Vladislav Andreevich Titov

All deaths out of spite...

Dilogy

* PART ONE *

Sitting alone in an empty apartment has always been painful for Tanya. This time especially. She is on vacation for the second day, and it is not yet clear when Sergei will be released. And will they even give him a chance to rest this month? It can happen like this: she takes off her twenty-four days, goes to work, and then Sergei will spend her vacation days at home ...

Tanya is waiting. Her hand, resting her elbow on the window sill, wanders in a short bang. She twists her forehead hair into thin buns and wraps them around her index finger. When the entire bangs are twisted into rings, the hand slowly unravels them and starts all over again. It's a habit. Tried to get out - didn't work. As soon as restless thoughts arise in the head, the hand itself reaches for the hair. Sergei was joking at first: does the kindergarten solve the world's problems? And then I got used to it. And even he sometimes twists his forelock into rings. Got infected!

“Is it really not going to work out?” Tanya thinks. “For so many years we dreamed of going on vacation together…”

Tanya is waiting and looking out the window... Now Seryozha will come in and say: "They didn't give it... You understand, it's business."

And she will say; "I knew it. You are some kind of unlucky, Seryozhka." And he will say: "Tanyush, I want to eat ..." And she will answer: "Take and eat! I'm on vacation, and you know. Do I have the right to rest or not?"

Tanya imagined all this so clearly that tears welled up in her eyes from annoyance.

Spring has come early. Somehow, the snowstorms that howled through the quiet streets of the young mining village during the long nights immediately wilted and weakened. Timidly, as if afraid to anger the gray cold, the sun smiled from behind the clouds. And winter really got angry. It bristled at night with the ice bayonets of the roofs, viciously crunched underfoot with a brittle whitish film of puddles, burned the smoking top of the slag heap with prickly breath.

And then the sun got bolder. The clouds began to fuss, speeding up their run, the sky broke into a wide smile, and the sun fell like a hot beam on the cold, dormant earth. Somewhere near the beam, as if a bird released into the wild, a song began to beat. Rushed up and saddened by the agonizing expectation of future changes.

A girl with a sparse strand on her forehead, in an open coat, stopped, narrowed her eyes, found a lark in the sky, smiled at something and froze with her face raised up.

Spring has also reached the mine fan. The air, saturated with the smells of the earth, seemed to stop in front of the furiously circling blades, thought for a moment and rushed into the dark, damp paste of the trunk, burst into the drifts and went for a walk in the lavas, the faces, exciting the souls of the miners with an inexplicably sweet longing for the sun, for the high dark blue sky.

Sergei Petrov was walking along the drift in a miner's helmet, dashingly shifted to one side. It seemed that someone shouted "goplya" - and he would start dancing, impetuous, restless and awkward.

Sergei was in a hurry. And not because the job required it. No. It was just that he was possessed by an inexplicable delight and really wanted to quickly go to the mountain, take a closer look at the sun. In addition, signed leave documents were waiting for him in the section chief's desk.

Sergey picked up a piece of rock with the toe of his boot, tossed it up and smiled. He imagined how Tanya would throw up her hands, dance with delight, and then throw herself on her neck and, laughing, exclaim: "Do you want me to strangle you, you nasty one?"

And later, when the joy subsides a little, he will sit down and once again begin to fantasize about the upcoming trip. And of course, lowering his head, he will ask: "What if your parents don't like me?"

“Why is she tormented by this question?” Sergei pondered.

So that she, Tanya, would not go? And to whom? To my old people. Yes, this cannot be! Batya's left eye twitches with excitement, and two false teeth will shine like medals polished for Victory Day. "Look, people, my eldest picked up the stole."

In the depths of the drift, the svez froze, throwing reddish reflections on the wet rail, the lopsided fastening frame. The contacts of the magnetic starters snapped in a race... The young of the irrigation pump began to snore, splashing and pouting with thin rubber hoses. Sergey walked a few more steps from the district switchboard, and, surprised, stopped! Near the loaders at home, someone howled:

Donbass, my Donbass,
Blossom, my beloved Donbass...

The wagon driver sang, and this song, which had been heard many times, evoked an incomprehensible response in the soul. Elsewhere, Sergey probably would not have listened to her... But here, at a depth of thirty meters, in a narrow, gloomy corridor, the sacred song strongly plucked at the heart. It seemed that the smell of spring that had flown into the dungeon, mixed with the pungent stench of mold and gas, suddenly saddened the wide expanses of the earth, the serene expanses of the planet.

In the chest Sergei's everything rose, it became weightlessly light. From somewhere moved and floated, a wide green carpet, densely dotted with yellow dots, which slowly hovered, multiplied and quietly settled. Bright yellow fluffy heads trembling from the gentle breeze are already clearly visible. They froze in timid expectation, listening warily to the dangerous silence, and ran in different directions from the rapidly advancing shadow of the parachutist.

"Where did I see it? Where?" Sergei struggled to remember. "Oh yes, in the army! Of course! The last jump on the eve of demobilization..."

He remembered how, near the ground, he saw his feet, shod in heavy soldier's saithe. And below the grass stirred from the wind, daisies swayed. Another moment - and the boots will mercilessly crush several tender, fluffy heads. It seemed to him that flowers are living beings, they are. They want to escape death, but they can't...

"The miner's songs are sung ..." - it rushed along the drift and, as if through a dream, it reached his ear.

... The earth was inexorably drawn to itself. She pushed hard at her feet. Sergei absurdly jumped, let go of the parachute lines from his hands and, closing his eyes, collapsed with all the weight of his body onto a meadow damp from wet dew. The stalks of flowers crunched, the grasshopper crackled in surprise, as if crying, and suddenly fell silent ...

The phone rang sharply.

- ... the rope is being stretched! .. - the wagon driver shouted into the telephone receiver.

Water dripped from the side. "Drips!" Sergey chuckled. "Just like there, on the mountain."

And, already making his way on all fours along the lava, he again remembered the events of that distant army day. He took crumpled daisies with him. There were seven of them. They then stood in a faceted glass on the bedside table, next to his soldier's bunk.

"But then I received a letter from Tanya ... and a photograph!"

Tanya was photographed in profile, looked thoughtfully into the distance and smiled with a corner of her lips. In the letter she wrote: “The third spring has come and gone, but you are still gone. I’m tired, Seryozhka! When will we be together! Will you wait?" - and he himself smiled incredulously. Are you still in doubt? Look, if you will be like that - out of spite I will marry another!

"I would show you another one!" Sergei smiled.

Ka-a-a-cha-a-ay! - came from above.

The conveyor chain tightened, twitched twice in warning, and crawled down, dragging large slabs of coal. In the lava, where Sergei crawled, a combine was working.

How are you? - trying to shout over the noise, he asked the worker.

We cut a little! - he smiled affably, exposing a white row of teeth on a black face.

We’ll make a cycle if they provide empty, if they are not okay! - Brigadier Yatsko intervened in the conversation.

At the planning meeting, the head of the Higher School of Economics promised your lava a hundred wagons! Enough? - Sergey asked.

Under cover! the brigadier rejoiced. Sergey, nodding towards the worker, asked:

Newbie?

From the school bench he came to us. The Mining University is taking place…

The old miner invested in these words a considerable amount of kind cunning.

Well, how is he? Pulling?.

In general, I must tell you, - Yatsko began at length, - the guy will be good. He has a mining streak!

And what is she, this vein, uncle Sing? - Sergey joked.

You, Seryoga, don't laugh! This one will not run away if the water starts to drip around the neck, or else there will be nothing to receive at the box office. He is angry at this verse! So he says: "I want to curb her." There is someone joking with him, but I believe. And how can you not believe! His dad, my friend, was just as stubborn. I wanted to save Vrubovka in 1946 and… I saved the car, but myself… I saw an obelisk behind the pit… Mine surveyors said that there, under that place, he… and four hundred meters of land above him… The soldier is known, but his grave… But who tell exactly where it is...

The miner struck hard with the butt, straightened the peephole of the lantern and began furiously gouging a hole for the lining.

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"To spite all deaths..."

In the midst of spring, on April 14, 1960, at the Severnaya mine, Donetsk region. The USSR had an accident. From the category - "ordinary", which are not uncommon in such a dangerous production. In the third working shift, when, as usual and the specifics of mining work, there are not so many people underground, a trolley loaded with coal “derailed” occurred. The situation is not too "out of the ordinary". This happens and quite often ... But this time - everything was different. The trolley jumped and hit a high-voltage cable leading to an underground transformer substation. The impact caused a short circuit and an arc (voltage 6000 volts). The rubber-insulated cable caught fire. The flame began to quickly devour the insulation and move towards the transformer ... A young mining foreman Vladislav Titov was passing by in the working. Instantly assessing the situation and the danger threatening catastrophe, he immediately ran to the transformer chamber and turned the voltage cut-off knob. The body of the TP chamber and the handle were energized ... The worker was shocked by a current of six thousand volts, but he, rather by inertia, turns off the TP ...! It is not clear how, in shock, shocked, he took his last few steps and fell with his body on a burning electrical cable. When, a few minutes later, his comrades came running to find him - Vladislav's boot was on fire and his clothes were smoking ... He was only 25 years old ...

Vladislav Andreevich Titov was born on November 10, 1934 in the village of Kalinovka, Dobrinsky District, Lipetsk Region. There were 10 people in the family of grain growers, Vladislav is the eldest of the children. All were educated. After graduating from high school, Slava Titov comes to Ukraine and goes to study at the Bokovo-Anthracite Mining College. In the first year of the technical school, the first "excursion" descent of Titov into the mine took place. After going upstairs, the teacher-practitioner frankly warned the students that the profession they had chosen was very difficult, and if someone felt that they could not do it, it was better to leave now. Determined to work precisely in the mine, Titov was among those who remained ...

Continuing his studies, Vladislav does an internship at the mines of the Red Luch. It extracts coal the way miners do it: reclining and with a shovel. On the first day, it was so difficult... Well, then the miners began to prompt, showed how to work better. It was there that he truly felt like a miner for the first time.

After serving in the Army, in 1959, upon graduation, he was assigned to the mining village of Severny, Donetsk region. With the expectation of something new and bright, he descended to the platform of the Donetsk land ... True, Vladislav managed to work in the face for only a year ...

When the miners lifted and turned over the body of Vladislav, he showed no signs of life. The clothes smoked. His hands and one leg were badly burned. An electric shock of six thousand volts usually leaves no chance for a person ... He was carried to the crate and raised to the surface. An immobile body, disfigured by fire, was carried out of the mine. To everyone's amazement, when urgently arrived doctors examined him on the surface, Vladislav turned out to be alive ...! He, burnt, in a state of shock, was urgently taken to the village hospital and the doctors began to fight for the life of the miner. Nobody believed that Titov would survive. When the doctors had the slightest confidence that the victim would endure the transportation, he was urgently transported to the regional hospital. For many months doctors fought for his life. To save Vladislav, doctors performed ten complex operations. He endured them... But the burnt and mutilated hands had to be amputated...

The young body withstood the most severe injuries and Titov began to gradually recover. He, already a 25-year-old disabled person of the first group, had to prepare for a new life ... And this life did not promise Vladislav anything good. A strong young body helped Vladislav survive. Find the strength to live on - a small and fragile woman named Rita. Wife...

Only two knew about what Vladislav had experienced, overcome in himself and at what cost: he and Rita. About what it cost her to be stronger than him - only she knew ...

Upon discharge from the hospital, the Titovs remain to live in Lugansk. They are allocated an apartment in the city center. Here Vladislav will spend his whole life measured out to him. He paced the room. I stumbled on the bookcase, then on the closet. He could not do anything himself without the help of Rita, even take a book from the shelf. And it was so painful, he was even ashamed of his disability as nakedness ...

Rita knew that reading could help. She began to bring books to Vladislav.

Says Vladislav's sister, Lydia Titova: “He had to turn the page. In the usual way - with his lips, as he did - it was impossible to do this: the book is a library book. Seeing a pencil lying on the table, he takes it in his teeth, turns the page of the book, and a trace of the pencil remains on the page ...

That's how the thought arose - "I can learn to write!"

Day after day, through titanic efforts, Vladislav Titov proved that he could, and most importantly, must succeed in life! At night, when his wife and daughter were sleeping, he did not just draw letters and hooks - he was looking for himself! So was born new life Vladislav. And his book is about her… Six years after the accident, in 1966, he is finishing work on his autobiographical story – “To spite all deaths…”

First, the story was published in a regional newspaper in Titov's homeland in the Lipetsk region. Feeling that there was interest in his work, Titov took the risk of sending it to the capital's magazines. Unfortunately, the Moscow "publishers" were far from understanding the miner's work, and the author was correctly refused publication ... True, one day his manuscript ended up on the table of the editor-in-chief of the magazine "Youth" - Boris Polevoy ...

“I remember well the day when the head of the department of letters, Izidor Vinokurov, put a very strange manuscript on my desk,” recalled Boris Polevoy. - It was written clearly, but in some jumping handwriting. The paper turned yellow, bristled at the edges, and on the title page there were several stamps of magazines and publishers, and this indicated that the manuscript had already been circulated among the editorial offices and had been repeatedly rejected. I expressed this assumption to the worker who brought it to me. Is it worth doing it? “And you read it,” Vinokurov answered firmly. - Read at least a few pages. If you are not interested, we will return the author.”

Polevoy read the manuscript in one breath and imposed a resolution on it: “To publish the story

just the way it is!”

Thus, a handicapped miner with no arms, Vladislav Andreevich Titov, has already become a recognized writer ... Having become famous all over the country in an instant, Titov, invariably with his wife, traveled almost the whole country, visited abroad, attended creative evenings at schools, institutes, factories. Remaining one whole, both in the story and in life, Vladislav and Margarita strengthened people's faith in the power of the human spirit and feelings.

V. Titov with his family

Vladislav Titov did not become "the author of one book." And although the success of "To spite all deaths" was not repeated, everything written by Titov is filled with a special vision of the world, poetry and love of life. “Wounded Lapwing”, “Sapun Mountain”, “Hollow Waters”… “Feather grass – steppe grass”… These names themselves have something quivering and warm, earthy and at the same time sublime, simple and at the same time unusually deep. The author of the bestseller, translated into 28 languages ​​of the world, continued to write, he was looking for a new artistic quality, experimenting with form and content. Whether Vladislav Titov was chasing literary recognition and circulation is, apparently, a stupid and immoral question in relation to a person who every day tried to live, and not exist.

Immediately after the release of the story, letters from all over the vast country flew to the editorial office of the magazine. Vladislav and Rita first received letters in bundles, then in bags, later the postman was brought to Titov's house by car. They were written about everything, thanked for the story, for the feat, for what they are. Asked for advice, offered help.

I had to once visit him when he was resting in Planerskoye (now - the village of Koktebel, Crimea). My car broke down and I started fixing it. So he jumped up and shouted: “Key 9X12! Give me the key! Come here!". And then he remembered that he had no hands and said: “Well, old man ... You will do it yourself ...”

In total, his "pen" belongs to 14 works. The most selected of them:

"To spite all deaths ..." (autobiographical story, 1967),

"Feed grass - steppe grass" (1971),

"Life to live" (1983),

"IN native land roots are warmer "(1983),

"Sinkers" (novel, 1983)

"Dreams of the Old Park" (1986).

The stories "Wounded Lapwing", "Sapun Mountain", "Hollow Waters", etc.

The story "Rye" (1987) is the last work of the writer, which remained unfinished ...

Fate measured him after the "second birth" - almost the same amount of time. And he managed to live it with dignity and happiness, like a real full-fledged person ...

