How do they say goodbye to the past?


The novel is dedicated to the bright memory of the great artist Rostislav Plyattwith gratitude, love and reverence, as well as a beautiful film "Afterword . " The topic raised in it, alas, is inexhaustible ...

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Awakening from sleep was sudden and unpleasant. Yarin turned to the other side, wanting to grab in a dream a gray goat with a bell around his neck. But the goat slyly smiled to him, bucked of dirty hooves and sped away, ringing a bell. Just heard from the bathroom, the shrill cries of his wife: "you hear me?! Open up!", he finally realized that fun was a goat in a dream, and the bell is just demanding the doorbell.

— A telegram for you! Sign! elderly postwoman looked at him casually and harshly.

Draped in a sheet like a Roman Emperor in a toga, Yarin wrote on letterhead that said "thank you" and began to twirl in my hand a telegram.

"I'll be 2nd. Meet. Share"

— What Proportion? — Yarin puzzled looked out the bathroom wife.

— Oh! — from the head of the wife flew off the towel. — Share called 10 days ago. Said that, probably, will arrive for five days. I forgot to tell you.

— What Proportion?! — Yarin did not like to Wake up early, still being on vacation and started to get angry.

— Sit down, sighed the wife, and Yarin realized that the conversation drags on.

I remember our wedding was my mother's second cousin Jack? Blind from birth. Remember?

Yarin was a healthy strong man of 39 years, any mention of weakness was distasteful to him. Fortunately, his wife Rita was a large, curvy, buxom woman, she felt confidence and peace. And no lame relatives Yarin didn't remember especially because the wedding took place 12 years ago and the family already has two grown-up twin sons.

Okay, I don't remember, and God is with him. He died three years ago. The Kingdom of heaven, he was a good man, good-natured and very well-read. And all because he was a reader of Darya Viktorovna. A Holy woman. He's six years old when her family was invited. She read to him, lessons are done with him. With her help, he graduated from school and Institute. And so attached to him that money and then didn't. And stayed with him and nursed him as a mother. And her as a family member already took. His family she had. And now she's kind of lonely aunty with a bunch of nephews, that is, from all our relatives. That one will go to visit another. And very polite, never without a gift will not come. Now we decided. I little remember. She then was a little over forty.

— Now, eighty? — Yarin was angry over the absurdity of the situation, over the fact that he was not allowed to sleep, and all that the vacation ends soon, and the house has a lot of things I need to do the little things.

— Somewhere around, the wife did not catch the irony in the question. — Yes, and our wedding she came too. Only they are marrying, seen in the far corner sat that's why you don't remember. But they came to us, congratulated. Yeah, and then somehow came together, gave a tea set. Green with gold stripes. He's of the old place left. Not remember? Well, God bless him. In General, you meet her, you'll let in the living room or in the nursery. Well, the boys in the camp.

— Do not understand! KKH's! — Yarin in surprise almost choked. What do you mean "you will meet"? And you?

Rita turned to him his whole body and rolled his eyes:

— Do you remember anything? My 31st trip. Or do I work to lose?

Rita worked in the company of medical cosmetics and well earned. Yarin taught stage speech in the Theatre Institute, and his salary was much less than the wife's.

Is a good thing! — Yarin even shrieked with anger that rarely happened with him. You're in the middle of nowhere will leave, and I'm unfamiliar women make the will! Yours, by the way, friends, not mine!

But the wife was not timid!

— Yarin! in the last minutes, she turned to him pathetically by name. — Can you hear me at all? I have an important business trip. If I don't go, the salary cut can or even fired.

Yarin was not used to argue with women, especially with such a large and burly as his wife. He grew up in a family dominated by one woman — mother, grandmother and aunt. They were all big, loud, and their authority was unquestioned. But they exuded stability and peace, and he was glad that his wife was like them.

— Why didn't you tell in advance? Where? And why Share? What kind of name is that? he asked more peaceful.

- I forgot! And since the protein in the wheel all day I'm spinning! At the bus station. At 14.15. Yes, do not boil it. Normal grandmother. From the former. Her father, it seems, was a royal colonel or even a general. In general, the whole family is such a zirlik-manrilich. A Share because she was named in her family by Dolly, she liked it that way. And Zhenya could not pronounce a small one and changed it into Doly. And it stuck - Share. But God's dandelion old lady. In my life, I did not tell anyone a rude word. By the way, it's good for you to talk to her. Speech at her - you will hear! And in French, if, of course, he remembers now.

