – the hook-nosed man said joyfully, took the gun off his shoulder and sat down next to me.
The bearded man, looking hesitantly into the back door, said:
– Can I have a little bit of that here?..
I leaned over the back and helped him clear the space occupied by a sleeping bag and a rolled up tent. He sat down delicately, placing the gun between his knees.
“Close the door better,” I said.
Everything went as usual. The car started moving. The hook-nosed man turned back and animatedly started talking about how much more pleasant it was to ride in a car than to walk. The bearded man vaguely agreed and slammed and slammed the door. “Pick up a raincoat,” I advised, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Your coat is pinched.” After about five minutes everything finally settled down. I asked: “Ten kilometers to Solovets?” “Yes,” answered the hook-nosed man. – Or a little more. The road, however, is not good for trucks.” “The road is quite decent,” I objected. “They promised me that I wouldn’t pass at all.” “You can drive along this road even in the fall.” “Here, perhaps, but from Korobets it’s dirt.” - “This year the summer is dry, everything has dried up.” “They say it’s raining near Zatonya,” remarked the bearded man in the back seat. "Who is speaking?" – asked the hook-nosed one. "Merlin speaks." For some reason they laughed. I took out my cigarettes, lit them and offered them a treat. “Clara Zetkin’s factory,” said the hook-nosed man, looking at the pack. “Are you from Leningrad?” - "Yes". - “Are you traveling?” “I’m traveling,” I said. “Are you from here?” “Indigenous,” said the hook-nosed man. “I’m from Murmansk,” said the bearded man. “For Leningrad, probably, Solovets and Murmansk are one and the same: the North,” said the hook-nosed man. “No, why not,” I said politely. “Will you be staying in Solovets?” – asked the hook-nosed one. “Of course,” I said. “I’m going to Solovets.” - “Do you have relatives or friends there?” “No,” I said. - I'll just wait for the guys. They are walking along the shore, and Solovets is our rendezvous point.”
I saw a large scattering of stones ahead, slowed down and said: “Hold on tight.” The car shook and jumped. The hook-nosed man bruised his nose on the barrel of a gun. The engine exploded, stones hit the bottom. “Poor car,” said the hunchbacked one. “What should I do...” I said. “Not everyone would drive their car down this road.” “I would go,” I said. The scattering is over. “Oh, so this is not your car,” the hook-nosed guy guessed. “Well, where did I get the car from? This is a rental." “I see,” said the hook-nosed man, as it seemed to me, disappointed. I felt offended. “What’s the point of buying a car to drive on asphalt? Where there is asphalt, there is nothing interesting, and where it is interesting, there is no asphalt.” “Yes, of course,” the hook-nosed man politely agreed. “It’s stupid, in my opinion, to make an idol out of a car,” I said. “Stupid,” said the bearded man. “But not everyone thinks so.” We talked about cars and came to the conclusion that if we were to buy anything, it would be a GAZ-69, an all-terrain vehicle, but, unfortunately, they don’t sell them. Then the hook-nosed man asked: “Where do you work?” I answered. “Colossal! - exclaimed the hook-nosed man. - Programmer! We need a programmer. Listen, leave your institute and come to us!” - “What do you have?” - “What do we have?” – asked the hook-nosed one, turning around. “Aldan-3,” said the bearded man. “Rich car,” I said. “And does it work well?” “How can I tell you...” “I see,” I said. “Actually, it hasn’t been debugged yet,” said the bearded man. “Stay with us, debug it…” “And we’ll arrange a translation for you in no time,” added the hook-nosed one. "What are you doing?" – I asked. “Like all science,” said the hunchbacked one. “Human happiness.” “I see,” I said. “Anything wrong with space?” “And with space too,” said the hook-nosed one. “They don’t seek good from good,” I said. “A capital city and a decent salary,” the bearded man said quietly, but I heard. “No need,” I said. “You don’t have to measure it with money.” “No, I was joking,” said the bearded man. “He’s joking like that,” said the hook-nosed man. “You won’t find anywhere more interesting than here.” - "Why do you think so?" - "Sure". - “I’m not sure.” The hook-nosed man grinned. “We will talk about this topic later,” he said. “Will you stay long in Solovets?” - “Two days maximum.” - “We’ll talk on the second day.” The bearded man said: “Personally, I see the finger of fate in this - we were walking through the forest and met a programmer. I think you're doomed." - “Do you really need a programmer that much?” – I asked. “We desperately need a programmer.” “I’ll talk to the guys,” I promised. “I know people who are dissatisfied.” “We don’t need just any programmer,” said the hunchbacked one. “Programmers are a people in short supply, they have become spoiled, but we need someone who is not spoiled.” “Yes, it’s more complicated,” I said. The hook-nosed man began to bend his fingers: “We need a programmer: a - not spoiled, be - a volunteer, tse - to agree to live in a hostel...” - “De,” the bearded man picked up, “for a hundred and twenty rubles.” - “What about wings? – I asked. – Or, say, a glow around the head? One in a thousand!" “And we only need one,” said the hook-nosed one. “What if there are only nine hundred of them?” - “We agree nine-tenths.”