Titov was awarded the following awards and prizes:

Order of Friendship of Peoples,

Order of the Badge of Honor,

Medal "For Valiant Labor"

Breastplate "Miner's Glory" of two degrees.

Laureate of the Regional Komsomol Prize named after "Young Guard".

Prize and title of laureate literary competition them. Nikolai Ostrovsky (1967).

Republican Komsomol Prize. N. Ostrovsky (1976) for the play "To spite all deaths ...", staged by the Voroshilovgrad Music and Drama Theater.

Laureate of the N. Ostrovsky All-Union Literary Competition

Laureate of the State Prize of the Ukrainian SSR named after T. G. Shevchenko in the field of literature, journalism, art and architecture (1981).

A museum-apartment of the writer V. Titov was opened in Lugansk. There is also a street named after him - in the very center of the city, next to the museum of local lore.

In Dobrinka, Lipetsk region, a street is named after miner-writer V. Titov.

In spite of all deaths, it was translated back in Soviet times into 22 languages, published only in separate editions 19 times with a total circulation of more than 6 million copies.

P.S. The author of the post met with Vladislav Titov at the Komsomol youth "events". Impressions - an ordinary person. As they would say today - “without show-offs” and “without complexes”. You meet on the street - you don’t recognize ... He walked - among the same ordinary Soviet people ...

In the USSR (Ukrainian SSR ...) V. Titov's story "To spite all deaths" was included in the compulsory school curriculum in literature.

Today - she is excluded from it, like Fadeev's "Young Guard" ...

Modern youth, in the opinion of the current government, needs somewhat different “heroes” ...

Even in my youth, I often heard disputes of “skeptics” from the “if only” series ...

They argued whether the mountain foreman Titov did the right thing… What would have happened if he hadn’t turned off the transformer substation and covered the burning cable with his body… After all, he could “not notice” and just pass by! And - no one ...! I would never know about it! I think that no one can predict or “calculate” the “development of events” ... Maybe the cable went out on its own. And - everything ...!

Or maybe - the fire got to the TP (or somewhere else ...). There is a constant draft in the mine. So everything burns hot and fast. And from the burning transformer there would be an explosion. Even - without methane gas ... Just - an ordinary, even "mild" explosion ... A shock wave would raise coal dust from the walls, which, mixed with air, formed an explosive thermobaric mixture ... It explodes and burns everything in its path ... In any gap and secluded development, - where the miner fleeing from death managed to drop in ... The air is burning. Around - and in the lungs ... Everything ... Then silence. The cordon of the mine. Sirens of VGSCH and ambulances…

March 11, 2000 at 12h55 at the mine. N.P. Barakov (“Krasnodonugol”, Sukhodolsk, Ukraine) an explosion of a dust-air mixture occurred ... The explosion was “man-made”. It was preceded by unacceptable flame cutting hot work and the explosion of an oxygen cylinder. From the exploded cylinder, dust was raised in a wave ... And it, mixed with air, detonated ... 80 miners died in a terrible fiery hell ... Just “someone”, the one who remained there - above, on the surface ... alive ... - “ordered” ... And others - this order was carried out ... For the last time ...

Summing up a series of publications on miners and mining work on NNM, I want to say:

Before commenting, discussing and writing anything on this issue, I strongly advise you to just visit the mine once for a start ...

To those who write and slander the "Stakhanov record" - I just advise you to conduct a small experiment ...! Take an ordinary shovel. And - in the daytime, on the street, in the fresh air, without a robe and standing up - try to manually transfer at least 10 tons (KamAZ ...) of coal from place to place ... Washed, unpacked and already mined by someone ... Record the time and evaluate the fatigue ( I think that YOU still visit the “fitness club” and YOUR body is at least a little “prepared” for physical activity ...). Now - mentally transfer yourself to a depth of 300 meters, a ceiling of 1 meter 20 cm, put on a robe, put a candle next to it (or two at once ...!). And most importantly ... - increase your "load" by TEN times ...! Provided that YOU have to “chop off” coal from the wall, and in your hands you will not have a light shovel with a wooden handle, but a heavy 8-kilogram “jackhammer” ...! And - go ahead ...! Do not forget ... - YOU need to meet SIX hours!!! Or - at least live them .... Yes, you can take a few ASSISTANTS…! (after all, Stakhanov also had them ...)

And then (after the shift ...) - and we'll talk ...!

(At the beginning of the post - a photo of Gorlovka photographer Viktor Minchenko)

Few people get to endure as much suffering and torment as the hero of the story "To spite all deaths." The summary can be summarized in a few words: a person became disabled, but did not give up and built his destiny anew.

Vladislav Andreevich Titov

This is the author of the story "To spite all deaths." The summary is written off from his own life. This man was born in the first half of the last century in a small village in the Lipetsk region. His entire family was engaged in peasant labor. Vladislav, like many young people at that time, wanted to become a pilot, but due to health reasons he was not fit for this profession. At the crossroads of fate, he caught the eye of an ad for admission to a mining college.

At that time, the profession of a miner was quite monetary and respected. Vladislav began to study it diligently. For a profession, he went to Voroshilovgrad - now Lugansk, there was an excellent mining college. The young man successfully graduated from it.

In fairness, it must be said that the scholarship for a student of a mining technical school was 340 rubles - an absolutely fantastic amount for those times.

Russian spirit

Tests of an initially strong character are described in the story "To spite all deaths." The summary contains a mention that the training at the mining technical school included a trial descent into the mine. It was there, in complete darkness underground, that everyone decided for himself whether he was capable of becoming a miner. The teachers did not hide from the students that the risk to life is part of the profession, and that no one will reproach the one who leaves before the end of the course.

Vladislav did not leave. Moreover, miners at that time worked reclining, and instead of a jackhammer, they chipped coal with a shovel. Get up in full height did not allow the size of the mine shaft. To this must be added the darkness, dissipated only by the light of mine lanterns, and forced ventilation. To work in such conditions from day to day could only be hardy physically and strong-willed people.

The fatal third shift

The story "To spite all deaths" is connected with the history of the whole region. The summary indicates that the tragedy of one person happened on the third shift, in the dead of night. Vladislav Titov had just descended underground and was replacing a friend in the mine.

He heard the noise and saw what was happening at the same time. The charcoal cart derailed and pierced an electrical cable. The cable caught fire due to a short circuit. The fire runs along the cable, and then a powerful transformer. An explosion is inevitable.

And in the mine there are two shifts, everyone has families, you know everyone ... Vladislav decided to turn off the transformer. Journalists in these cases write "at any cost."

The price of saved lives

The usual cases in these parts are described by Vladislav Titov. "To spite all deaths" ( summary) is dedicated to the unspoken price of coal - for every ton there are someone's lives carried away by explosions. It is in all countries. Every miner knows that warmth and comfort on earth are paid for by underground deaths. They know and still go underground - otherwise everything will stop.

Like Vladislav, all miners rush to the rescue of other people - this is an integral part of the profession. There are no weak spirits.

Vladislav turned off the transformer, but took on six thousand volts. He remembered his feelings: as if a spider dug into all parts of the body with unbearable pain. The fact that the boot caught fire, he could no longer understand - everything hurt.

The walkers found him. The man was conscious, asked for a drink, his shoes were on fire, and he looked like a big piece of black coal.

True miracle

It is impossible to survive after an electric shock of such force. A current of more than 90 volts is considered fatal to a person. At the time of the tragedy, Vladislav was only 20 years old, and he survived. How - no one knows. He had responsibility for his parents and his beloved woman, whom by that time he had already met. This is an event outline of the story, the author of which is Vladislav Titov (“To spite all deaths”). The summary is silent about the physical suffering that this person had to endure. To save his life, he had to part with both hands - and not immediately, not in one day. Doctors tried to save his hands, but it all ended in amputation.

The man realized that he was becoming a profound invalid, sometimes he even asked the woman he loved to leave him, but his girlfriend turned out to be a match for him - she became his wife.

Beyond the walls of the hospital

At the moment of discharge, it seemed that all the worst was over. So thought Vladislav Titov. “To spite all deaths” (summary) shows that the complete lack of demand and uselessness turned out to be much harder than physical suffering. Yes, his workmates remembered his feat and honored him as a person, but life - so different, stormy, full of news and events - passed by. What was a person to do, for whom even the usual self-service became a problem? Getting dressed, putting on shoes, lighting a cigarette - all this is impossible to do without hands. The search for oneself is a feat more significant than overcoming physical pain.

Possibility to write

The story “To spite all deaths” (we give a summary) tells about the strength of the spirit of a simple person. The writer's wife noticed the moment when he realized his new possibilities. Titov turned the pages of books with his lips, and then began to do it with a pencil. The pencil left a mark on the paper. So the man realized that he could write. But it is well said: to write. Almost a year separated him from the first dot on paper to readable phrases. He went through what every first grader goes through: sticks and hooks, trying to keep the letters in one line, notebooks in an oblique line. He mastered the letter with a pencil clamped in his teeth.

First publication

Today, many people know who Titov Vladimir is. “To spite all deaths” is a well-known work. For the first time this amazing book was published in the Lipetsk region, where Titov was born.

Vladislav Andreevich Titov

All deaths out of spite...

* PART ONE *

Sitting alone in an empty apartment has always been painful for Tanya. This time especially. She is on vacation for the second day, and it is not yet clear when Sergei will be released. And will they even give him a chance to rest this month? It can happen like this: she takes off her twenty-four days, goes to work, and then Sergei will spend her vacation days at home ...

Tanya is waiting. Her hand, resting her elbow on the window sill, wanders in a short bang. She twists her forehead hair into thin buns and wraps them around her index finger. When the entire bangs are twisted into rings, the hand slowly unravels them and starts all over again. It's a habit. Tried to get out - didn't work. As soon as restless thoughts arise in the head, the hand itself reaches for the hair. Sergei was joking at first: does the kindergarten solve the world's problems? And then I got used to it. And even he sometimes twists his forelock into rings. Got infected!

“Is it really not going to work out?” Tanya thinks. “For so many years we dreamed of going on vacation together…”

Tanya is waiting and looking out the window... Now Seryozha will come in and say: "They didn't give it... You understand, it's business."

And she will say; "I knew it. You are some kind of unlucky, Seryozhka." And he will say: "Tanyush, I want to eat ..." And she will answer: "Take and eat! I'm on vacation, and you know. Do I have the right to rest or not?"

Tanya imagined all this so clearly that tears welled up in her eyes from annoyance.

Spring has come early. Somehow, the snowstorms that howled through the quiet streets of the young mining village during the long nights immediately wilted and weakened. Timidly, as if afraid to anger the gray cold, the sun smiled from behind the clouds. And winter really got angry. It bristled at night with the ice bayonets of the roofs, viciously crunched underfoot with a brittle whitish film of puddles, burned the smoking top of the slag heap with prickly breath.

And then the sun got bolder. The clouds began to fuss, speeding up their run, the sky broke into a wide smile, and the sun fell like a hot beam on the cold, dormant earth. Somewhere near the beam, as if a bird released into the wild, a song began to beat. Rushed up and saddened by the agonizing expectation of future changes.

A girl with a sparse strand on her forehead, in an open coat, stopped, narrowed her eyes, found a lark in the sky, smiled at something and froze with her face raised up.

Spring has also reached the mine fan. The air, saturated with the smells of the earth, seemed to stop in front of the furiously circling blades, thought for a moment and rushed into the dark, damp paste of the trunk, burst into the drifts and went for a walk in the lavas, the faces, exciting the souls of the miners with an inexplicably sweet longing for the sun, for the high dark blue sky.

Sergei Petrov was walking along the drift in a miner's helmet, dashingly shifted to one side. It seemed that someone shouted "goplya" - and he would start dancing, impetuous, restless and awkward.

Sergei was in a hurry. And not because the job required it. No. It was just that he was possessed by an inexplicable delight and really wanted to quickly go to the mountain, take a closer look at the sun. In addition, signed leave documents were waiting for him in the section chief's desk.

Sergey picked up a piece of rock with the toe of his boot, tossed it up and smiled. He imagined how Tanya would throw up her hands, dance with delight, and then throw herself on her neck and, laughing, exclaim: "Do you want me to strangle you, you nasty one?"

And later, when the joy subsides a little, he will sit down and once again begin to fantasize about the upcoming trip. And of course, lowering his head, he will ask: "What if your parents don't like me?"

“Why is she tormented by this question?” Sergei pondered.

So that she, Tanya, would not go? And to whom? To my old people. Yes, this cannot be! Batya's left eye twitches with excitement, and two false teeth will shine like medals polished for Victory Day. "Look, people, my eldest picked up the stole."

In the depths of the drift, the svez froze, throwing reddish reflections on the wet rail, the lopsided fastening frame. The contacts of the magnetic starters snapped in a race... The young of the irrigation pump began to snore, splashing and pouting with thin rubber hoses. Sergey walked a few more steps from the district switchboard, and, surprised, stopped! Near the loaders at home, someone howled:

Donbass, my Donbass, Bloom, my beloved Donbass...

The wagon driver sang, and this song, which had been heard many times, evoked an incomprehensible response in the soul. Elsewhere, Sergey probably would not have listened to her... But here, at a depth of thirty meters, in a narrow, gloomy corridor, the sacred song strongly plucked at the heart. It seemed that the smell of spring that had flown into the dungeon, mixed with the pungent stench of mold and gas, suddenly saddened the wide expanses of the earth, the serene expanses of the planet.

In the chest Sergei's everything rose, it became weightlessly light. From somewhere moved and floated, a wide green carpet, densely dotted with yellow dots, which slowly floated, multiplied and quietly settled. Bright yellow fluffy heads trembling from the gentle breeze are already clearly visible. They froze in timid expectation, listening warily to the dangerous silence, and ran in different directions from the rapidly advancing shadow of the parachutist.

"Where did I see it? Where?" Sergei struggled to remember. "Oh yes, in the army! Of course! The last jump on the eve of demobilization..."

He remembered how, near the ground, he saw his feet, shod in heavy soldier's saithe. And below the grass stirred from the wind, daisies swayed. Another moment - and the boots will mercilessly crush several tender, fluffy heads. It seemed to him that flowers are living beings, they are. They want to escape death, but they can't...

"The miner's songs are sung ..." - it rushed along the drift and, as if through a dream, it reached his ear.

... The earth was inexorably drawn to itself. She pushed hard at her feet. Sergei absurdly jumped, let go of the parachute lines from his hands and, closing his eyes, collapsed with all the weight of his body onto a meadow damp from wet dew. The stalks of flowers crunched, the grasshopper crackled in surprise, as if crying, and suddenly fell silent ...

The phone rang sharply.

- ... the rope is being stretched! .. - the wagon driver shouted into the telephone receiver.

Water dripped from the side. "Drips!" Sergey chuckled. "Just like there, on the mountain."

And, already making his way on all fours along the lava, he again remembered the events of that distant army day. He took crumpled daisies with him. There were seven of them. They then stood in a faceted glass on the bedside table, next to his soldier's bunk.

"But then I received a letter from Tanya ... and a photograph!"

The story of Vladislav Titov "To spite all deaths ..." is largely autobiographical. Its author - in the past a miner, a mining foreman - risking his life, prevented a catastrophe in the mine. He lost both hands, but did not submit to fate, managed to survive and find his place in life.

The story "Kovyl - steppe grass" is also dedicated to our contemporaries, their courage and high moral beauty.

Vladislav Andreevich Titov

All deaths out of spite...