Thank you! — Yarin said sarcastically. — I was thinking if I learn French at your leisure! All night some sort of goat grey dreamt, slept uneasily, and then in the morning — please! Well, at least Share. And that Dolly — the dog's name for some.

— Very funny! Okay, Waldemar, — the wife went on a playful tone. — Do not worry! Goat dream for change in my life. The refrigerator I'll fill. The dumpling me fix some of the soup to cook. Hunger will not die. It is unpretentious and very nice. You never get bored!

Four days later Yarin went to the bus station. Rita has already gone on a business trip, parting with her husband a whole list of recommendations and instructions. Of these, Yarin remembered only the paramount positions: the fact that the old woman's name is Daria Viktorovna, that she is tall and thin, that she wears spectacles with a strong plus dioptric and speaks, grassing.

At the bus station, all instructions flew to hell. The people were like rabbits in a cage! Everyone was hurrying somewhere, sniffing, hurrying, flying, pushing each other, swearing and shouting. In Yarin, accustomed to a measured way of life and a certain route-house-institute-walks in the square in front of the house and occasional forays into the woods for the quiet hunting-the head shot up in his eyes and ached.

He did not immediately notice a tall female figure standing alone at the newspaper stand. To the left of the stall was a sort of broken piece of wood, apparently from old furniture. The woman held onto her and looked around in confusion.

 - Hello! - Yarin approached resolutely, painfully female figure in harmony with the broken piece of wood. "Are you Daria Viktorovna?"

The woman turned, blinked heavily:

 - Yes. And you Vladimir, the husband of ours?

"Welcome home, Darya Viktorovna!" Give things and to the car!

 - Yes, I have a little, Volodya. Will you allow yourself to call it that? Here are just two bags. Oh, that you, do not get yourself under water. And call me simply - Share.

In the car, the old woman fussed for a long time, placing bags that somehow did not want to put in the trunk. And she apologized for taking unnecessary troubles to Yarin and "hampering" him. And thus so ingratiatingly looked into his eyes that Yarin felt awkward and melancholy.

"Yes, a tedious specimen. Hold on, Brother Voldemar, you are expecting a glorious day! Shrewd Rita, as she so turns out, seems to be not to blame, but still turned out, and I'm puffed up. Brought this grandmother is not easy. "

 - Oh, how unlikely the city has changed! God, this bridge was not there! When did they posthole? I've been here so long, how everything has changed! It's hard to say how many years I live in the village. But, you know, Volodya, the smell, the aroma of the city remained on the surface! Yes! It smells the same as in my youth - from the pavement of autumn apples, so sweet, sweet, with a little rotten! How good! My God, save, my favorite squire!

Yarin felt a deep annoyance as if his teeth were ill. The roadway smelled as usual: heated asphalt, along with countless passers-by, gasoline, exhaust fumes. In order to catch in the whole hodgepodge of the delicate aroma of autumn apples, one had to have a very strong sense of smell. Or imagination.

The old woman admired literally everything: children in the park, ridiculous newfangled bronze monuments, pizzerias, shashlik, cafes, shops, women in bright clothes, passers-by with dogs, teenagers on rollers, vans with fresh bread. Everything was in her field of vision, more spiritual than physical. She seemed to have given herself the task of admiring and doing it well.

And her appearance caused some strange feeling. Like a pale petal of a withered flower, trembling is stronger, before it breaks.

"While there is life there is hope". Yarin remembered that his own grandmother, a woman of remarkable strength, was condemning this when she chopped the chickens of her head. The hens were desperately fluttering, trying to escape, but they never succeeded.

Yarin watched his grandmother either with horror or with admiration. She was an excellent hostess, not just a cook, but a Mistress with a capital letter. In its courtyard, there were also chickens, geese, and two incredibly spiteful turkeys with nasty necks. Yarin hated turkeys, they always tried to grab him, small, by the leg and always looked at him with fierce orange eyes. But my grandmother did not hurry to cut them, she took care until the New Year. And there were a lot of chickens, and my grandmother deftly managed with them. For her, nature was an open book, life and death smoothly stepped into each other's place, so the grandmother, with the same hands, quietly cut off the bird she had slaughtered, and after a few minutes stroked the tiny, newly hatched chickens.

And now it's the same restless feeling. This Madame (or Mamzel) sits, dressed in the dress of the color of ancient innocence, that is, strongly-washed pink, chirruping, grazing, that everything is beautiful and magnificent. And the eyes behind the thick glasses are alarming. As if he wants to say something and can not.

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