The forest parted, we crossed the bridge and drove between potato fields. “Nine o’clock,” said the hook-nosed man. “Where are you going to spend the night?” - “I’ll spend the night in the car. What time are your stores open until? “Our stores are already closed,” said the hook-nosed man. “We can go to the hostel,” said the bearded man. “I have a free bed in my room.” “You can’t drive up to the hostel,” said the hook-nosed man thoughtfully. “Yes, perhaps,” the bearded man said and for some reason laughed. “The car can be parked near the police,” said the hook-nosed man. “Yes, this is nonsense,” said the bearded man. - I talk nonsense, and you follow me. How will he get to the hostel?” “Y-yes, damn it,” said the hunchbacked one. “Really, if you don’t work for a day, you forget about all these things.” - “Or maybe transgress him?” “Well, well,” said the hunchbacked one. - This is not a sofa for you. And you are not Cristobal Junta, and neither am I..."
“Don’t worry,” I said. – I’ll spend the night in the car, not the first time.
I suddenly really wanted to sleep on the sheets. I've already slept in a sleeping bag for four nights.
The strange title of the story appeared thanks to N. Sventsitskaya, an old friend of the Strugatskys. Trying to make fun of the brothers, Sventsitskaya claimed that a well-known bookstore was selling a new work by Hemingway, called “Monday Begins on Saturday.” The writers really liked the name. They decided to use it for their new work.
The fantastic story consists of three parts. The first part acts as an introduction. The second is polemical and satirical in nature. In the last part, the authors try to answer the question of how creativity and science can be combined as harmoniously as possible.
Programmer from Leningrad Alexander Privalov drives past the city of Solovets. His car is stopped by employees of a local institute. Privalov's new friends invite him to spend the night in the IZNAKURNOZH museum, which means Hut on Chicken Legs. The programmer agrees because he is currently on vacation and can afford to visit an unfamiliar place.
Arriving at the museum, Privalov notices that strange events are taking place both in the cultural institution itself and in the city where it is located. The programmer is surrounded by a huge number of strange creatures and things: an irredeemable nickel, a talking cat, a magic mirror. For the people around Privalov, all these oddities are the norm and do not attract attention. One of Alexander’s new acquaintances, Roman Oira-Oira, invites Privalov to go to work at the Research Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry (abbreviated as NIICHAVO). The programmer immediately agrees, because he wants to understand the essence of everything that is happening.
The second part of the story tells in more detail about Privalov’s new place of work - NIICHAVO. Six months have passed since he got a job at the institute. On New Year's Eve, the former programmer goes around all the rooms in the building: the departments of the Meaning of Life, Predictions and Prophecies, Eternal Youth, Absolute Knowledge and others.
Suddenly, all the institute's employees return to their jobs. Privalov looks with admiration at his colleagues who, even on holidays, do not want to leave their favorite business. The motto of these people is: “Monday begins on Saturday.” The institute's workers hate Sunday - the most boring day of the week for them. All NIICHAVO employees are real magicians, capable of feeding people five pieces of bread and turning water into wine. However, this is not their most important advantage. The main thing is that all these people know how to build very special relationships with the world. They don’t just endlessly experiment, they search for the meaning of life and try to understand what human happiness lies in.
The pre-New Year atmosphere is disrupted by the appearance of a “model of a person with gastrointestinal dissatisfaction” created by Professor Vybegallo. After the invention self-destructed after taking a huge amount of food, the professor announced that his next development would be “a model of a completely satisfied person.” Some colleagues have doubts about whether it is worth creating such a monster. However, Professor Vibegallo created a model of the Ideal Consumer, who tried to gain power. However, at the last moment he was stopped.
All sorts of fuss
In the third part, Privalov participates in many events taking place at the institute, for example, in testing a machine that allows you to travel to the future or past, created by science fiction writers. Privalov witnesses the death of a talking parrot. The next day the bird turns out to be alive. As it turned out, what happened with the parrot is called countermotion, that is, the course of events in the opposite direction.
Editing and publication
The editor removed several “inappropriate” fragments from the story. For example, mentions of the International anthem and the Minister of State Security Malyuta Skuratov were excluded by censorship. The authors themselves also made some adjustments. In the early 90s, the story was republished in the edition of B. Strugatsky.
Publication of the work
The first part of the work was published in the collection “Fiction, 1964” in 1964. In the same year, the second part was partially published in the magazine “Iskatel”. In 1965, a book edition was published for the first time, including all 3 parts. The story was published for the second time in 1966, then in 1979. Since the mid-80s, the work has been republished annually.
The fantastic story of the Strugatsky brothers has a humorous tone. The authors skillfully ridicule bureaucrats and opportunists. In addition, the Strugatskys consider the place of a talented person in modern society for writers. According to the authors, such people should be given the opportunity to study the secrets of the Universe.
“Monday Begins on Saturday” is a story that had a significant influence on readers of the Soviet Union in the 60s, 70s and 80s. Many phrases from this work have become aphorisms. However, already in 1991 the story lost its relevance. After the collapse of the USSR, some of the realities described in the Strugatskys’ work ceased to exist. The younger generation did not understand the irony of this story. But at the end of the twentieth century, the story again becomes relevant. Through her example, young Russians were shown the superiority of the new system over the old.
The Strugatsky brothers did not try to veil all the unsightly realities of their contemporary society. The professor with the telling surname Vibegallo personifies one of the opportunists, a huge number of whom could be found in the USSR. Vybegallo constantly pretends that he is working. However, everything he creates does not bring any benefit. The first scientific “success” of the professor mentioned in the story is “a man dissatisfied with his stomach,” the benefit of which is very doubtful.
When a strange invention burst from overeating, Vibegallo creates an even more incomprehensible creature - the Ideal Consumer, in which the authors portrayed a person typical of his time. With the development of technological progress, more material wealth and comfort appeared in the lives of Soviet people. Spiritual needs become secondary. The ideal Consumer is not much different from “a person with gastrointestinal dissatisfaction.” Unlike the first creature, which only needed food and never felt full, the second creature did not have enough food. It wants more and more material values. The authors hint that such Consumers will be able to take over the world, that is, everyone will be an Ideal Consumer. The role model in the story is Privalov. The only motive for all his actions is selfless knowledge of the world.