Dilogy

* PART ONE *

Sitting alone in an empty apartment has always been painful for Tanya. This time especially. She is on vacation for the second day, and it is not yet clear when Sergei will be released. And will they even give him a chance to rest this month? It can happen like this: she takes off her twenty-four days, goes to work, and then Sergei will spend her vacation days at home ...

Tanya is waiting. Her hand, resting her elbow on the window sill, wanders in a short bang. She twists her forehead hair into thin buns and wraps them around her index finger. When the entire bangs are twisted into rings, the hand slowly unravels them and starts all over again. It's a habit. Tried to get out - didn't work. As soon as restless thoughts arise in the head, the hand itself reaches for the hair. Sergei was joking at first: does the kindergarten solve the world's problems? And then I got used to it. And even he sometimes twists his forelock into rings. Got infected!

“Is it really not going to work out?” Tanya thinks. “For so many years we dreamed of going on vacation together…”

Tanya is waiting and looking out the window... Now Seryozha will come in and say: "They didn't give it... You understand, it's business."

And she will say; "I knew it. You are some kind of unlucky, Seryozhka." And he will say: "Tanyush, I want to eat ..." And she will answer: "Take and eat! I'm on vacation, and you know. Do I have the right to rest or not?"

Tanya imagined all this so clearly that tears welled up in her eyes from annoyance.

Spring has come early. Somehow, the snowstorms that howled through the quiet streets of the young mining village during the long nights immediately wilted and weakened. Timidly, as if afraid to anger the gray cold, the sun smiled from behind the clouds. And winter really got angry. It bristled at night with the ice bayonets of the roofs, viciously crunched underfoot with a brittle whitish film of puddles, burned the smoking top of the slag heap with prickly breath.

And then the sun got bolder. The clouds began to fuss, speeding up their run, the sky broke into a wide smile, and the sun fell like a hot beam on the cold, dormant earth. Somewhere near the beam, as if a bird released into the wild, a song began to beat. Rushed up and saddened by the agonizing expectation of future changes.

A girl with a sparse strand on her forehead, in an open coat, stopped, narrowed her eyes, found a lark in the sky, smiled at something and froze with her face raised up.

Spring has also reached the mine fan. The air, saturated with the smells of the earth, seemed to stop in front of the furiously circling blades, thought for a moment and rushed into the dark, damp paste of the trunk, burst into the drifts and went for a walk in the lavas, the faces, exciting the souls of the miners with an inexplicably sweet longing for the sun, for the high dark blue sky.

Sergei Petrov was walking along the drift in a miner's helmet, dashingly shifted to one side. It seemed that someone shouted "goplya" - and he would start dancing, impetuous, restless and awkward.

Sergei was in a hurry. And not because the job required it. No. It was just that he was possessed by an inexplicable delight and really wanted to quickly go to the mountain, take a closer look at the sun. In addition, signed leave documents were waiting for him in the section chief's desk.

Sergey picked up a piece of rock with the toe of his boot, tossed it up and smiled. He imagined how Tanya would throw up her hands, dance with delight, and then throw herself on her neck and, laughing, exclaim: "Do you want me to strangle you, you nasty one?"

And later, when the joy subsides a little, he will sit down and once again begin to fantasize about the upcoming trip. And of course, lowering his head, he will ask: "What if your parents don't like me?"

“Why is she tormented by this question?” Sergei pondered.

So that she, Tanya, would not go? And to whom? To my old people. Yes, this cannot be! Batya's left eye twitches with excitement, and two false teeth will shine like medals polished for Victory Day. "Look, people, my eldest picked up the stole."

In the depths of the drift, the svez froze, throwing reddish reflections on the wet rail, the lopsided fastening frame. The contacts of the magnetic starters snapped in a race... The young of the irrigation pump began to snore, splashing and pouting with thin rubber hoses. Sergey walked a few more steps from the district switchboard, and, surprised, stopped! Near the loaders at home, someone howled:

Donbass, my Donbass,
Blossom, my beloved Donbass...

The wagon driver sang, and this song, which had been heard many times, evoked an incomprehensible response in the soul. Elsewhere, Sergey probably would not have listened to her... But here, at a depth of thirty meters, in a narrow, gloomy corridor, the sacred song strongly plucked at the heart. It seemed that the smell of spring that had flown into the dungeon, mixed with the pungent stench of mold and gas, suddenly saddened the wide expanses of the earth, the serene expanses of the planet.

In the chest Sergei's everything rose, it became weightlessly light. From somewhere moved and floated, a wide green carpet, densely dotted with yellow dots, which slowly hovered, multiplied and quietly settled. Bright yellow fluffy heads trembling from the gentle breeze are already clearly visible. They froze in timid expectation, listening warily to the dangerous silence, and ran in different directions from the rapidly advancing shadow of the parachutist.

"Where did I see it? Where?" Sergei struggled to remember. "Oh yes, in the army! Of course! The last jump on the eve of demobilization..."

He remembered how, near the ground, he saw his feet, shod in heavy soldier's saithe. And below the grass stirred from the wind, daisies swayed. Another moment - and the boots will mercilessly crush several tender, fluffy heads. It seemed to him that flowers are living beings, they are. They want to escape death, but they can't...

"The miner's songs are sung ..." - it rushed along the drift and, as if through a dream, it reached his ear.

... The earth was inexorably drawn to itself. She pushed hard at her feet. Sergei absurdly jumped, let go of the parachute lines from his hands and, closing his eyes, collapsed with all the weight of his body onto a meadow damp from wet dew. The stalks of flowers crunched, the grasshopper crackled in surprise, as if crying, and suddenly fell silent ...

The phone rang sharply.

- ... the rope is being stretched! .. - the wagon driver shouted into the telephone receiver.

Water dripped from the side. "Drips!" Sergey chuckled. "Just like there, on the mountain."

And, already making his way on all fours along the lava, he again remembered the events of that distant army day. He took crumpled daisies with him. There were seven of them. They then stood in a faceted glass on the bedside table, next to his soldier's bunk.

"But then I received a letter from Tanya ... and a photograph!"

Tanya was photographed in profile, looked thoughtfully into the distance and smiled with a corner of her lips. In the letter she wrote: “The third spring has come and gone, but you are still gone. I’m tired, Seryozhka! When will we be together! Will you wait?" - and he himself smiled incredulously. Are you still in doubt? Look, if you will be like that - out of spite I will marry another!

"I would show you another one!" Sergei smiled.

Ka-a-a-cha-a-ay! - came from above.

The conveyor chain tightened, twitched twice in warning, and crawled down, dragging large slabs of coal. In the lava, where Sergei crawled, a combine was working.

How are you? - trying to shout over the noise, he asked the worker.

We cut a little! - he smiled affably, exposing a white row of teeth on a black face.

We’ll make a cycle if they provide empty, if they are not okay! - Brigadier Yatsko intervened in the conversation.

At the planning meeting, the head of the Higher School of Economics promised your lava a hundred wagons! Enough? - Sergey asked.

Under cover! the brigadier rejoiced. Sergey, nodding towards the worker, asked:

Newbie?

From the school bench he came to us. The Mining University is taking place…

The old miner invested in these words a considerable amount of kind cunning.

Well, how is he? Pulling?.

In general, I must tell you, - Yatsko began at length, - the guy will be good. He has a mining streak!

And what is she, this vein, uncle Sing? - Sergey joked.

You, Seryoga, don't laugh! This one will not run away if the water starts to drip around the neck, or else there will be nothing to receive at the box office. He is angry at this verse! So he says: "I want to curb her." There is someone joking with him, but I believe. And how can you not believe! His dad, my friend, was just as stubborn. I wanted to save Vrubovka in 1946 and… I saved the car, but myself… I saw an obelisk behind the pit… Mine surveyors said that there, under that place, he… and four hundred meters of land above him… The soldier is known, but his grave… But who tell exactly where it is...

The miner struck hard with the butt, straightened the peephole of the lantern and began furiously gouging a hole for the lining.

"Good boy," Sergei thought of the newcomer, making his way on all fours through the lava.

I recalled a meeting of the Komsomol mine committee. The opinion of the committee on the creation of a Komsomol youth brigade was the same: to complete a team of experienced, well-versed workers. But at the last meeting of the committee, everything turned around.

"The chief engineer gave us a light!" Sergei chuckled.

Throughout the meeting, the chief sat in silence, drew little devils in his notebook and seemed to agree with the Komsomol members. And when it came to candidates for the brigade, for no apparent reason he suddenly asked:

"And who will we select the best equipment from?"

"How to select?" someone asked.

"And so!" the chief chuckled.

Komsomol secretary Rafik Mammadov wanted to say something, but scratched his head and thought better of speaking. The room where they sat was silent. The engineer got up, put the notepad in his pocket, and either jokingly or seriously said:

“If we decide to take the best workers from the brigades, then we must be consistent to the end. We will also select the best combines, drills, transporters in the brigades ... - The chief fell silent for a minute, slowly looked around at those sitting at the table. - You will rob your comrades! After all, those the best that you plan to pick up, who brought up?"

That the chief was right, Sergey was sure. Long before the meeting, he caught himself thinking that somehow it was necessary to do something wrong, everything turned out very easily. But the comrades had a different opinion, and he did not find good reasons to justify his disagreement.

"Here they sat in a puddle. Figures! .. And why? Got carried away?" Sergei thought.

Squeezing his way through the narrow passage with difficulty, he climbed out of the lava onto the ventilation drift. A team of drifters worked in the face of the drift.

Igor! - Sergey called.

A beam of light rose under the very roof, darted along the drift and rested on Sergei.

Tse you! .. - the lanky guy boomed.

Who did the exit from the lava?

We. What's the matter? Narrow?

What you are quick-witted!

The matter is fixable, it can be expanded.

It is not possible, but necessary, and immediately! Not the first day you work in the mine, devils striped! Only yesterday at the Komsomol meeting they were talking about this. Well, like water off a duck's back!

The shift was coming to an end. All objects were checked, and now Sergey was slowly walking along the drift. The spring delight that had taken possession of him some time ago was replaced by a leisurely, dreamy thoughtfulness. He clearly imagined how the trees planted by Komsomol members on the streets of the mining village would turn green. They will grow up, become curly, by that time they will definitely have a son with Tanya. Little funny baby! Sergey and Tanya will walk with him along quiet alleys and tell what a wasteland was here a few years ago. And the mine will become an enterprise of communist labor. Will definitely be! We will build a large stadium in the village, with stands, running tracks, a football field, a volleyball court ... Sergey remembered his vacation, and his feelings were divided. Joy was clouded by doubt. "The guys will say:" He made porridge with Sunday, the headquarters, and he himself ... in the bushes. "No, they won't say that! Friends will be happy for us! Oh, wonderful; life is still arranged! Spring ... Tanya ... Vacation, and there again work, mine, friends."

But Seryozhka Petrov did not have to go on vacation ... He was not among his friends on the day the Komsomol youth brigade was awarded the title of brigade of communist labor. And the trees that rustle with foliage on the quiet streets of the mining village were not planted by his hands ...

The trolley derailed, fell on its side and flattened an armored cable suspended from a metal rack with the edge of the body. Auto-Protect didn't work. A short-circuit arc flashed like a white torch. The blue serpent of fire, crackling ominously, crawled along the cable to the transformer. In a few seconds, she will reach the camera, and... the irreparable will happen... The transformer will explode! Will block the exit of the entire eastern wing. A fire will break out! There are people in the lava. Be brave!

"Turn off! - Sergey breaks off and runs to the camera. - Handle to the left, until it clicks. The cell body is probably energized."

Tight clumsy threads that pierced the body with arrows tremble elastically, twist into spirals with a crunch and protrude into the arms, head, and legs. Myriad spirals. They are in every cell of the body. They stretch out and twist again, screw in and tremble. Pull to the transformer. There is death. Instant. B ash...

"What a terrible dream! We must wake up soon!" Sergey wants to shout, but there is a spiral in his tongue. She chews. It becomes scary.

Lu-u-u-di-i-i! - The scream gets stuck in the brain. - Y-y-s - breaks through to the throat and suffocates there with a cramp.

"We need to pull up!" Hands didn't go down. Spirals sharply straightened, merged into a trembling thread. Something exploded in my brain, swirling in a whirlwind. A-ah-ah! shouted the whirlwind. The light went out. The thread stopped shaking. "There's six thousand volts in there!"

Help-and-and-te-e-e! - In the throat wheezing, not enough air. "There's a phone somewhere nearby."

Sergei gets up, takes a few steps forward and falls face down into the liquid cold mud.

"We must get up, get up, get up ... - he commands and does not obey his own commands. - The current is off. The cable is still on."

Sergei rises on his knees, crawls a few meters and falls with a wet body onto a blue snake of fire.

The walkers found him. He was lying on a cable about ten meters from the transformer chamber, moaning softly and asking for a drink. Sergey's eyes were wide open and looked up in surprise. A rubber boot burned on the right leg. When they tried to take it off, Sergei screamed and closed his eyes.

Kolya Goncharov's hand trembles, and water from the flask pours onto his chin, onto his cheeks, flows down his neck, leaving white streaks on his face.

Guys, am I alive? - Sergei raises his head and immediately drops it. - Drink…

Seryozha, be patient, maybe you can’t have a lot of water ... - In Nikolai's voice there is a plea, a request, pity.

Beats on the bell, hasty, alarming. The mine hoist driver becomes alert and sits tighter in his chair.

…Six, seven, no, he was not mistaken. The number 7 lights up on the light panel. It rarely lights up, and maybe that's why it seems alien and scary. Seven demands: "The most careful rise, machinist, a wounded miner in a cage ..."

The shaft cage hangs on a cable and smoothly creeps up. An oncoming stream of air whistles lispingly in the iron visor of the cage, rushes inside and splashes with small drops of rain. The drops smell of spring and the dust of the near-stem yard. Kolya Goncharov is on his knees and carefully supports his friend's head.

Sergei opens his eyes and looks at the faces inclined towards him.

"Why are they silent? What happened? Is this reality? There are six thousand volts in there. If not a dream, then I'm dead. Wake me up!" Sergei tries to raise his arms and grimaces in pain. For a moment, a clear consciousness returns to him. "Really with me? .." Fear crawled through the body, the heart sank and suddenly fell. "Silence..."

When trouble comes to the mine, the miners are gloomy and silent.

The cage stopped at the receiving platform. Bright spring light blinds the eyes, presses on the ears, tickles the nose. Through the open door, Sergei sees a car with a red cross on its side. Cross, like a huge spider, clumsily tosses and turns, pulls its fingerless red paws to its face and creaks hoarsely:

Chga-chga-chga ... - laughs with a shrill rattle from above.

Sergei wants to become small, small and run away, hide from the red spider and the terrible metallic laughter.

The spider seized his hands, squeezed his eyes painfully, and spun furiously like a solid red wheel.

Petrov, Petrov! - came from somewhere far away, and the wheel turned black.

What a fine fellow! .. Turned it off! .. He was going to certain death ... Hands, hands ... be careful ... - The voices merged and drowned in a red-black fog.

The ambulance driver slams the door sharply, running into the cab. The car takes off and rushes from the mine through the village through fragile spring puddles, splashing with wet snow, clear melt water.

The girl in the open coat is still standing on the road and looking at the sky. The car with the red cross is buzzing, and the girl, stepping aside, looks after her: anxiety appears in her eyes, and her lips still continue to smile ...

A lark is ringing in the sky. Puddles are distributed on the sides, after a long time they are worried by broken fragments of the sun.

There are a few lines on a clean medical history sheet: "Sergey Petrov. Electric burn of 4th - 5th degrees of both upper limbs and right foot. Delivered by ambulance in deep shock."

An urgently convened council did not sit for long.

The news of the misfortune spread through the wards. The faces of the sick became concentrated and stern, as if they all accidentally looked into the abyss and it menacingly, hypnotically beckoned them.

Outside the window, a drop of spring rang, offendedly knocking on the window with a bare branch of lilac, as if it wanted to say: "What have you people forgotten about me?"

And people were not until spring ...

Tanya stands at the window and looks, looks ...

The chain of people, stretching from the mine to the village, noticeably thins out and in a few minutes completely breaks off. The clock is ticking on my hand. Tanya is angry

"Again, Sergei has some kind of meeting!"

A group of people appeared on the road. They walked, waving their arms. - probably welded. It seemed to Tanya that Sergey was among them. I examined it better and got even more angry: Sergey is not there. People passed, and the road was empty again.

From the window of the apartment you can see the slag heap. A trolley slowly crawls up it. Reaches the top, stops for a moment and flips upside down. Large pieces of rock spill out of the trolley, roll down and plop down into a puddle that has spilled at the base of the waste heap. Sprays fly, and the trolley hurries down, for a new batch of stone.

Sergey is debit to look at the waste heap and this, as he calls it, "workaholic-trolley". Tanya smiled. I remembered how one winter my husband's mood suddenly deteriorated. She was worried, thought - trouble at work. And when the blizzard subsided, Sergei went to the window and laughed, he saw his trolley. Then, becoming more serious, he said: “It seems that there is nothing remarkable. A mountain of broken stones - and that's it ... L you think about it ... This is life itself! Wise, interesting and forever alive. Millions of years have passed. Millions! being. Millions of years... And how miserably short is our life in this eternity. One moment... And your lava didn't work for an hour yesterday because of the sluggishness of one varmint. So this hour will enter eternity as an empty place. It's a shame!"

"He's funny with me," thought Tanya.

Tanya did not notice how the blue "Victory" drove up to the house. Doors slammed, she saw people hurrying from the car to their house.

"Well, this is Serezhkin's boss ... And the grandfather from their site. Where is Sergey?" Tanya felt her brain scratched by a thought, from which the blood rushed to her face, her heart began to beat often, and suddenly fell, shrinking into a painful lump.

"Perhaps not to us. What am I afraid of?"

They knocked on the door. A thud rumbled through the room. Tanya raised her hands to her cold cheeks and sat down. "I won't open it!" - flashed a reckless thought.

The knock was repeated timidly. Muffled voices were heard.

"We must open." Hands tremble, they can not find the latch from the door. And when, slowly, as if in a dead man's apartment, Pyotr Pavlovich and the old master, Grandfather Kuzmich, came in, stitching their hats together. Tanya understood without a word: something terrible had happened.

What about Sergei? - And she cried.

She rushed to the closet for a scarf, but her legs gave way, black circles appeared in her eyes.

Don't cry, daughter, God willing, everything will work out, - Kuzmich's voice breaks, he trembles like an old man, and it is impossible to understand whether there is hope in him or condolence A large rough palm awkwardly strokes his cheek. - Nothing ... there. good doctors, his body is young, strong ... don’t cry ... What to do now ... anything can happen ... we have chosen such a share for ourselves - to work, as in battle ... There are also stray bullets - Realizing that he said too much, he hurried: - Let's go darling, get dressed...

The car drives indefinitely. It seems to Tanya that they have lost their way among these numerous streets and lanes, and when they find the right path, it will be too late: Seryozhka will die.

We'll come now, - says Kuzmich and all cringes.

Some unknown force pulled Tanya out of the car, forced her to run along the long corridor of the hospital and stop right in front of the doors behind which he, her husband, Sergei Petrov, was. She pushed open the door, took a step into the room, and froze in place.

On the left, on a bunk, wrapped in bandages, with a pale, haggard face, lay Sergei. Tanya moved sideways, I see, and limply sank to the floor.

Serezhenka, my dear, how are you like that, huh? .. - She reached out with her hand to her face and cried out desperately, terribly - Serezha!

I woke up in an empty, spacious room. She looked and was surprised: where is she and what is the matter with her? A woman in a white coat came in, said something and left. When she closed the door, to Tanya's hearing, the sound of her wheel reached, but the words could not be made out. And suddenly it burned: a bloody bandage on a pile of husband.

On the second day in the morning Sergey opened his eyes. Tanya, sitting in rows on a chair, held her breath. She softly called:

My eyes turned to her, I groaned:

Ta-n-ya, wake me up. I can't wake up on my own.

Seryozhenka, are you in pain?

Be quick!

You are not sleeping, Seryozha. We are in the hospital. Your hands are burned by someone ... a little ...

It's not true... it killed me... There are six thousand volts... Tanya was silent. She swallowed a lump in her throat and could not swallow. "He spoke, spoke, - it means that he will live, he will!" And tears flooded his face.

Why are you crying?

I'm nothing ... I'm so ... I'm not crying anymore ...

What's in the mine?

You saved the people and the mine from the fire… Something could explode there…

Who picked me up?

Kolya Goncharov with drifters.

What do the doctor's say?

Doctors?.. Doctors say: there is nothing to worry about. Lie down here for a while and everything will pass. - Tanya tries to say it quickly, quickly, as if she is waiting for someone to enter the ward and shout: "No, the doctors do not say this, they do not hope to save a life!" And again Seryozhka will be silent, and the terrible night will again approach.

You're telling me lies, Tanya. What for?

They... they don't understand anything... they... - And breathed out with tears: They say that you will die... It's not true, it's not true!

Sergey's gaze is fixed on the ceiling, high and dazzlingly white. To the right, from the corner, a narrow dark crack stretches, winding thinly among small white bumps and imperceptibly lost.

And again it seemed to Petrov that he was sleeping and dreaming. Sleep, like an octopus, sucked him into his sticky embrace, and there is no strength to free himself from them.

Come out for a minute, we'll look at it, - says the man in white.

Behind are two, holding a glass octopus with long rubber tentacles.

"Doctors!" - thought flickers.

A woman in a white headscarf unbinds for a long time left hand Sergei. The bandage gathered into a large bloody ball, and she kept winding and winding, from time to time looking into the face of the patient, sighing and rewinding the bandage. Sergei lifts his head, trying to see his hands. His sister touches his forehead and rests her head on the pillow.

You don't have to look! No need…

Goryunov bent over the bunk and asked:

Painfully? And here?

Sergei does not feel pain and, only when they pricked him in the shoulder, he gasped.

That's what I assumed...Your business is bad, boy! Might have to be amputated. I'm talking about hands.

How to amputate?! Cut?! Are you kidding me?!

Goryunov looks past the patient and is silent.

Am-pu-ti-ro-vat ... How is it, huh ?! How am I going to live?! Hands… Tanya! - And suddenly he shouted with a wild, inhuman cry: - I won’t give it to you, barbarians, it’s better to kill me!

On the third day, gangrene began. There was only one way out - amputation.

And immediate...

Valery Ivanovich Goryunov accepted without enthusiasm His appointment as the attending physician of Sergei Petrov. At the very first examination of Sergei, without going into the subtleties of medical analysis, he firmly and categorically concluded that he would not survive.

A selfish and cowardly man, Goryunov was frightened by the vastness of the patient's wounds, his will was paralyzed by the sight of a human tragedy. The mere thought of putting himself in Petrov's position made him despondent. He himself did not know why this nightmarish thought had arisen, and with all his strength he drove it away. He encouraged himself that nothing like this could happen to him, that today he would go home safe and sound, his wife would meet him there, they would watch TV, chat about all sorts of trifles, or maybe they would go to the cinema, spring had come, summer they will go south, to the sea... It relieved my heart, but not for long. The same thought hung like a stone over my head. There was no compassion for the patient. Irritation and anger grew in my chest. “He will have to be operated on, and he will die under a scalpel. There was still not enough death of a patient in my track record. Everyone believes in Badyan’s fairy tales ... Well, let him take him for himself!”

There were three of them in the office. The head doctor of the hospital sulked and was silent.

The patient is hopeless. Why torture him further with an operation? Goryunov said.

Disagree. Everything must be tested. You are the attending physician and have no right to refuse risk, - Vano Ilyich Badyan objected.

The head physician listened for a long time to how Goryunov was cunning and dodging, trying by all means to get rid of a difficult patient. Then he got up and, hiding his irritation, said:

It's decided. Vano Ilyich, prepare Petrov for the operation. In the end, everyone does what duty and conscience prompts.

The surgeon Badian sat down on the edge of Sergei's bed and began a cautious conversation about the need for an operation. Petrov looks past the doctor, and it seems that he does not hear about the cruel gangrene that threatens him, nor about the need to be courageous in difficult moments of life.

I'm not a child, doctor...

That's good, that's good!

During the operation, Sergei did not blink at the bright operating lamp in silence. Wide-open eyes, which saw nothing, did not desire and did not feel, were blue with bottomless whirlpools. Even pain. And only when the surgical saw screeched disgustingly, Sergey shrank all over, I turned away from the light.

After the operation, Tanya was not allowed to see her husband. She begged, cried - all to no avail.

He needs peace, and you can’t restrain yourself, Badian refused.

Tanya got up and resolutely went to the ward. Vano Ilyich stopped her, silently threw his dressing gown over her shoulders, and just as silently returned to the study.

“Just don’t cry, restrain yourself. Hold back at all costs,” she thought. “We must cheer him up, not let him lose heart - this is the main thing now. He is strong! stubborn: - Survive, survive ... "

From the moment Seryozhka Petrov realized that it was not a nightmare that had happened to him, but a twist of fate wild in its cruelty, the brain froze: "It's all over."

What to mean by this "it's all over", Sergei did not know. And on the operating table, when it caught fire and became unnaturally light on the left shoulder, I thought: I would die ...

And got scared.

He was not afraid of death, but of the sudden thought of it. Something simple and completely ordinary flashed before my eyes, which made my heart clench and an irrepressible longing arose.

In the ward, he silently looked at the ceiling, but I could not control the tide of bitter thoughts. "Is it really here ... A birch tree will be planted on the grave ..."

And again Sergey became afraid.

Sister, why didn't it kill me right away, because there is a high voltage there?

You must be immortal…” she said softly and, looking around, added: “Don’t talk, otherwise we’ll get a blow from the doctor.

And it would be better ... a mortal ...

What are you, Seryozha! Is it possible to do this… You will recover, you will go to work, and all that… We had a case…

I know the story, sis. Tell me better when they are going to me another ... - And he fell silent.

He tightly squeezed his eyelids and, like a bullet in the heart, he waited: now he will say - tomorrow ...

Tanya stopped at the door of the ward. She straightened her hair, her kerchief, stretched her hand forward, intending to open the door, but did not dare. She was afraid to see Sergei in bloody bandages, without a hand, and she felt that she could not stand it, she would burst into tears. She leaned against the door with her whole body and entered the room. Sergey's eyes flashed for a moment and went out. The sister got up and carefully walked out.

I was at home, - Tanya said and was surprised at the sound of her voice. "Why am I saying this, it's not true!" “Everything is fine at home,” she said and thought: “Why am I lying? I stood under the operating room window all the time, holding my hands near my ears to close them as soon as Sergei screamed.” - Seryozha, I'll be here with you ... to help ...

Sit down, Tanya, let's talk... - Sergei took a sip of saliva and turned away. Mom doesn't need to write everything. She has a bad heart. - He was silent for a minute, biting his lips, and then strictly He said: - So our happiness ended ... - And he hurried: - Don't come to me, Tanya. It will be better this way. For us both. Drop me, go away. Go away, I don't love you ... I ... - Sergey wrinkled his face painfully and fell silent.

Tanya convulsively covered herself with her hands. - Why do you offend me, Seryozha? She wanted to stifle the scream that came up, but she couldn't. - Why are you like this? .. I love you.

You are twenty years old, your life is ahead... It's all over for me. Leave, I beg...

The door swung as if in a fog, the floor trembled unsteadily and floated to the side. The doorknob slips from under your hands, becoming either giganticly large, or miserably small.

"We must leave, he asks, he doesn't need me..."

... A shot hit the door - she left. Tanya, wife, has left. Pain in the chest and crushed to the bed. Do not reach the door, do not open it, do not call: come back! Sergey rushed after him with his whole body and immediately fell helplessly. He tore the pillowcase with his teeth and clumsily, like a man, wept.

For the first time in his conscious life - inconsolable, sobbing.

As in the desert, Tanya walked through the streets of a noisy evening city. She bumped into something, turned in the other direction, and again walked without a goal, without thoughts, without desires. At the railroad crossing in front of my nose, a train hooted heavily and clattered with frequent rattle of wheels. Tanya shuddered and ran back. "To the hospital, hurry!" After running ten meters, she stopped.

Have you been hurt, girl? - A stranger carefully took Tanya's hands away from his face and, looking into tear-stained eyes, asked carefully: - Did something happen? May I help?

No one will help us, - Tanya sobbed.

Why cry in the middle of the street? Where do you want to go?

Do not know. My husband is in the hospital...

What about him?

Trouble in the mine...

No. Electricity burned his hands. He does not want to live. Drives me away from myself.

The man thought. He waved his hand: let's go!

Tanya walked beside her and did not understand where and why the stranger was taking her. She answered his questions, in a hurry, began to talk about her grief, in mid-sentence she fell silent, sobbing, covering herself with her palms.

The hospital was closed. The sister on duty came out to a long call, silently opened the door and, without looking at the late visitors, left.

Tanya's companion stopped in the corridor. He glanced at the numerous doors with a confused look and scratched his head. Behind one of them lay a man in trouble. How will he help him? There, on the street, when he saw a woman crying alone, it was easier. A person in need needs help. On the way, he picked up encouraging words, not suspecting that all the dormouse would fade, become unconvincing even for himself, as soon as he was in this brightly lit corridor with the intoxicating smell of iodoform.

What is your husband's last name? - the man asked, as if expecting that this unknown surname to him would clarify the situation.

See what a coincidence! And my last name is Petrenko! He wanted to smile, but only wrinkled his face guiltily and cleared his throat.

The doctor came out of the operating room.

Who let you in here?

We are to Petrov ...

Time for visiting patients from two o'clock to five. Happy to the same!

Comrade! - Petrenko stepped to the doctor. - We have five minutes, it's very important.

Everything in our life is important, and no one wants to wait. The doctor turned to leave.

Tanya recognized Badyan.

What's wrong with him, doctor? She clutched at her robe.

Badian stopped.

Opened arterial bleeding. The blood has been stopped. Our reserves of the required group were not enough for the infusion of blood… A car went to Makeyevka. There will be blood in an hour and a half. That's all. You are not needed here.

How so, comrade doctor! Doctor! Two hours ... that's a lot! What if a man ... - Petrenko crumpled his cap in his hands, put it in his pocket, pulled it out and shook it in front of the doctor's face. Looking for support in some of his unspoken thoughts, Petrenko looked at Tanya and quietly, in an imploring voice, said: Comrade, take my blood, please, I am completely healthy. Here look! He threw off his coat and hurried, fumbling for the buttons on his shirt. - You have no right to refuse me! - Petrenko's voice trembled. - I'm not leaving here! I will complain! Why are you looking at me like that?!

Do you even know what your blood type is? asked Vano Ilyich wearily.

What does it matter! Blood is blood!

We need the first troupe, Rh positive.

Exactly! I have exactly the same ... with rhesus ...

Half an hour later, Badian was setting up a blood transfusion machine and smiling thoughtfully.