Current page: 1 (book has 14 pages in total)
Arkady and Boris Strugatsky
Monday starts on Saturday
(A fairy tale for younger researchers)
But what’s strangest, what’s most incomprehensible of all, is how authors can take such plots, I admit, it’s completely incomprehensible, that’s for sure... no, no, I don’t understand at all.
N.V. Gogol
Story one
Fuss around the sofa
Chapter first
Teacher: Children, write down the sentence: “The fish was sitting on the tree.”
Student: Do fish sit on trees?
Teacher: Well... It was a crazy fish.
School joke
I was approaching my destination. Around me, clinging to the road itself, the forest was green, occasionally giving way to clearings overgrown with yellow sedge. The sun had been setting for an hour, but still could not set and hung low above the horizon. The car rolled along a narrow road covered with crisp gravel. I threw large stones under the wheel, and every time empty cans clanged and rumbled in the trunk.
To the right, two people came out of the forest, stepped onto the side of the road and stopped, looking in my direction. One of them raised his hand. I let off the gas, looking at them. It seemed to me that they were hunters, young people, maybe a little older than me. I liked their faces and stopped. The one who raised his hand stuck his dark, hook-nosed face into the car and asked, smiling:
– Can you give us a lift to Solovets?
The second one, with a red beard and no mustache, also smiled, looking over his shoulder. Positively, these were nice people.
“Let’s sit down,” I said. “One forward, one back, otherwise I have some junk in the back seat.”
- Benefactor! – the hook-nosed man said joyfully, took the gun off his shoulder and sat down next to me.
The bearded man, looking hesitantly into the back door, said:
– Can I have a little bit of that here?..
I leaned over the back and helped him clear the space occupied by a sleeping bag and a rolled-up tent. He sat down delicately, placing the gun between his knees.
“Close the door better,” I said.
Everything went as usual. The car started moving. The hook-nosed man turned back and started talking animatedly about how much more pleasant it was to ride in a car than to walk. The bearded man vaguely agreed and slammed and slammed the door. “Pick up a raincoat,” I advised, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Your coat is pinched.” After about five minutes everything finally settled down. I asked: “Ten kilometers to Solovets?” “Yes,” answered the hook-nosed man. – Or a little more. The road, however, is not good for trucks.” “The road is quite decent,” I objected. “They promised me that I wouldn’t pass at all.” “You can drive along this road even in the fall.” “Here, perhaps, but from Korobets it’s dirt.” - “This year the summer is dry, everything has dried up.” “They say it’s raining near Zatonya,” remarked the bearded man in the back seat. "Who is speaking?" – asked the hook-nosed one. "Merlin speaks." For some reason they laughed. I took out my cigarettes, lit them and offered them a treat. “Clara Zetkin’s factory,” said the hook-nosed man, looking at the pack. “Are you from Leningrad?” - "Yes". - “Are you traveling?” “I’m traveling,” I said. “Are you from here?” “Indigenous,” said the hook-nosed man. “I’m from Murmansk,” said the bearded man. “For Leningrad, probably, Solovets and Murmansk are one and the same: the North,” said the hook-nosed man. “No, why not,” I said politely. “Will you be staying in Solovets?” – asked the hook-nosed one. “Of course,” I said. “I’m going to Solovets.” - “Do you have relatives or friends there?” “No,” I said. - I'll just wait for the guys. They are walking along the shore, and Solovets is our rendezvous point.”
I saw a large scattering of stones ahead, slowed down and said: “Hold on tight.” The car shook and jumped. The hook-nosed man bruised his nose on the barrel of a gun. The engine roared, stones hit the bottom. “Poor car,” said the hunchbacked one. “What should I do...” I said. “Not everyone would drive their car down this road.” “I would go,” I said. The scattering is over. “Oh, so this is not your car,” the hook-nosed guy guessed. “Well, where did I get the car from? This is a rental." “I see,” said the hook-nosed man, as it seemed to me, disappointed. I felt offended. “What’s the point of buying a car to drive on asphalt? Where there is asphalt, there is nothing interesting, and where it is interesting, there is no asphalt.” “Yes, of course,” the hook-nosed man politely agreed. “It’s stupid, in my opinion, to make an idol out of a car,” I said. “Stupid,” said the bearded man. “But not everyone thinks so.” We talked about cars and came to the conclusion that if we were to buy anything, it would be a GAZ-69, an all-terrain vehicle, but, unfortunately, they don’t sell them. Then the hook-nosed man asked: “Where do you work?” I answered. “Colossal! - exclaimed the hook-nosed man. - Programmer! We need a programmer. Listen, leave your institute and come to us!” - “What do you have?” - “What do we have?” – asked the hook-nosed one, turning around. “Aldan-3,” said the bearded man. “Rich car,” I said. “And does it work well?” “How can I tell you...” “I see,” I said. “Actually, it hasn’t been debugged yet,” said the bearded man. “Stay with us, fix it…” “And we’ll arrange a translation for you in no time,” added the hook-nosed one. "What are you doing?" – I asked. “Like all science,” said the hunchbacked one. “Human happiness.” “I see,” I said. “Anything wrong with space?” “And with space too,” said the hook-nosed one. “They don’t seek good from good,” I said. “A capital city and a decent salary,” the bearded man said quietly, but I heard. “No need,” I said. “You don’t have to measure it with money.” “No, I was joking,” said the bearded man. “He’s joking like that,” said the hook-nosed man. “You won’t find anywhere more interesting than here.” - "Why do you think so?" - "Sure". - “I’m not sure.” The hook-nosed man grinned. “We’ll talk about this again,” he said. “Will you stay long in Solovets?” - “Two days maximum.” - “We’ll talk on the second day.” The bearded man said: “Personally, I see the finger of fate in this - we were walking through the forest and met a programmer. I think you're doomed." - “Do you really need a programmer that much?” – I asked. “We desperately need a programmer.” “I’ll talk to the guys,” I promised. “I know people who are dissatisfied.” “We don’t need just any programmer,” said the hunchbacked one. “Programmers are a people in short supply, they have become spoiled, but we need someone who is not spoiled.” “Yes, it’s more complicated,” I said. The hook-nosed man began to bend his fingers: “We need a programmer: a - not spoiled, be - a volunteer, tse - to agree to live in a hostel...” - “De,” the bearded man picked up, “for a hundred and twenty rubles.” - “What about wings? – I asked. – Or, say, a glow around the head? One in a thousand!" “And we only need one,” said the hook-nosed one. “What if there are only nine hundred of them?” - “We agree nine-tenths.”