Serezha, do you know who became your donor? Known to you ... - Y brought an ampoule with a scarlet liquid to Sergei's eyes, hoping to surprise him pleasantly. On the label, in hurried handwriting, it was written; "Petrenko Gennady Fedorovich. Turner. Blood type one."

Sergei did not know the turner Petrenko, just as the turner Petrenko did not know the miner Petrov. But the doctor thought they knew each other well: why else would a man burst into the hospital in the middle of the night and offer his blood?

Tanya spent that night in the hospital. Sitting on a chair near the desk of the sister on duty, she tried to doze off, even for a minute she could not forget herself. Several times she went to the ward to the sleeping Sergei, silently looked at him and, afraid to burst into tears, ran away.

One day Tanya thought her name was called. She ran to the room. Sergei tossed about in delirium on the bed, calling in a hoarse whisper:

Tanya, Tanya... come to me. Don't cry, mom... It hurts, doctor... I don't want, I don't want...

In the morning, Tanya took a towel and hung it on the back of the bed, shielding Sergei's face from the sun's rays.

Let it shine, Tanya ... - she heard and froze.

Are you awake, Seryozha? What a warm sun...

I won't leave you. Whatever you want to do with me. I won't leave! I don't need life without you.

Thanks… Tanechka…

During the day, the hospital was besieged by miners. They begged, threatened, shook all sorts of papers before the eyes of the head physician and left with nothing. It was strictly forbidden to visit Petrov. Tanya came out to acquaintances and strangers. She talked inconsistently about her state of health, accepted bags, notes, minutes of meetings, the whole essence of which came down to one thing; not. lose heart, friend, take heart, miner!

By evening, the entire composition of the Komsomol bureau of the mine arrived. The guys, gloomy, subdued, went in single file to the emergency room and asked for a doctor.

Badyan came out to them.

Why are friends not allowed to visit Petrov? - Angrily asked Mammadov.

There is a certain order, besides the patient is very weak, answered Vano Ilyich.

How long will it last? And what has been done for his recovery? - moved forward Volobuysky.

We are all men. I understand your feelings. But ... an exceptional case ...

We are not interested in statistics! - exploded Nikolai Goncharov. - We ask: will he live?

Well, my friends!.. You speak as if you suspect something bad. Everything in our power is being done. Will hope…

Excuse me, - Nikolai relented, - this is our Sergey, such a guy! .. We decided to be on duty here. If you need blood, skin ... in general, we are all at your disposal, - quietly Finished oh.

Thanks! As long as you don't need it! But… everything is possible… Star anise is gone. Tanya entered in a white hospital gown.

Kolya, Seryozha and the right are preparing ...

Calm down, Tanya, - Goncharov hugged her by the shoulders. - You need to fasten, you know, you need to ...

When I look at you, everyone is alive, healthy, and he ... - Tanya cried, How did you not save him?

It was he who saved us... most were there... in the lava... and he, like Matrosov... with his chest... - Mammadov said slowly, choking on spasms.

Sergei's condition was getting worse and worse hour by hour. Delaying the amputation of the second arm has become dangerous.

A few minutes before the start of the amputation, he opened his eyes, looked around at the doctors fussing around and said:

So the right one...

Seryozha, we are talking about your life.

Call Tanya.

Tanya entered in a white mask.

Forgive me, Tanya, if What was wrong ... For yesterday ... I don’t want to ... You didn’t have time to live ... for real ...

For real... And what was real in their life?

The ring given by Serezha on the wedding day? No, it wasn't real. It was made from a three-kopeck coin by Serezha's friends. Tanya understood: where did the student get the money from? - and not offended. It is still on her hand, next to the gold one that Sergei bought her from the first paycheck. She doesn’t need ten real ones for that faded copper ...

And they ran away from the wedding. They walked along the deserted streets of the night city, the snow creaked under their feet, and from an excess of feelings they wanted to shout: "People! Look how happy we are!"

Tanya's hands were freezing, and Sergei warmed them in his big, strong ones. Then he kissed her eyes, cheeks, lips and whispered: "My dear, I will carry you through my whole life in my arms."

Tanya caught her breath, she nodded her head in agreement, biting her lips, afraid to burst into tears, and could not speak.

Two hours later, Sergei Petrov was lying in the ward without both hands ...

In the morning, after the operation, my father arrived. The old soldier, who himself had looked death in the eyes more than once, sat down at the head of his unconscious son, as if he had been knocked down.

For two days Sergey was on the verge of life and death. Tanya did not leave him for two days. She seemed to be petrified as she sat on the chair. At the persuasion to go to rest, she silently shook her head and again froze motionlessly, staring at one point.

She sits, dear, there is no urinal to look at her, - the nurse aunt Dasha told in the next ward. - Everything is torn in the chest itself. So, they really loved each other.

Something you, grandma, bury their love! Loved, loved ... Listen disgusting! - the patient with the bandaged forehead got angry. - I remember, in the forty-third ... But what is there to tell! I would sit, old, on my legal pension and not rock the boat! You breed one pity. Some fool will listen to such antimony, and she will feel so sorry for herself that ... - The patient paused, wrapping himself in a blanket. He lay down and suddenly spoke in a warmer voice: “I met her yesterday in the corridor, well, she’s still a girl, quite a girl.” But go and see! .. Thank you to her said. And she looks surprised: they say, for what? Me: for this! The patient tapped his fist on the chest, in the place where the heart is. - It has become more pleasant to look at people, they are not wolves to each other!

Either the conversation had an effect on Aunt Dasha, or something else, but, having persuaded her sister, the two of them forced Tanya into bed.

She didn't sleep long. In a dream, she ran somewhere with heavy, unruly legs, fell into pits, tried to scream, but dense, heavy cotton wool climbed into her mouth and muffled the sound.

She jumped up sweaty, even more tired than before sleep. She carefully looked at her hands and was surprised, but she didn’t understand what.

“What have you done to yourself, Seryozhka?” Tanya thought. “Will you really leave me alone? All alone? .. No, no! You have no right to this! and the possibilities of the district hospital are not great. I will go to Donetsk, to the professors…"

Oh, why didn't I think of this before?!

And she mentally rushed to the regional city, to the gray-haired doctors, who, in her opinion, just look at Sergei - and he will rise to his feet.

Badyan looked sadly at her, who ran into his office, and stood up.

We have stopped the bleeding so far, - he said, - but, unfortunately, the blood vessels are affected by current, they decompose in a living body, and we cannot stop this process. We are not sure that other vital centers are not affected. Of course, the possibilities of the regional clinic are higher, but ... - He wanted to add something, but waved his hand vaguely and sat down.

Tanya was silent. I felt a dull anger boil in my chest, and I couldn’t make out who it was. Either to the insidious current, or to the helplessness of medicine. She could not and did not want to believe that the person dearest to her would cease to live.

At first everyone said - he will not live a day! Tanya said abruptly. - Oh you! They were afraid that such a case did not happen! - she was already shouting, making sure that she had to go to Donetsk immediately.

On the bench near the hospital, Tanya saw Seryozhka's father. He sat with his head in his hands, lowered low to the ground. - Dad! Tanya called out. Anton-Andreevich raised his head and spoke hastily:

Tanya, daughter, what a grief, grief ... Seryozha, my son ... with such a navel ... he pulled his little hands towards me ... He said: "Dad, don't go to war, they kill there." And himself ... And there is no war ...

Tanya looked into his face and was frightened. Seryozhkin's eyes, aged, tired, but so dear, looked at her. She suddenly wanted to say something warm, encouraging to this man. She impulsively hugged her father and ran.

...On the way to Donetsk, sitting in the bus, she silently repeated the word "daddy", which was unusual for her, and marveled at the ease with which it was pronounced. Where did the old fears and apprehensions go that this word would get stuck in the throat, unpleasantly scratch the hearing of the one to whom it would be addressed for the first time? "Dad ... And what was mine like? They say, kind, cheerful ... He went to the front, and to this day ..."

Donetsk was noisy with the dissonance of the streets, the wheels of cars rustled on the asphalt, the rumble of overcrowded tramcars rumbled. The gusty April wind swayed the trees, as if waking them up from a long winter hibernation, urging them to enjoy life.

The lively blue-eyed Girl of Tanya's years explained to Tanya for a long time how to get to the Kalinin clinic, where, in her opinion, there should be good doctors. She narrowed her eyes and asked in a sympathetic voice:

Your mom is sick, right?

No, husband.

The gray bulk of the main building of the hospital, coldly flashing the eye sockets of the windows, instilled shyness in Tanya and, along with it, a weak confidence: she was not going in vain.

Sergei woke up. He looked around the room and stared at his father.

Have you arrived, dad? And we were going to you ...

Arrived well. Everyone is healthy at home, - father hurried. - Mother ... mother is also healthy. Sends you a bow. We have a flood. The wolf's log has spilled ... We were waiting for you ... Well, nothing, you will recover - come .. - The father was silent, painfully choosing peppy words, and they, like eels, slipped away, bumping into a hanging question on a stone: how will you live now, son?

Forgive me for not saving myself ... You always told me: "Be brave, son." I'm not afraid, dad. I don't know what will happen to me. They say I won't survive. I don’t want to believe it, but… They cut off the left one… the right one is next… and there is the leg…

The father looked anxiously into the face of his son: is he delirious? Both hands have been amputated. And suddenly a frost crawled up his back: he doesn’t remember!

Son, do you remember everything?

At chest level, the sheet rose in two sharp corners, Sergey opened his eyes wide, licked his parched lips and said quietly:

Where is she?

He glanced wildly at the bandaged stumps of his arms, which had been amputated above the elbows, and suddenly burst out laughing with a terrible hysterical laugh.

On the right side of the white sheet, all expanding, crawled a scarlet spot.

The man with the glasses, after carefully listening to Tanya's story mixed with tears, silently got up from the table and left. "He doesn't look like a professor at all," thought Tanya. The professor returned with the woman.

Associate Professor Grin, a burn specialist, will be with you.

The bleeding that started on the right side was stopped. All attempts by doctors to insert a needle into a vein for blood transfusion were unsuccessful. The situation was aggravated by the fact that only the left leg was intact. The doctors, sweating from exertion, tried in vain to find a saving vessel. From frequent injections, the leg swelled, frighteningly blue. The pulse was not palpable.

In the confusion that reigned around the patient's bed, no one noticed Grin's appearance. She carefully looked at the actions of her colleagues, then said in a clear voice:

Get your artery opener ready!

Everyone, as if on cue, raised their heads and looked at her.

It rained at night. The darkness outside the window was torn by lightning. Tanya fearfully waited for a thunderclap, but there was none. The resilient spring wind rustled through the windows, and it seemed that the fragile glass would not withstand the pressure, burst and let the riot of the April night into the ward. The nurse on duty was dozing at the table. In oblivion, Sergei cried out muffledly. Angry at his impotence, the wind howled.

"It would be necessary to transport to Donetsk, but the risk is great. If bleeding opens on the way ..." - for the hundredth time Tanya recalled Grin's words and each time she was frightened of the unspoken word. “Risk ... And if today she was late, well, at least for ten minutes?” Tanya went to the window, peered into the night.

Take a rest, Tanya, you'll fall down... - Do you think they'll save Seryozha?

What can I say? There has never been such a severe case in our hospital. Vano Ilyich is a good doctor, a kind, warm-hearted person, but... all his life he has been treating appendicitis, fractures, and then... Just yesterday... If it were not for the doctor from Donetsk, who knows how it would have ended. It never occurred to anyone to inject blood through the vessels of the neck. They got used to stabbing in the hand.

What to do, Klava?

If only answers were ready for all occasions! ' said the sister, talking as if to herself. - Of course, the best thing is to transport him to Donetsk. After all, a regional city ... and more qualified personnel, and higher opportunities. But who will take on this responsibility? Grin reprimanded our doctors; Why didn't they take you to the operating room? But the head of the department forbade Badyan to touch him from his place. Fear of arterial bleeding. She advised me to do a complex operation, so after, when I left. Goryunov said: "To advise all the brave, and who can guarantee that he will stand? There is someone to tell about what was slaughtered on the table!" And Goryunov always speaks in the words of the manager. Friends ... Turn to you, Tanyusha, to the health department.

There is a glass there. Chief surgeon of the region. He will help.

In the morning Sergei asked for a drink. Tanya brought a glass of water.

Drink, Seryozha, drink! Doctors recommend drinking more. - She tried not to spill the water, tightly squeezed the glass with both hands and almost repeated aloud: “This is the first time. Out of habit ... I’ll get used to it ... I’ll get my hands used to it ...” And they trembled from tension, and the water, bypassing Sergeyev’s lips, flowed into nose, eyes, neck.

Sergei breathed.

Where is father?

We sleep at home. He has to go tomorrow. The guys came to you. The manager of the trust was

Do I have elbows?

Don't talk about it, Seryozha. People live ... I can do everything. Here! Tanya got up impulsively, stretched out her hands to Sergei's face. - They are yours ... too ... for two. You do not look that they are small and I myself am small! I can do everything! We will live even better than others! - Without waiting for an answer, she hurried: Today I will go to Donetsk, you will be transported there. There are good doctors, they will cure you right away!

A new day brought with it new anxieties and fears. Sometimes it seemed that the minutes of Sergei's life were numbered. But a strong organism fiercely fought with death, drove it, and she was forced to give more and more delays.

By the evening of April 30, the green "Moskvich", raising roadside dust, rushed to the district town. The man hurried to the aid of another man.

Having familiarized himself with the history of Petrov's illness, Stukalo, surrounded by a retinue of doctors, went into the ward.

How are you, miner?

There is nothing to brag about, doctor ...

OOO! I see you are discouraged. No good, no good! A representative of such a courageous profession - and what an example you set for the sick! You have a long life to live, and, you know, remember someday these days, you will be ashamed of your weakness. That's how-cl

Stukalo turned to the doctors and said:

Prepare Petrov for evacuation! Man is born to live! No one should forget this within our walls! Doctors did not forget about it in battle, under shell explosions ... Before the regional traumatology, a flight of kilometers. Scared?..

The glass came out. Tanya met him at the door.

Doctor, will he live?

How old is he?

From the counter question, Tanya turned white, a whirlwind swept through her brain - now she will say: "It's a pity, but ..." She stepped back and waved her hands:

Don't, doctor, I don't want, don't...

What are you, what are you, baby! I just wanted to say how much he had left to live to a hundred years.

He is twenty five.

Well, sir! So seventy-five. Let's take him to us. I will say right away: it will take a long time to be treated. Burns do not heal quickly. Brace yourselves, miner's wife!

* PART TWO *

At night, a two-horned crescent of the moon peered through the window. When clouds swept over him, it became quite uncomfortable in the ward. A dull noise came from afar. It slowly grew, turned into a distinct rumble, and then subsided just as slowly.

"Cars are moving, the road is not far," Sergei thought, trying to fall asleep. Tell your mother about everything? .. "

Are you awake, Yegorych? I keep thinking: you live at home, go to work, and it seems that there are no illnesses, sufferings in the world, everything flows smoothly, sedately ... And when you get here, you will see enough ... It’s like a different world. How many troubles cling to a person! Yes, what ... Will it really be the same under communism?

Where are you going from all this? said a voice from the darkness. Less, that is, there will be these nasty things, but there will be. Defeat old diseases, new ones will appear. Disease is also a manifestation of life.

Sad picture.

No, there will be no patients like us, those who are bedridden. Prevention is better. At the earliest stage, they recognize the disease and kill it, or even prevent it altogether.

They were silent.