The forest parted, we crossed the bridge and drove between potato fields. “Nine o’clock,” said the hook-nosed man. “Where are you going to spend the night?” - “I’ll spend the night in the car. What time are your stores open until? “Our stores are already closed,” said the hook-nosed man. “We can go to the hostel,” said the bearded man. “I have a free bed in my room.” “You can’t drive up to the hostel,” said the hook-nosed man thoughtfully. “Yes, perhaps,” the bearded man said and for some reason laughed. “The car can be parked near the police,” said the hook-nosed man. “Yes, this is nonsense,” said the bearded man. - I talk nonsense, and you follow me. How will he get to the hostel?” “Y-yes, damn it,” said the hunchbacked one. “Really, if you don’t work for a day, you forget about all these things.” - “Or maybe transgress him?” “Well, well,” said the hunchbacked one. - This is not a sofa for you. And you are not Cristobal Junta, and neither am I..."
“Don’t worry,” I said. – I’ll spend the night in the car, not the first time.
I suddenly really wanted to sleep on the sheets. I've already slept in a sleeping bag for four nights.
“Listen,” said the hook-nosed man, “ho-ho!” From inside the knife!
- Right! – the bearded man exclaimed. - It’s in Lukomorye!
“By God, I’ll spend the night in the car,” I said.
“You will spend the night in the house,” said the hook-nosed man, “in relatively clean linen.” We must thank you somehow...
“It’s not a good idea to give you fifty dollars,” said the bearded man.
We entered the city. There were old strong fences, powerful log houses made of giant blackened logs, with narrow windows, carved frames, and wooden cockerels on the roofs. I came across several dirty brick buildings with iron doors, the sight of which brought the semi-familiar word “storage store” out of my memory. The street was straight and wide and was called Prospekt Mira. Ahead, closer to the center, two-story cinder block houses with open gardens could be seen.
“Next lane to the right,” said the hunchbacked one.
I turned on the turn signal, slowed down and turned right. The road here was overgrown with grass, but a brand new Zaporozhets was standing huddled at some gate. House numbers hung above the gates, and the numbers were barely visible on the rusty tin of the signs. The lane was named gracefully: “St. Lukomorye". It was not wide and sandwiched between heavy ancient fences, probably erected back in the days when Swedish and Norwegian pirates roamed here.
“Stop,” said the hook-nosed man. I braked, and he again hit his nose on the barrel of the gun. “Now it’s like this,” he said, rubbing his nose. “You wait for me, and I’ll go now and arrange everything.”
“Really, it’s not worth it,” I said for the last time.
- No talking. Volodya, keep him at gunpoint.
The hook-nosed man got out of the car and, bending down, squeezed through the low gate. The house was not visible behind the tall gray fence. The gates were absolutely phenomenal, like in a locomotive depot, with rusty iron hinges weighing a pound. I read the signs in amazement. There were three of them. On the left gate, thick glass sternly glittered a solid blue sign with silver letters:
NIICHAVO
hut on chicken legs
monument to Solovetsky antiquity
On the top of the right gate hung a rusty tin sign: “St. Lukomorye, No. 13, N.K. Gorynych,” and under it was a piece of plywood with an inscription in ink at random:
THE CAT DOESN'T WORK
Administration
– Which CAT? – I asked. – Defense Technology Committee?
The bearded man chuckled.
“The main thing is don’t worry,” he said. “It’s funny here, but everything will be fine.”
I got out of the car and began wiping the windshield. There was suddenly a fuss over my head. I looked. At the gate, making himself comfortable, a gigantic cat—I’ve never seen anything like it—black and gray, with streaks, was anointing himself. Having sat down, he satedly and indifferently looked at me with yellow eyes. “Kiss-kiss-kiss,” I said automatically. The cat politely and coldly opened his toothy mouth, made a hoarse sound in his throat, and then turned away and began to look inside the yard. From there, from behind the fence, the voice of the hook-nosed man said:
- Vasily, my friend, allow me to disturb you.
The bolt squealed. The cat got up and silently disappeared into the yard. The gate swayed heavily, a terrifying creaking and crackling sound was heard, and the left gate slowly opened. The hook-nosed man's face, red from exertion, appeared.
- Benefactor! – he called. - Come on in!
I got back into the car and slowly drove into the yard. The yard was vast, in the back stood a house made of thick logs, and in front of the house stood a squat, immense oak tree, wide, dense, with a thick crown obscuring the roof. From the gate to the house, going around the oak tree, there was a path lined with stone slabs. To the right of the path was a vegetable garden, and to the left, in the middle of the lawn, stood a well frame with a collar, black from antiquity and covered with moss.
I parked the car aside, turned off the engine and got out. Bearded Volodya also got out and, leaning his gun against the side, began to adjust his backpack.
“Here you are at home,” he said.
The hook-nosed man closed the gate with a creak and a crash, but I, feeling rather awkward, looked around, not knowing what to do.
- And here is the hostess! - the bearded man cried. - Are you healthy, grandma, Naina Svet Kievna!
The owner was probably over a hundred. She walked towards us slowly, leaning on a gnarled stick, dragging her feet in felt boots and galoshes. Her face was dark brown; from a continuous mass of wrinkles, a nose protruded forward and downwards, crooked and sharp, like a scimitar, and the eyes were pale, dull, as if closed by cataracts.
“Hello, hello, grandson,” she said in an unexpectedly sonorous bass. – This means there will be a new programmer? Hello, father, welcome!..
I bowed, realizing that I needed to keep quiet. The grandmother's head, on top of a black down scarf tied under her chin, was covered with a cheerful nylon scarf with multi-colored images of the Atomium and with inscriptions in different languages: “International Exhibition in Brussels.” There was sparse gray stubble sticking out on his chin and under his nose. The grandmother was dressed in a cotton vest and a black cloth dress.
- In this way, Naina Kievna! - said the hook-nosed man, coming up and wiping the rust from his palms. – We need to arrange for our new employee for two nights. Let me introduce... mmmm...
“Don’t,” said the old woman, looking at me intently. - I see it myself. Privalov Alexander Ivanovich, one thousand nine hundred and thirty-eighth, male, Russian, member of the Komsomol, no, no, did not participate, was not, does not have, but you, diamond, will have a long journey and interest in the government house, but you will be afraid, diamond, We need a red-haired, unkind man, and gild the handle, Yachon...
- Hmm! – the hook-nosed man said loudly, and the grandmother stopped short. An awkward silence reigned.
“You can just call me Sasha...” I squeezed out a pre-prepared phrase.
- And where will I put it? - the grandmother inquired.
“In the storeroom, of course,” said the hook-nosed man somewhat irritably.
– Who will answer?
“Naina Kievna!..” the hook-nosed man roared like a provincial tragedian, grabbed the old woman by the arm and dragged her to the house. You could hear them arguing: “After all, we agreed!..” - “...And if he steals something?..” - “Be quiet! This is a programmer, you know? Komsomolets! Scientist!..” - “And if he starts tutting?..”
I shyly turned to Volodya. Volodya giggled.
“It’s kind of awkward,” I said.
- Don't worry - everything will be fine...
He wanted to say something else, but then the grandmother screamed wildly: “And the sofa, the sofa!..” I shuddered and said:
“You know, I guess I’ll go, huh?”
- Out of the question! – Volodya said decisively. - Everything will be fine. It’s just that grandma needs a bribe, and Roman and I don’t have cash.
“I’ll pay,” I said. Now I really wanted to leave: I can’t stand these so-called everyday collisions.
Volodya shook his head.
- Nothing like this. There he is already coming. Everything is fine.
Hump-nosed Roman came up to us, took me by the hand and said:
- Well, everything worked out. Went.
“Listen, it’s somehow inconvenient,” I said. “After all, she doesn’t have to...
But we were already walking towards the house.
“I have to, I have to,” Roman said.
We walked around the oak tree and came to the back porch. Roman pushed the leatherette door, and we found ourselves in the hallway, spacious and clean, but poorly lit. The old woman was waiting for us, her hands folded on her stomach and her lips pursed. When she saw us, she said in a vindictive voice:
- And a receipt right away!
Roman howled quietly, and we entered the room assigned to me. It was a cool room with one window covered with a chintz curtain. Roman said in a tense voice:
– Make yourself comfortable and make yourself at home.
The old woman from the hallway immediately jealously inquired:
- Don’t they click their teeth?
Roman, without turning around, barked:
- They don’t tut! They tell you there are no teeth.
- Then let’s go and write a receipt...
Roman raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes, bared his teeth and shook his head, but still left. I looked around. There was little furniture in the room. There was a massive table by the window, covered with a shabby gray tablecloth with fringe, and in front of the table there was a rickety stool. Near the bare log wall there was a large sofa; on the other wall, covered with wallpaper of different sizes, there was a hanger with some kind of junk (quilted jackets, loose fur coats, tattered caps and earflaps). A large Russian stove jutted into the room, shining with fresh whitewash, and opposite in the corner hung a large, cloudy mirror in a shabby frame. The floor had been scraped and covered with striped rugs.
There were two voices muttering behind the wall: the old woman was booming on one note, Roman’s voice was rising and falling. “Tablecloth, inventory number two hundred and forty-five...” - “You still need to write down every floorboard!..” - “The dining table...” - “Will you also write down the stove?..” - “We need order... Sofa...”