It's a strange thing, life! said the voice that started the conversation. Until it presses against the nail, you don’t think about it. You live for yourself ... I received a paycheck - I'm glad, I drank - I'm cheerful, I quarreled with my wife - disgusting. You squander it, life, right and left ... But she has no price. It's too late for us to realize this. Like a fast train: you part with a friend and, while there is time, chatting about trifles, but the last car will start moving, the last carriage will flash by - and you will remember: I didn’t say the main thing. An late! The train will whip with the last whistle - and hello! .. I didn’t succeed in everything in my life. And he lied, and was cowardly, and there was other muck. This I only now understood. Ah, another life for me!

Life is not a motor in a car that can be replaced, - Yegorych sighed. - The shell remains, but the inside is different. No wonder someone joked that the monkey, before becoming a man, first laughed and raised his head up, that is, unbent, then cried, and after wiping his tears, he realized that she had hands, and then became a man.

Yes, tears... What do you think, Yegorych, will his wife stay with him?

That is, in what sense?

In direct ... live, wife ...

I can't figure you out, Ostap Iosifovich! You are nothing man...

In the ensuing silence, Yegorych's horse-drawn horse chirped subtly. The old man tossed angrily from side to side.

Even the most cursory examination of the patient convinced Kuznetsov, Sergey's new attending physician, of the urgent need for surgical intervention. Delay could cost Petrov his life. The vessels of the subclavian artery burst like soap bubbles, causing profuse hemorrhages. This deadly process could be stopped only by an immediate operation, ligation of the artery almost at the very heart.

The May Day holidays were coming. They could have delayed the operation for at least two days. And Grigory Vasilyevich made up his mind: he will operate tomorrow, the first of May.

The surgeon walked home. Kuznetsov loved these walks after work. The many-voiced noise, the healthy breath of the crowded streets had a refreshing effect on him. Distracted from hospital worries, drowned out thoughts about official troubles, calmed the nerves. And that evening he wanted to forget about everything in the world, to walk around the pre-holiday city, not thinking about the adm, not caring.

Grigory Vasilyevich walked home slowly. The streets were full of merry turmoil, they were burning with a bunch of flags, a joyful rumble hung in the air and smelled of something that only the eve of a big holiday can smell like.

“Perhaps it was not necessary to appoint an operation for a holiday? Doubt suddenly stung the doctor. Immediately, the patient’s face and his voice were remembered: “Doctor, will I live?” And his eyes no longer believe in anything. must live!"

Near the house Kuznetsov was met by his son. With a run jumped on the neck.

Daddy, mom bought herself such a beautiful dress, so beautiful! Are we going to the parade? Will you put me on your shoulders? Do you want me to give you a ball? The most beautiful!

The father smiled.

You see, Seryozha... The thing is, I won't be able to go with you tomorrow. I'm sorry, but…

The son jumped off his hands, sniffed.

And you're always like that, daddy! Either you have football, or something else ...

Oh well! You are a man! Try to understand me. One person is very sick. He got into trouble. He needs help. Necessarily. Understand?

You always love others. Vitka with his father, and I ...

Together with Tanya, Anton Andreevich was seen off by Mikhail, Sergei's cousin, who lived in Donetsk. At the station they sat in silence, weary of silence. Father, without looking up, often smoked. The old habit has returned.

From the moment when the son who woke up from unconsciousness saw himself without both arms, something burst in his father's chest. The already thin thread of hope was torn, that maybe everything would work out in a good way. On that day, the father, leaving his son, reached out against his will to the buffet. He drank vodka and felt that nothing could drown out the terrible laughter of his son.

You visit him, Misha. But I won’t let my mother in here, she won’t stand it ... In which case, telegraph ...

And again there was a heavy silence. When the diesel locomotive whistled, Anton Andreevich shuddered and, grimacing in pain, stood up.

Dad! called Tanya.

Yes, yes, I know... Let's go... - he said and, hunched over, - went to the carriage.

Tanya spent the night with Mikhail. The lively, dark-eyed Anna, Mikhail's wife, greeted her kindly. From the whole room emanated peace, comfort, measured family life. On the table, reminding of spring, there were flowers. The hosts were busy with the belated dinner.

"That's how we used to be..." Tanya thought, holding back her tears.

Eat, Tanechka, eat, - Mikhail treated.

“Serezha used to do the same…” A piece of bread got stuck in his throat, clinking, a spoon fell from his hands. Tanya reached out to get it and, dropping her head on the table, began to cry.

She was not reassured. Mikhail was silent, Anna furtively wiped her tears. Words were useless ... They, like the wind in a fire, would only fan the fire more.

In bed, Tanya could not fall asleep for a long time. She looked into the darkness with wide eyes, tried to remember what May Day was like last year, but thoughts in elusive ways went to the side and led to the coming day, to the upcoming operation.

As soon as dawn broke, Tanya was already on her feet. City transport was not yet working, and she walked through the whole city to the hospital.

In the morning, columns of demonstrators were moving along the road. Hour by hour the flow of them grew, the voices sounded thicker, the songs became louder. The wind picked up their fragments and threw them into the open windows of the hospital, breaking window panes against the burning sun.

Grigory Vasilyevich Kuznetsov, in a brand new, snow-white dressing gown, swiftly entered the ward.

Happy holiday, friends! How were your dreams, Seryozha, in a new place? Well, nothing, nothing ... Let's do a small operation today, life will go more fun! Are you angry that they didn't give you morphine? In vain. Here is our old-timer, Ivan Egorovich Larin, who can confirm from his own experience. Kuznetsov smiled. - Right, Yegoritch?

It's so. Thank you ... And it happened, too, to the teeth "Skripel.

And it immediately warmed up in the room. The shackling atmosphere that settled yesterday with a new seriously ill person has disappeared.

When the doctor left, everyone started talking at once, vying with each other. Everyone wanted to tell the most difficult case in life, which, in his opinion, can serve as a model of resilience for Sergei, give him the strength of mind he needs there, behind a tightly closed door with a frightening inscription "Operating Room".

Lying with me near Berlin, that is, in the infirmary, one artilleryman, staring at the ceiling, said Yegorych. - That's it, the beds are nearby. His name was Konstantin... That is Kostya... A handsome guy... an accordion player, desperate! He was unlucky in the war, very unlucky. Just before the end, a fascist wounded him. Legs and eyes. He slapped a mine, and the soldier's white light faded ... And for four days he, Kostya-Konstantin, crawled through the forest to his own. Hungry, cold, wounded, all night long ... He says he wanted to shoot himself, he took out a pistol from his holster. And then I, that is, Kostya, was taken by such evil: why did I, a motherfucking mother, go all the way from Stalingrad to their lair ?! No, fascist, don't rejoice in my death! And crawled to his. He was treated in Odessa, one eye was restored to him - not quite, however, by forty percent. I learned about this after the war. I met him by chance in a village. He also guessed me by my voice ... He wraps up a club in that village. Married, there are kids, but what about ... two. Styopka is graduating from the institute, his eldest, and the youngest, Vanyatka, that is, my namesake, is studying at school. Kostin button accordion the whole district converges to listen!

But here, on the Volkhov front, there was a case, - began Ostap Iosifovich.

Sergei listened and did not listen, but still he saw overcrowded infirmaries, field hospitals from Stalingrad to Berlin with miracle people, before whose courage thousands of deaths receded.

Sergei looked impatiently at the door. Waiting for Tanya. He was not afraid of the operation. He understood that it would be difficult and long, but he didn’t think about it or its outcome, as if it wasn’t him, Sergei Petrov, who should now lie down on the operating table for the third time, but someone else, barely familiar to him, who For some reason, life has become a painful burden.

And you remember, son! He who loves life fights for it! Yegorych cleared his throat, dangling his legs, sat up on the bed. - Of course, it is difficult when in broad daylight - a stone on the head ... It seems that the sun has stopped shining. It's like that with everyone. Do you think those guys who were told about were some kind of special? Nothing like this! That is, mortals, like you and me. But they loved life dearly, fought with their teeth for it! I say this to that - life is worth fighting for it to the end.

The bell rang in the hallway. The room fell silent. A song slid through the window, flying from the festive columns, the door creaked, and a wheelchair drove into the ward to transport patients to the operation.

“Tanya didn’t have time,” Sergey thought, and mentally began to reassure himself: He will come, he will definitely come.

Driving along the corridor to the operating room, Sergei again heard the song. "Sing…" - he thought and listened.

Through the open window came:

So rejoice and rise
In the trumpet sounds of the spring anthem!
I love you life
And I hope it's mutual.

The words of the song cut into some kind of mocking falsity.

Take it! Hurry!..

The sister added a step, frightened by the cry of Sergei.

... Tanya was late. Out of breath, she ran into the ward, held out her hand with flowers and stopped: Sergei's bed was empty.

Flowers fell to the floor.

Half an hour, - reassured Yegorych. - Don't worry, everything will be fine. My sister came and said: the operation is going well. He felt well, slept at night.

Tanya gathered the flowers and stepped towards the bed. She laid the bouquet on the crumpled, sweat-dampened pillow.

Where is the operating room?

Straight down the corridor. Wait here, they won't let you in.

I'm there ... - And, without finishing, she ran away.

Sergey managed to count up to two, and along the edge of the huge "seam hanging over the face, a little man quickly ran upside down, miserly, a little man. "So it's me!" , flew into the void. For a moment, Sergei felt the varnish from his body separated limbs. Then they returned, there was a sharp sensation of hands.

"Ru-u-u-ki-i-i! - rustled in my head. - They are with me!" Sergey clenched his hands, the knuckles of his fingers cracked, and his hands floated in the air, breaking away from the body. "Do not want!" - Sergey rushed and did not have time to say. The support went out from under his back, and he fell with a jerk into a black bottomless pit.

"End!" - a thought flashed for a moment and then, unconsciously, went out, without causing either fear or regret. A heavy narcotic dream took possession of him.

On the way home and at home, playing with his son, Grigory Vasilievich, no matter how hard he tried to drive away thoughts about the new patient and the upcoming operation, could not do this.

"What if his heart fails? .. Postpone the operation? I will have fun, and he will have arterial bleeding and ... I will never forgive myself for this!"

And today, approaching the hospital building, Kuznetsov was very worried, like never before in all the years of his surgical practice.

"We will fight again!" he encouraged and encouraged himself. Grigory Vasilyevich resolutely opened the massive hospital door. The smell of drugs wafted into his face, bringing him back to normal and driving away his excitement.

But in the preoperative room, looking at his hands in sterile gloves, he again felt something like fear.

Kuznetsov went to the window and looked out into the street. Elegant columns of demonstrators moved like a continuous avalanche. It seemed that a bright rainbow lay on the shoulders of people and fluttered with all its disorderly, mixed colors.

Grigory Vasilievich! - called assistant Kardelis. - Sick on the table.

Kuznetsov turned sharply from the window and went into the operating room. The banners of the May Day columns were still darting in his eyes, but in his thoughts he was already there - next to the patient. And when Kuznetsov said: "Scalpel!" - all extraneous disappeared. There was a man, sprawled to his full height on a hard operating table, under the dazzling light of the lamps, his pulse, breathing, well-being.

The operation began with a slight hitch. Making a shallow incision along the collarbone, Kuznetsov was dissatisfied with the scalpel. He asked to change the instrument. Assistant Kardelis raised his eyebrows in surprise, but, obviously understanding the mood of his colleague, smiled approvingly: "Be bolder, Grisha!" He said aloud:

Remember nervus vagus.

"Oh, this damn vagus nerve! It lies next to the artery and does not blow into your mustache. But try to hit it! No, no, no incidents! Extreme caution and accuracy. An error by a millimeter can end your life. Kardelis understands this. Otherwise he did not remind He would once again notice that I'm worried. He encourages: "Be bolder ..." It's good with him. Does he believe me? He didn't believe me - he wouldn't go to assist. A vein is about to appear. Behind it is an artery. For now, you can work a little faster " .

Grigory Vasilyevich straightened his back for a moment, and the operating nurse wiped the sweat from his face with a deft movement of a napkin.

"Now the main thing will begin." Bypassing numerous blood vessels and nerves, he had to get to the artery without hitting anything, bring a silk thread under it and bandage it.

The operating room became stuffy. Sergey is in a deep narcotic sleep.

Pulse? the surgeon asked, continuing dangerous path to the artery.

"We need to bypass the vein and the bundle of nerve fibers from above."

Expose the vein less, it may burst, Kardelis warned.

The scalpel, by the millimeter, moves to the target by touch. At its tip is the life of the patient.

“Without opening the veins, you won’t get to the artery,” Kuznetsov thinks and tells the assistant about this.

I see they are almost fused...

The vessel can really burst. Its shock-struck walls have lost their elasticity and may not be able to withstand blood pressure. "What to do?"

Open up! - advised Kardelis. - There is no other way. See?

Kuznetsov felt rather than saw what he had been getting at for an hour now. The tip of the scalpel, as if probing, carefully leaned against the wall of the artery and was immediately thrown back by an elastic, pulsating wave. Nerve fibers, like a cobweb, enveloped the vessel. Touch one such cobweb and ... They must be taken aside, cut off the living from the living, without damaging either the nerve or the artery.

For a moment, Kuznetsov is tormented by doubts: “It’s impossible, it’s completely impossible…”

There was such silence in the operating room that the sound of the wall clock sounded like the sound of a heavy hammer.

Thread! - asked Kuznetsov and immediately, as if burnt, recoiled from the table.

A brown stream of blood hit him in the face like a fountain, filled the incision of the surgical field and, overflowing over the edge, flowed down the patient's chest.

Vienna! shouted Grigory Vasilyevich.

Squeezed. Does not help. - Pulse?

The pulse weakens. Arrhythmic.

"The devil pulled me into this operation! .. How can I look his wife in the eyes? .."

Cardelis, tampons! Remove the blood, I will ligature. "Is this a mistake or inevitable? If I hit a nerve in this mess, then it's over ... Oh my God, I think I bandaged it." In the next moment, the doctor saw the wide-open eyes of the operating sister and heard her breaking whisper:

The pulse is gone. Pupils do not react ...

Adrenalin! snapped Cardelis.

"To the heart! Massage!"

And when, after several massaging movements of the surgeon's hands, the heart, which was ready to stop forever, swayed weakly, he realized that the decision to perform the operation today was the only correct one. If bleeding had opened in the ward, at the moment when all the doctors were celebrating May Day, then even a very urgent surgical intervention would not have helped ...

Kuznetsov went out into the corridor. He went to the open window and lit a cigarette greedily. He's damn tired. As if beaten, the back, arms, legs ached, a dull pain pricked in the temples.

I did not hear how Kardelis approached:

Go, Grisha, drink to good luck. You honestly earned your hundred grams today!

Kuznetsov, stretching his stiff legs, walked along the corridor, looked into the operating room and, without noticing it himself, went to the operating room.

Tanya was sitting at Sergei's headboard. A crumpled bouquet of flowers was a stain of blood. The rest of the beds were empty. "Spring pulled everyone out into the street. And they are not happy about it ..." And from the sight of the empty ward with the mournful figure of a young woman bending over her husband sleeping in a heavy drug sleep, from the consciousness that she will have to sit like this for many more days and nights Calling on all his youthful courage to help, the doctor's heart contracted painfully.

He sat down on a chair next to him. "Was she told or not that during the operation, Sergei was clinically dead?"

Tanya sat without noticing the newcomer. From time to time she would reach out and gently stroke her husband's hair. Her eyes were fixed on him.

Worried? Kuznetsov asked quietly.

Tanya raised her head, looked at him, and silently wept.

Here you go! A decisive step towards recovery has been taken, and you are crying.

Doctor, will he live?