I went to the window and pulled back the curtain. There was an oak tree outside the window, nothing else was visible. I began to look at the oak tree. It was apparently a very ancient plant. The bark on it was gray and somehow dead, and the monstrous roots that came out of the ground were covered with red and white lichen. “And write down the oak tree!” – Roman said behind the wall. There was a plump, greasy book lying on the windowsill; I thoughtlessly leafed through it, walked away from the window and sat down on the sofa. And I immediately wanted to sleep. I thought that I drove the car for fourteen hours today, that perhaps I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry, that my back hurts, and everything in my head is confused, that in the end I don’t give a damn about this boring old woman, and that it would all be over soon and I could lie down and go to sleep...
“Well,” said Roman, appearing on the threshold. - The formalities are over. “He shook his hand, his fingers splayed and smeared with ink. - Our fingers are tired: we wrote, we wrote... Go to bed. We leave, and you go to bed peacefully. What are you doing tomorrow?
“I’m waiting,” I answered sluggishly.
- Here. And near the post office.
– You probably won’t leave tomorrow?
– Tomorrow is unlikely... Most likely the day after tomorrow.
“Then we’ll see each other again.” Our love is ahead. “He smiled, waved his hand and left. I lazily thought that I should see him off and say goodbye to Volodya, and lay down. Now an old woman entered the room. I wake up. The old woman looked at me intently for some time.
“I’m afraid, father, that you’ll start to bite your teeth,” she said with concern.
“I won’t tut,” I said wearily. - I'll go to sleep.
- Go to bed and sleep... Just pay the money and sleep...
I reached into my back pocket for my wallet.
- How much do I have to pay?
The old woman raised her eyes to the ceiling.
- We’ll put a ruble for the premises... Fifty dollars for the bed linen - it’s mine, not the government’s. For two nights it comes out to three rubles... And how much you will throw in from generosity - for trouble, that means - I don’t even know...
I handed her a five.
“The generosity is only a ruble so far,” I said. - And we’ll see from there.
The old woman quickly grabbed the money and left, muttering something about change. She was gone for quite a long time, and I was about to give up on both the change and the laundry, but she returned and laid out a handful of dirty coppers on the table.
“Here’s your change, father,” she said. - Exactly a ruble, you don’t have to count it.
“I won’t count it,” I said. – How about underwear?
- I’ll go to bed now. You go out into the yard, take a walk, and I’ll go to bed.
I went out, taking out cigarettes as I went. The sun finally set and a white night fell. Somewhere dogs were barking. I sat down under an oak tree on a bench rooted into the ground, lit a cigarette and began to look at the pale starless sky. A cat silently appeared from somewhere, looked at me with fluorescent eyes, then quickly climbed up the oak tree and disappeared into the dark foliage. I immediately forgot about him and shuddered when he fussed somewhere upstairs. Garbage fell on my head. “For you...” I said out loud and began to shake myself off. I was extremely sleepy. An old woman came out of the house, without noticing me, and wandered to the well. I understood this to mean that the bed was ready, and returned to the room.
The bad old woman made a bed for me on the floor. Well, no, I thought, I locked the door, dragged the bed onto the sofa and began to undress. A gloomy light fell from the window; a cat was noisily fiddling around in an oak tree. I shook my head, shaking the debris out of my hair. It was strange, unexpected garbage: large dry fish scales. It will be hard to sleep, I thought, I collapsed on the pillow and immediately fell asleep.
Chapter two
I woke up in the middle of the night because people were talking in the room. The two were talking in barely audible whispers. The voices were very similar, but one was a little muffled and hoarse, and the other betrayed extreme irritation.
“Don’t wheeze,” the irritated one whispered. -Can you stop wheezing?
“I can,” answered, choking and choking.
“Shut up…” hissed, irritated.
“Wheezing,” the choked-up explained. “Smoker’s morning cough...” He choked again.
“Get out of here,” said the irritated one.
- Yes, he’s still sleeping...
- Who is he? Where did it fall from?
- How should I know?
- What a shame... Well, just phenomenally unlucky.
The neighbors can't sleep again, I thought awake.
I imagined that I was at home. My neighbors at home are two physicist brothers who love to work at night. By two o'clock in the morning they run out of cigarettes, and then they climb into my room and start rummaging around, knocking furniture and squabbling.
I grabbed the pillow and threw it into the void. Something collapsed with a noise and it became quiet.
“Give back the pillow,” I said, “and get out.” Cigarettes on the table.
The sound of my own voice woke me up completely. I sat down. The dogs barked sadly, and an old woman snored menacingly behind the wall. I finally remembered where I was. There was no one in the room. In the dim light I saw my pillow on the floor and the junk that had fallen off the rack. Grandma will tear her head off, I thought and jumped up. The floor was cold, and I stepped on the rugs. Grandma stopped snoring. I froze. The floorboards crackled, something crunched and rustled in the corners. The grandmother whistled deafeningly and began snoring again. I picked up the pillow and threw it on the sofa. The junk smelled like dog. The hanger had fallen off the nail and was hanging sideways. I straightened it and began to pick up the junk. I had barely hung up the last coat when the hanger broke and, shuffling across the wallpaper, hung again on one nail. Grandma stopped snoring, and I broke out in a cold sweat. Somewhere nearby a rooster crowed. In the soup, I thought with hatred. The old woman behind the wall began to spin, the springs creaked and clicked. I waited, standing on one leg. In the yard, someone said quietly: “It’s time to sleep, you and I have stayed too late today.” The voice was young, female. “Sleep like that,” responded another voice. A long yawn was heard. “Aren’t you going to splash around anymore today?” - “It’s kind of cold. Let's say hello." It became quiet. Grandma growled and grumbled, and I carefully returned to the sofa. In the morning I’ll get up early and fix everything properly...