About two hours ago, I would probably have been at a loss to answer, but now I assure you: it will, I must! He asked you there, on the table. He really needs you, Tanya. “Don’t I understand it myself!” If only, stupid, did not drive me from myself. It got into his head that his life was over, and I could start all over again. But I can’t!.. I can’t live without him!.. We shared all the joy in half, and now what!.. He pities me. And I don't want that...

The tears that were boiling there, near the cold door of the operating room, brought relief. But the pain persisted. Tanya was tormented by her helplessness, seeing the suffering of her husband. During the operation, although she rejoiced at the words of her sister that everything was going well, she felt in her heart that not everything was fine behind this door. It's hard for Seryozha, oh, how hard! And she herself, it seems, was not relieved by the realization that nothing could help him.

It will be difficult for you. - Grigory Vasilyevich got up, walked around the ward. But you have to hold on. Do not cry in front of him and do not pity him. Pity relaxes a person, makes him weak-willed. In his presence, pretend that nothing terrible has happened, I understand that it is not easy, but it is necessary ... In that hospital, he was injected with morphine every four hours. They tried to ease the last, as they thought, minutes of his life. Do you know what a morphine addict is?

Tanya shook her head negatively.

Morphine is one of the strongest narcotic drugs. It is given to the patient when he does not have the strength to endure physical pain. With the introduction of morphine into the patient's body, the pain temporarily subsides. But they get used to drugs very quickly. If the injection is not stopped in time, the consequences are the most terrible. Losing hands is a huge problem. Becoming a morphine addict is no less a misfortune ... And if both ... - Kuznetsov spread his hands. - Sergey is already on the verge, after which the continuation of injections will make him a morphine addict. After three days, I will categorically forbid him to inject drugs. Sergei will be difficult. There will be prayers, whims ... But this must be endured. To you, to him... For his health... and before it's too late...

Grigory Vasilyevich, with his hands behind his back, paced the ward with long strides. Six steps from door to window, six back. When he approached the door, Tanya looked frightened at his hand, waited with fear: now she would reach for the doorknob, the door would creak, and he would leave. Suddenly, Serezha becomes ill, and there is no one around ... Tanya wanted to jump up and shout: "Doctor, don't leave!" But every time Kuznetsov turned clumsily slowly and walked towards the window.

Kuznetsov did not leave. Again and again he relived the events of the last hours. It was as if he looked at life from a different side, hitherto unknown to him, and this look evoked new thoughts about people, about life, about human feelings, and finally, about himself, made him think about what he had never thought about before.

There were earlier in his practice both difficult operations and postoperative days full of anxiety. But there he fought the disease and clearly saw the future of his patients. There was no this doom, before which all the skill and experience of the doctor were powerless. He could heal wounds, help to find peace of mind, but his hands ... he could not return his hands.

may 13. Spring came! And the city is getting better! "And the years fly by, our years are like birds..." We have a visiting day today. One girl put a bouquet of flowers on Petrov's bedside table. He slept. Waking up, he asked who came. Telling, Tanya deliberately emphasized that, they say, complete strangers wish us happiness. Sergei got angry. The rest of the day was silent. Why would it? It seemed to me that he wanted to cry, and only by an effort of will he restrained himself. The temperature will rise at night. And hemoglobin is again low. Eh-ho-ho, hemoglobin, hemoglobin ... the third blood test, and at least a percentage more ...

May 14. Sergey told his wife: little by little, the cripple begins to regret (this is about that bouquet of flowers). It was difficult and, probably, frightening for him to pronounce this word. A cripple ... There was a healthy guy, and here you are ... I didn’t sleep at night, I asked for morphine. It's hard for you, Sergei, but I can't prescribe drugs.

I'm afraid for his right leg. If the bone is affected... We must ask for another x-ray, take a thorough look, and convene a council.

Tanya falls down, and she refuses all persuasion to go to rest. She doesn't step away from her husband.

Strange - with the advent of Petrov in the hospital, the patients became somehow more patient. And wives began to visit their husbands more often. Is it strange?

May 15. For a long time, back at the institute, I dreamed (even dreamed once) of how, after a most difficult operation, a patient gets up from the operating table and says in a touching voice:

"Doctor! I will be eternally grateful to you! You saved my life!"

Dreams, dreams... As all this is much more difficult in life. Eremin was discharged home. Came up and said:

"Thank you, doctor! You are wonderful people, but it's better not to get to you."

May 17th. Tanya met me in the corridor. "Doctor," he asks, tell the truth, what's wrong with Serezha's leg? I have to prepare him. I reassured her, but I myself was ashamed. Lied, so...

Is it an amputation?

Ivan Egorovich Larin belonged to that category of people who make friends cautiously, with caution, as if they are afraid: what if this person is not what he seems at first sight? With each new acquaintance, Yegorych began a long, unhurried conversation, told about himself, but asked more. He asked questions with grave importance, showing with all his appearance: I’m not joking with you and I’m not interested in idle curiosity - I want to know who you are, what you are and what you are capable of in life. And somehow it happened; that these questions, and most importantly, the answers to them, had the least influence on the final choice.

It happened like this: a person was not bad in appearance, and Yegorych liked his life, but his soul was not disposed to him. Some kind of instinct worked - he was not good for friends. And Ivan Yegorovich could do nothing with himself. The mind said one thing, but the heart said another. Sometimes I tried to overcome myself. The heart seemed to soften, but a day passed, another - and antipathy reappeared.

But if Yegorych favored someone, then he could not even wish for a better friend. He was a brother, a father, a man ready to throw himself into fire and water at the first call of a friend, and at the same time the strictest and most just judge.

Yegorych's face was one of those that are remembered at first sight, immediately and for a long time. Eyebrows were remarkable. Starting somewhere at the temples, they crawled over the eyes in a sparse fair-haired growth and gathered at the bridge of the nose in thick gray tufts. The bundles stuck out in all directions, resembling two prickly, curled up hedgehogs. When Yegorych frowned, the hedgehogs moved their needles and reached out to prick each other.

Eyebrows cast a prickly shadow over all the features of the face. Although the nose, lips, the shape of the eyes spoke of kindness and gentleness, of a complaisant character. But the eyebrows didn't agree with that. It seemed that they were not from Yegorych, but taken from someone else's litas, cold and evil. He makes a lot of efforts to pacify, tame them - and in vain. The gray thorns bristle, but on Yegorych's face they are not evil. He had only to smile, and the hedgehogs crawled back, humbly hiding their needles. Then I wanted to say: "Egorych, and you are not even evil at all."

In a society with such a person, Sergey and Tanya had to live within the walls of the hospital. Tanya very soon got used to Yegorych. In her heart she was grateful to him for the fact that he did not bother her with questions - how and what? - did not start, like others, soul-saving conversations, did not say words of consolation. Yegorych could simply smile, nod his head approvingly, and this was more precious than any long regrets, which she had to hear in abundance from different people. Without "his Tanya, it would be much more difficult to experience her grief.

IN last days May, after some improvement in health, Sergei suddenly refused medicines, dressings, food. And Tanya rushed about again. She asked, begged - Sergey remained deaf to her requests. She understood his condition. Can a person be sad, despair after everything experienced. He is not made of iron. But she was determined to overcome the sudden onset of melancholy. It was then that she turned to Ivan Yegorovich:

Egorych, dear, what to do?

I think, my daughter. The old man furrowed his brows thoughtfully.

FROM THE DIARY OF THE SURGEON G. V. KUZNETSOV

May 25th. So it began ... It's always like this: physical pains subside a little, a person begins to delve into the soul. Or maybe Sergey is afraid of leg amputation?

26 of May. Kardelis gave the right idea - to go to his friends at the mine, ask them to come with the whole section, talk in their own way, support ...

At the mine, they found out that I was Sergey's attending physician, and the whole shift came running. They promised to come on Sunday, led by the head of the mine. The old man alone kept lamenting: and how did the ry there let it go so far that our Sergunka - and suddenly turned sour? Life is she, grandfather, when she turns her stepmother, she beats without mercy. Do not let yourself be overwhelmed completely - that's the point. And in a situation like this, it's very hard to do that. I believe in Sergei! I don't know why, but I believe! This madness will pass!

May 27th. Tanya fell at Sergei's bed and lost consciousness. Nervous exhaustion ... At least you took pity on her, Sergei. They put her to bed, she lay down for ten minutes - and again to him.

"Tanya, - I tell her, - rest a little."] "What kind of rest is there, she answers, - after all, she can die."

And such pain in words ... Everything in her sobs, but she does not show it, she smiles. It is true what they say: great sorrow gives birth to great courage. But not everyone is capable of it. And she's only in her twenties...

May 30. The miners kept their word. Twenty people came. I had to break the hospital rules - I allowed everyone to enter the ward at once and without bathrobes. Will burn me tomorrow from the boss for arbitrariness! And Sergei cheered up. Letting visitors one or two people at a time is tiring for everyone and not at all the same effect. And then he seemed to plunge into his environment again, for at least an hour he forgot about himself, listening to them. I don't know much about mining. Some kind of crosscut was knocked down, and everyone sincerely laughed at how, according to the bremsberg (I remember the sonorous word), "the eagle was let in", and the frightened slabs climbed into the trolleys with the cartoon (obviously, such a liquid). Sergei was delighted when they said that "the headquarters is turning things around to the fullest."

I don't remember anything that it was ever so noisy and cheerful in the eleventh ward.

And the guys came out of the ward, fell silent immediately and, as if on cue, reached into their pockets for cigarettes.

After the evening round, Sergei suddenly asked:

Tell me, Yegorych, does a man have a destiny? Yegoritch looked at him attentively.

How can I tell you ... I'm not a priest and not a philosopher, but, in my opinion, that is, understanding, every person should have a destiny. Own. The only one. Understand? There are things that exist regardless of the will or aspirations of a person, but in the end they still cannot turn fate in their own way, leave it, as they often say, to its own devices. Unless, of course, the person himself refuses to fight.

Yes, I'm not talking about that ... - Sergei grimaced with displeasure.

About this, not about this, Seryozhenka, but the dog is buried right here. If you do not take into account religious mysticism, then the words "man is the master of his own destiny" say everything. Nobody says it's easy. Difficult ... and very. But if you go down, lose faith in life - even more difficult.

Sergei did not answer. Yegorych understood that he was painfully searching for an answer to the question of fate, far from being idle and not abstract for him. "Fate is a turkey", "fate is a black stepmother" - all this old and ancient that people used when they got into a difficult situation did not fit Sergey. He did not grumble at his fate. He suffered. He suffered, as a person can suffer, deprived of the ability to do everything as he did before. Perhaps, asking about fate, Sergey tried to take a more cheerful look at his future, the future of a person who can do at least something so as not to die and serve people. After all, he turned out to be so, serving them, protecting them from misfortune and death.

You have to believe, son, - said Yegorych and fell silent.

He kept quiet on purpose, waiting for Sergei to speak. After all, Sto was already not bad - Sergey spoke! So many days he was silent and suddenly spoke!

I'm not used to following me like that... Even a piece of bread in my mouth and then... you can't do without help.

Don't be in a hurry to punish yourself. People will understand everything. People... they are good.

Yes, I'm bad...

There was silence in the room. No one dared to interrupt the conversation that had begun, as if it were a conversation about the most important thing in life, which no one had ever known.

Don't be offended, Seryozha, at the old man, - said Yegorych. - I am a shot wolf, thank God, I have seen in my lifetime ... and all kinds of lives and deaths ... And smart, and stupid, and ridiculous. Which have never been seen. Just recently, that is, three years ago ...

Yegorych slowly lowered his head on the pillows and in a changed, hoarse voice, as if with a cold, told the story:

The three of us went to Uchur ... This is in Yakutia. January stood. Fierce, take him! What is called a real Siberian frost. Around the taiga ... Like a bride in a veil dressed up. Touch a tree - and a snowdrift will fall on your head. Wolves howl at night. Yes, they are catching up with such melancholy - and you yourself want to howl. We came, that is, to the appointed place and did not find what we were going for. We decided to search. Who wants to return empty-handed! We wandered around the taiga for two days. From the nearest settlement they left about a hundred and fifty kilometers. The stock of products was coming to an end, and, after consulting, we decided to go back. Here, as luck would have it, a blizzard arose, and at night the wolves frightened off our deer. That is, we were left on our own two feet. We went on foot. We go for a day, another, and the blizzard does not even think of stopping. On the third day I see that they got lost ... And then it began. There was one guy with us. Strong, healthy ... Only his brain somehow didn’t stand like that. Well, that is, not that a fool, no, I’m not talking in that sense. easy life I loved. To have a go at a restaurant, to confuse women's heads, to start a fight from drunken eyes ... here it’s more dexterous and braver not to find him. And it was hard - where all his courage had gone. “I won’t go, screaming, - go on, that’s all! It’s better to die anyway, it’s better right away, I won’t torture myself. Just think, heroes! You will die like wet chickens! Sit down and wait. What kind of heroes are we? It’s scary for us, too, like him, we just don’t show it. And I don't want to die on my own. That is, it would have to, so in the struggle. We persuaded him, shamed him, tried to drag him on ourselves ... Wherever there! Resists... What to do? Food is running out, and God knows how long to go. We sit and listen to how he dissolves nurses. Cries, curses everything. And the taiga, and m. Oroz, and the day when he came to our group, and even the mother for giving birth to the world. We made a sleigh, tied him up, laid him down and drove him. He yells with a good obscenity, rolls off the sleigh ... that is, he completely lost his mind! Although in full paccyi-ke. Of course, it is better to go than to go, but where can you get your conscience? He is healthy, like us, but ... We feel that we will not reach our own with him. We'll all die. We decided to respect his request - to leave, and look for the way themselves. They made a hut, gave away some of their food and left. We go and mark the road in order to send people with fresh forces. Four days went by. On the fifth hunters picked us up, exhausted, half-frozen, hungry. A day later, they found him in our notches. It was just too late. Frozen. He fell asleep, that is, and froze ... A man perished due to his own cowardice. I was afraid of a difficult road, and here you are ... was - and no. It's a pity, and evil takes! How can you give up on your life! Ridiculous!

Maybe you shouldn't have left him alone? But, on the other hand, he is a very healthy guy. And what about the two of us? .. Sit down and also sing Lazarus, wait for our end?

Well, they did it right! - shouted one of the "sick.

Was it family? another asked.

No, a bachelor ... Seryozhka is our age. The room became quiet again.

So who and with whom are you comparing? - asked Sergei.

And I, Seryozha, do not compare anyone with anyone. By the way, I had to eat, so I told.

FROM THE DIARY OF THE SURGEON G. V. KUZNETSOV

June 8. What about Petrov? Amputating a leg is the easiest way out, the most reliable and ... the most unsuitable.

What if it's inevitable? How many weeks, days can you still stretch without surgery? And will not any delayed day be fatal? Gangrene is no joke. Yes, what are the jokes. Want to howl. So what… to amputate? And if there is at least one chance in a hundred to save his legs? But where is he, this one chance? On hold or immediate action? He is not visible. Only good intentions. I am too attached to the patient, I lose the sense of the real. It might hurt him. The surgeon should not have a feeling to take precedence over a sound, clear mind. You set a difficult task, Seryoga.

June 8. All the signs of incipient gangrene are evident... "Doctor," Sergei said, "do you need a surgical saw again?" and turned his face to the wall.

Seryoga! You are my dear man! Don't look at me like that...

the 9th of June. "Stop torturing him with these endless X-rays," Tanya said. "It's time to face the truth. Sergei's life is in danger again. Don't comfort me. I know everything. Amputate. We're ready," and she cried. Like a child. Helpless and sad.