I lay down on my right side, pulled the blanket over my ear, closed my eyes and suddenly realized that I didn’t want to sleep at all - I wanted to eat. Ay-ay-ay, I thought. It was necessary to take urgent action, and I took it.
Here, say, is a system of two integral equations of the type of equations of stellar statistics; both unknown functions are under the integral. Naturally, it is possible to solve only numerically, say, on BESM... I remembered our BESM. Custard colored control panel. Zhenya places a newspaper bundle on this panel and slowly unwraps it. "What do you have?" - “I have it with cheese and sausage.” With Polish semi-smoked, circles. “Oh, you need to get married! I have homemade cutlets with garlic. And a pickled cucumber." No, two cucumbers... Four cutlets and, for good measure, four strong pickles. And four slices of bread and butter...
I threw back the blanket and sat down. Maybe there is something left in the car? No, I ate everything that was there. There is a cookbook left for Valka’s mother, who lives in Lezhnev. What's it like... Pican sauce. Half a glass of vinegar, two onions... and pepper. Served with meat dishes... As I remember now: with small steaks. This is meanness, I thought, because not just to steaks, but to small-scarlet steaks. I jumped up and ran to the window. The night air smelled distinctly of tiny steaks. From somewhere in the depths of my subconscious came the following: “He was served the usual tavern dishes, such as: sour cabbage soup, brains with peas, pickled cucumber (I took a sip) and the eternal sweet puff pastry...” It would be nice to take a break, I thought, and took the book from the windowsill. . It was Alexei Tolstoy, “Gloomy Morning”. I opened it at random. “Makhno, having broken the sardine key, pulled out of his pocket a mother-of-pearl knife with fifty blades and continued to wield it, opening tins of pineapples (bad business, I thought), French pate, and lobsters, which gave off a strong smell throughout the room.” I carefully put the book down and sat down on a stool at the table. A delicious, pungent smell suddenly appeared in the room: it must have smelled like lobster. I began to wonder why I had never tried lobster before. Or, say, oysters. In Dickens, everyone eats oysters, wields folding knives, cuts off thick slices of bread, spreads butter... I began to nervously smooth out the tablecloth. There were unwashed stains on the tablecloth. We ate a lot and deliciously there. We ate lobster and brains with peas. We ate small steaks with pican sauce. Large and medium steaks were also eaten. They puffed satiatedly, clicked their teeth contentedly... I had nothing to puff at, so I began to click my teeth.
I must have done this loudly and hungry, because the old woman behind the wall creaked her bed, muttered angrily, rattled something, and suddenly came into my room. She was wearing a long gray shirt, and she was carrying a plate in her hands, and the real, not fantastic, aroma of food immediately spread into the room. The old woman smiled. She placed the plate right in front of me and said in a sweet voice:
- Have a bite, father, Alexander Ivanovich. Eat what God sent, sent with me...
“What are you, what are you, Naina Kievna,” I muttered, “why did you bother yourself so much...
But from somewhere I already had a fork with a bone handle in my hand, and I began to eat, and the grandmother stood next to me, nodded and said:
- Eat, father, eat well...
I ate everything. It was hot potatoes with melted butter.
“Naina Kievna,” I said passionately, “you saved me from starvation.”
-Have you eaten? – Naina Kievna said somehow unfriendly.
- I ate great. Thank you very much! You can't imagine...
“You can’t imagine anything here,” she interrupted, completely irritated. - Have you eaten, I say? Well, give me a plate here... A plate, I say, come on!
“Po...please,” I said.
- “Please, please”... Feed you here for please...
“I can pay,” I said, starting to get angry.
– “Pay, pay”... – She went to the door. – What if they don’t pay for it at all? And there was no point in lying...
- So what is it like to lie?
- And so lie! You said yourself that you won’t tut...” She fell silent and disappeared behind the door.
What is she? – I thought. Some kind of strange woman... Maybe she noticed the hanger? You could hear her creaking the springs, tossing and turning on the bed and grumbling displeasedly. Then she sang quietly to some barbaric tune: “I’ll ride, I’ll lie around, I’ll eat Ivashka’s meat...” The night cold blew in from the window. I shivered, got up to return to the sofa, and then it dawned on me that I had locked the door before going to bed. Confused, I walked up to the door and stretched out my hand to check the latch, but as soon as my fingers touched the cold iron, everything swam before my eyes. It turned out that I was lying on the sofa, with my nose buried in the pillow, and with my fingers I felt the cold log of the wall.
For some time I lay there, dying, until I realized that somewhere nearby an old woman was snoring, and they were talking in the room. Someone spoke instructively in a low voice:
– The elephant is the largest animal of all living on earth. It has a large piece of meat on its snout, which is called a trunk because it is empty and stretched out like a pipe. He stretches it and bends it in all sorts of ways and uses it instead of a hand...
Cold with curiosity, I carefully turned onto my right side. The room was still empty. The voice continued even more instructively:
– Wine, consumed in moderation, is very good for the stomach; but when you drink too much of it, it produces fumes that degrade a person to the level of senseless beasts. You sometimes saw drunkards and still remember the justified disgust that you had for them...
I stood up with a jerk and swung my legs off the sofa. The voice fell silent. It seemed to me that they were talking from somewhere behind the wall. Everything in the room was the same, even the hanger, to my surprise, was hanging in place. And, to my surprise, I was very hungry again.
“Tincture ex vitro of antimony,” a voice suddenly proclaimed. I shuddered. – Magiftherium antimon angelius salae. Bafilii oleum vitry antimonii alexitherium antimoniale! – A clear giggle was heard. - What nonsense! - said the voice and continued with a howl: - Soon these eyes, still open, will no longer see the sun, but do not allow them to close without a benevolent notification of my forgiveness and bliss... This is the “Spirit or Moral Thoughts of the Glorious Jung, extracted from his nightly reflections " Sold in St. Petersburg and Riga in Sveshnikov’s bookstores for two rubles per folder. - Someone sobbed. “It’s also nonsense,” said the voice and said with expression:
Rank, beauty, wealth,
All the pleasures of this life,
They fly, weaken, disappear,
Behold decay, and happiness is false!
Infections gnaw at the heart,
But you can’t hold on to fame...
-Where does this nonsense come from? – I asked. I didn't expect an answer. I was sure I was dreaming.
“Sayings from the Upanishads,” the voice answered readily.
-What are the Upanishads? “I wasn’t sure I was dreaming anymore.”
I stood up and tiptoed to the mirror. I didn't see my reflection. The cloudy glass reflected a curtain, a corner of the stove, and many things in general. But I wasn't in it.
- Who is speaking? – I asked, looking behind the mirror. Behind the mirror there was a lot of dust and dead spiders. Then I pressed my index finger on my left eye. This was an old rule for recognizing hallucinations, which I read in the fascinating book by V.V. Bitner, “To Believe or Not to Believe?” It is enough to press your finger on the eyeball, and all real objects - unlike hallucinations - will split into two. The mirror split in two, and my reflection appeared in it - a sleepy, alarmed face. There was a blast on my legs. Curling my fingers, I went to the window and looked out.
There was no one outside the window, not even an oak tree. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. I clearly saw right in front of me a mossy well frame with a gate, a gate and my car at the gate. I’m still sleeping, I thought calmly. My gaze fell on the windowsill, on the disheveled book. In my last dream it was the third volume of “Walking Through Torment”; now on the cover I read: “P. I. Karpov. Creativity of the mentally ill and its influence on the development of science, art and technology.” Chatting my teeth from the chill, I leafed through the book and looked at the colored inserts. Then I read "Verse No. 2":
High in the circle of clouds
Black-winged sparrow
Trembling and lonely
Floats quickly above the ground.
He flies at night,
Illuminated by moonlight,
And, not depressed by anything,
He sees everything underneath him.
Proud, predatory, furious
And flying like a shadow
The eyes glow like day.
The floor suddenly shook under my feet. A piercing, drawn-out creaking sound was heard, then, like the roar of a distant earthquake, a rumbling sound was heard: “Ko-o... Ko-o... Ko-o...” The hut swayed like a boat on the waves. The yard outside the window moved to the side, and from under the window a gigantic chicken leg crawled out and stuck its claws into the ground, made deep furrows in the grass and disappeared again. The floor tilted sharply, I felt that I was falling, I grabbed something soft with my hands, hit my side and head and fell off the sofa. I lay on the rugs, clutching the pillow that had fallen with me. The room was completely light. Outside the window, someone was clearing their throat thoroughly.
NIICHAVO - 1
A fairy tale for younger scientists
But what is strange, what is most incomprehensible,
this is how authors can take similar
the plots, I admit, are completely
incomprehensible, that's for sure... no, no,
I don't understand at all.
N.V.Gogol
* STORY ONE: NUTS AROUND THE SOFA *
Chapter first
Teacher. Children, write down the sentence:
"The fish was sitting on a tree."
Pupil: Do fish really sit on trees?
Teacher. Well... It was a crazy fish.
School joke
I was approaching my destination. Around me, clinging to
along the road itself, the forest was green, occasionally giving way to clearings overgrown
yellow sedge. The sun had been setting for an hour, but it still couldn’t set
and hung low above the horizon. The car was rolling along a narrow road,
covered with crisp gravel. I threw large stones under the wheel, and
Each time, empty cans clanged and rattled in the trunk.
To the right, two people came out of the forest, stepped onto the side of the road and stopped, looking
towards me. One of them raised his hand. I let off the gas, looking at them.
They were, as it seemed to me, hunters, young people, perhaps
a little older than me. I liked their faces and stopped. The one that
raised his hand, stuck his dark, hook-nosed face into the car and asked
smiling:
-Can you give us a lift to Solovets?
The second one, with a red beard and no mustache, also smiled, peeking out from behind
his shoulder. Positively, these were nice people.
“Come on, sit down,” I said. - One forward, one back, and
then I have junk there, in the back seat.
- Benefactor! - the hook-nosed one said joyfully, took it off his shoulder
gun and sat down next to me.
The bearded man, looking hesitantly into the back door, said:
- Can I have a little bit of that here?..
I leaned over the back and helped him clear the space occupied by
sleeping bag and rolled up tent. He sat down delicately, placing
gun between the knees.
“Close the door better,” I said.
Everything went as usual. The car started moving. Hump-nosed turned back and
talked animatedly about how much more pleasant it was to travel in a passenger car,
than walking. The bearded man vaguely agreed and clapped and clapped.
door. “Pick up a cloak,” I advised, looking at him in the mirror
rear view. “Your cloak is pinched.” After about five minutes, everything finally
got settled. I asked: “Ten kilometers to Solovets?” -- "Yes, --
answered the hook-nosed one. - Or a little more. The road, however, is unimportant -
for trucks." - “The road is quite decent,” I objected. -- To me
they promised that I wouldn’t drive at all.” — “On this road, even in the fall you can
drive through." - "Here - perhaps, but from Korobets - dirt road." - "In
This year the summer is dry, everything has dried up."