June 11th. Where to start? Like a boy, I want to run and jump. The last X-ray clearly shows that the bone is good. You will walk, Sergey! Just be patient. And don't be intimidated by the long road to recovery. Oyo is coming. Will definitely come!

Once entering the ward, Grigory Vasilyevich asked: - Sergei, don't you want to go outside? And without waiting for an answer, he called Tanya. A minute later, laid in a hospital wheelchair, Sergei went out into the street.

For the first time in my illness.

For the first time in his life - helpless, laid in a stroller, like a child.

Sergei did not notice how the last door swung open and he found himself on the street. A bright light blinded his eyes, a jet of fresh air hit his nose, his head began to spin, and, beside himself, Sergei shouted:

Sky! Look, Tanya, the sky! And the clouds! - He wanted to shout something else, but looked at his wife and fell silent.

Tanya smiled, and unbidden tears ran down her face.

Stop! Kuznetsov hissed.

They themselves ... honestly, themselves ... - Tanya justified herself.

And Sergey looked at the sky, trees, benches with people sitting on them with surprised eyes, as if he had landed on another planet and saw everything for the first time. Before him, as if before a child, a huge world was opening up, in which life was seething, floating with fantastic outlines of clouds, rustling the green foliage of trees, ringing, buzzing, rustling and screaming in different voices. A life that did not remind of its other side, the one in which there was blood and disappointments, pain and death.

Sergei reached out to pluck an acacia leaf and immediately froze: "How can I pluck something?"

And immediately faded a minute ago, the colors that pleased him. Sergei kept looking at the sun, not screwing up his eyes, not feeling pain in them, and could not get rid of the annoying question: "Where did I hear that the sun is black? I did not believe it. I considered it a play on words. Only it is not completely black, it is bloody black and evil...

Light up ... - Sergey said stifledly. Kuznetsov pulled a pack out of his pocket, took out a cigarette and raised it to his lips.

A lot of smoking is contraindicated, but occasionally you can! Kuznetsov lit a match. - And do not think there with Yegorych that you are extraconspirators! I know, smoke in the ward! Yes, you even chuckle: here, they say, we are what dexterous, damn it, doctors are circled around the finger!

Sergei was silent. He greedily swallowed cigarette smoke and felt how everything was spinning smoothly in his head, the outlines of objects were distorted, taking on some pointed, satanic forms.

Tanya stepped aside, to the flowers that were full of flowers near the fence, and thoughtfully collected a bouquet.

The doctor looked at the sky, looked at his hands, and, frowning, spoke:

In three days, Seryozha, we will perform an operation on your leg ... We will transplant a flap of skin, and ... in a month you can go home ...

Sergei looked at the doctor and turned away.

And why? .. One more, one less, does it matter! - Sergei's voice trembled. - A man without legs - so at least sew boots, repair watches, and I ... I have to feed myself from a spoon.

You, Seryozha, have a wonderful friend - your wife. You will definitely find something to do with her. And you know, my friend, happiness is not an elusive ghost. There is so much of it in life that it will be enough for you. If you can drown out the pain in yourself.

Tell me about Meresyev, about Korchagin... Happiness... Is it possible without labor, without work that you love? What is there to say? Sergei flared up. - Reassure me like a child! And I myself know different high-sounding words about happiness, struggle, courage ... Yegorych taught me about fate ... cleverly, cunningly ... My fate does not interest me, it burned down. And here she is, - Sergey nodded towards his wife, - why should she suffer with me? Who gave me the right to ruin the life of another person?

Don't scream, damn it! Who allowed you to deprive a person of the right to love? You only think about yourself! It's time for you to understand what kind of person lives next to you!

Well, you turned everything upside down. Everything is as written, - Sergey said quietly. - It's hard for me. I can’t get used to the idea why I wasn’t electrocuted right away ... it would be easier for everyone ...

Well, tell her all this. Tell me after she has suffered so much with you. Make her happy. Tanechka, come here! Sergei wants to tell you something.

Tanya came over. She looked at them both in disbelief.

What are you, Seryozha? she asked.

So, nothing, the male conversation was ...

The star-falling July nights are short. Before the sun has time to hide behind one edge of the earth, as at its other end the first rays are already tearing at the thinning dusk. And yet, no matter how short these nights, Yegorych and Sergei managed to talk about a lot, dream, mentally visit different places. Either Yegorych followed Sergey into the mine, walked along drifts, faces, met with his friends, then Sergey followed Yegorych far into the taiga, searched for valuable minerals, discovered and gave rich deposits to people.

So it was on the last night before Sergeyev's operation. Several times Yegorych asked Sergei to sleep, fell silent himself, lay in silence for a minute, and then, unnoticed by both, the conversation began again. Before dawn, Yegorych suddenly asked:

Sergey, what is your education?

High school, mining college…

Have you noticed your literary abilities? Poems there, stories that is.

No ... We didn’t have anything like that in our family either. Why are you asking me about this?

Would be a good job for you...

Writing is not a profession. This requires talent. And what about writing?

Yes-ah-ah ... And there, what the hell is not joking, maybe you have it?

At school, I once wrote a poem and got into trouble with it ...

Sergei did not have to finish his thought. The nurse on duty entered the ward and gasped from the threshold:

Seryozha, you didn't sleep all night! I see! You have surgery today! My God! You know what Kuznetsov will do to us!

Quiet, little sister, don't panic! Sergey winked. - We know about the deed and you ... We are silent like fish, you ... so as not to incur anger ... And everything is covered!

Look! - the sister was taken aback. - You can joke, it turns out! And I thought…

Sonechka, I still can't do it! And I even know the song: "All the same, our life is broken-a-ta-i-a-a ..."

Broken ... - Sonya mimicked. - With such and such a wife! .. She will not let you die until a hundred years old! Where do these come from? - the sister turned to Yegorych. - Yesterday Tanya stood in front of Kuznetsov and begged to take skin flaps from her for transplantation to Sergey. The doctor explains to her that someone else's skin on the foot will not take root, and she does her own: "What kind of stranger am I to him?"

We are fools, women! Stuffed fools! - the painted nurse from the neighboring, therapeutic department spoke angrily. - Do you think that if something happened to you, he would rush about like that? Dudki! Yes, he would not come to visit!

Why talk about a person like that if you don't know him? Tanya objected.

Wait, you know, babe! He will recover, he will show you! We know those! Not a morphine addict, so an alcoholic ... Do you think he will thank you! Wait ... Pinkov kicks, the light will appear in the sheepskin. But how! Nervous… They are all so… nervous.

He's not like that, Vera! Not like that! You're just mad at men. One deceived you, and you think - all scoundrels!

And-them, Tanka! .. I look at you and think: can't you, young, beautiful, find a man for yourself? Understand - to live with a disabled person all my life. It's embarrassing to go out in front of people. You don't have female pride!

Pride is different! - restraining anger and resentment, shouted Tanya. Others are proud of meanness! I have nothing to be ashamed of my love!

Ha, love! .. Where did you see her! In the cinema abroad? Romeo!..

You spit, Vera, in the soul, but why? .. You don’t know yourself. Have you gone blind, or something, from evil at your life?

Some kind of incomprehensible you ... - the nurse lowered her head, thought. The fifth month around him... You sleep anywhere, on the floor, in a wheelchair... if only next to his bed... Don't you really want to go to the movies, to dances?..

We'll make it. We still have everything ahead!

Where did you go yesterday? Sister narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

In social security, I applied for a pension.

Thu-u-u ... And our Pinsky was crucifying: “So the poem is over. Look for the wind in the field! Now you can’t drive it here with a stick! I joked, and that’s enough ... "

How did you joke?! - Tanya was dumbfounded.

Child, you are unintelligent, or what? Well, people thought - you left him, left him ... Do you understand? ..

Tanya opened her mouth and could not utter a word. It was as if she had been hit on the head with something blunt and heavy. She remembered how yesterday, when she was returning from the mine, where she was on the Affairs of Sergeyeva's pension, a hospital laboratory assistant ran up to her and asked with wide eyes in surprise:

How?.. Are you back?

Then Tanya did not understand either her question or surprise. She had no time. She hurried to Sergei, whom she had not seen for almost a day for the first time during her illness.

And already in the hospital corridor, almost at the door of the ward, she was met by the nurse aunt Klava. She clasped her hands, hugged her, kissed her on both cheeks and wept.

What about Sergei? Tanya gasped in fright.

Nothing, silly, nothing ... everything turned out nicely ... - the smiling nurse wiped her tears.

Only now did Tanya understand what she had seen yesterday. She suddenly felt ashamed. Ashamed of the people who questioned her feelings for her husband. It was as if they did not offend her with distrust, but she herself did something vile and base.

A terrible life for people like you, Vera ... - Tanya said quietly. - As if you are not people, but wolves. And you have different ideas.

And the days went on as usual. They walked the way they were supposed to go by nature itself. The operation on Sergey's foot went brilliantly. Kuznetsov hoped that in a month he would be able to get on his feet and take his first steps. The surgeon looked forward to this day like a holiday.

For the Petrovs, painful days have come, full of anxieties, reflections, searches: how to live on? Sometimes it seemed to Sergei that a new path had been found, there was a way out. But as soon as you delved into the details, it seemed like an insurmountable wall: no hands, completely helpless ... And everything collapsed. Despair treacherously whispered in my ear: "Your song is sung, boy!" I wanted to jump up and scream with all my might: "Naughty, bitch! I'll finish my song!" But self-pity crept into the soul again, doubts returned: maybe this song called life was really sung?

He looked at his wife, looking for support in her eyes, and she sat small, frail, with a pointed nose, deeply sunken eyes and seemed like a schoolgirl who was undeservedly and bitterly offended. Sergei carefully peered into his wife's face, suddenly discovering something new in it. Tanya suddenly ceased to seem like an offended schoolgirl and became an adult woman with some kind of encouraging inner strength. And then despair receded again, giving way to new hopes and new plans.

At the beginning of August, Egory-cha's condition seriously deteriorated. The old man cheered up, hid that it was hard for him, but every day, and it was evident, it became more and more difficult for him to mask his illness. His booming laughter sounded less frequently, day by day the gleam of his still recently sparkling eyes dimmed, and the jokes that were generously told on various occasions of a monotonous hospital life were almost not heard in the eleventh ward.

Grigory Vasilyevich cheered up the patient, but when he left the ward, his eyebrows frowned in an anxious crease, and his shoulders sagged helplessly.

What about Yegorych, Grigory Vasilyevich? Sergei whispered in his ear. He hardly sleeps, he suffers. Don't you see?

Nothing, Seryozha, nothing ... thanks, I see, ”Kuznetsov answered him sadly.

Yegorych, it's so dishonest, - Sergei once said jokingly. - I'm going to get on my feet, I wanted to take a walk in the fresh air with you, and you ...

The calm, unhurried nurse Aunt Klava seemed to have been replaced by someone.

Doctor, doctor! she screamed at the top of her voice. - Earring got up! She rushed to the staff room and, coming face to face with Kuznetsov, clutched at her dressing gown. - Sergey rose to his feet! Lord, hurry up! You got up, dear!

Sergey, girded across his chest with bandages, barefoot, in blue shorts, stood near the bed, pale, thin, and openly, like a child, smiled. Next to him, holding him by the back, stood Tanya. The sick, nurses on duty, nannies, doctors crowded at the open doors, they looked and could not believe their eyes: a man had risen from the dead. Yegorych, grimacing in pain, sat on the bed and kept saying:

Well done! Oh yes Seryozha! Oh yeah hero! Eagle guy! Keep it up!

And the "eagle" was dizzy, his eyes were covered with black spots, his legs gave way, and the strong wooden floor strove to slip out from under him, like a flimsy bastard swaying on the waves.

On that day, Sergei rose to his feet twice. The second time, after standing for a minute, he tried to take a step. He jerked his foot, intending to throw it forward, staggered and fell helplessly on the bed.

Hell! he cursed. - I forgot how to walk! Feet like stone steel ... do not want to obey. - He looked at Tanya and, as if justifying himself for his inability to walk, he spoke guiltily: - It is difficult to maintain balance, it shakes in all directions. You want to throw your arm away and... But your leg doesn't hurt at all! Do not trust? Hold on a little, I'll go...

Don't, Seryozha, I believe. But you are tired. Enough for today.

And at night Sergei and Yegorych again did not close their eyes. Yes, in the middle of the night, the moon peered through the window, flooded the ward with a bluish light, and it seemed to the patients that it reminded of something long ago, unattainably distant. Mental pain merged with physical and became unbearable. Sergei's overworked leg ached; drenched in sweat, he tossed about the bed. And Yegorych often swallowed powders without feeling relieved.

In the morning, Sergei dozed off. But he was immediately awakened by a loud scream. A light was on in the ward, and the nurse on duty and the doctor fussed about Ivan Yegorovich, who was rushing about in delirium.

Call Kuznetsov, - Sergey heard, - Prepare the operating room.

At dawn, Larin was operated on. Grigory Vasilievich, to the questions of Sergei and Tanya, reluctantly replied that the operation had lasted twenty minutes and all to no avail. Yegorych was transferred... to another ward.

Tanya rushed to the door, but Kuznetsov held her back:

No, he's unconscious.

How is it, Grigory Vasilyevich? - worried, said Sergei.

So, Seryozha, we are not gods either, damn it!

Suddenly, Sergei discovered that the days are not so long as they seemed to him some time ago. In the morning, a massage therapist came to him, worked out the stagnant joints of the legs, then Sergey stood for several minutes, each time more and more convinced that under him there was a fairly solid support that one could hope for. Then Tanya tied it up with towels, making a kind of harness, took hold of it, and she took three steps towards Yegorych's empty bed. He sat down, rested - and again three steps back. Each step is a pain that scorches the whole body. It ripples in her eyes, involuntary tears run and a hammer knocks annoyingly in her head: "Another step, more, more ..."

Sergei fell exhausted on the bed, closed his eyes, licking his bitten lips into the blood, repeated: "One minute, just one minute I will rest ..." He got up again and, overcoming the pain, took three painfully difficult steps. So all day. By evening, there were not so many of these steps - about one hundred and twenty. Sergei recalled that yesterday there were half as many of them, and was glad: it means that tomorrow there will be about three hundred of them. I looked forward to this tomorrow, while while away the stuffy summer nights in painful semi-consciousness, in greedy impatience of activity, of struggle. He yearned for Yegorych, to whom he was not allowed.

After the operation, which ended before it could begin due to the obvious futility of surgical intervention, Yegorych almost did not regain consciousness. In rare moments when consciousness returned to him, he invariably turned his head to the nurse-nurse and said in a weak voice:

Nothing, sister, we will still fight ...

He turned to the window and gazed intently at the verdant trees, the spacious blue sky. And whipped the old geologist with green branches over the eyes of the taiga. And stirred the soul with a hoarse call:

"Why did you leave me, Ivan? Come, I'll heal your wound."

Someone would give Yegorych wings, he would throw off his disgusting hospital gown, he would clamp his restless wound and rush into the maelstrom of the taiga. But where are these wings? Life has crushed them.

Friends visited in winter. Until now, the cedar branch brought by them lies in the hospital bedside table. It used to happen that Yegorych would get it on a long sleepless night, press it to his cheek - and make a noise, the taiga would groan in the oppressive silence of the chamber, and the voices of geologist friends would boom:

“Do you remember, Ivan, how it was in Ussuriskaya?.. Do you remember how it was in Kamchatka?.. Do you remember?..”

Ivan remembers everything.

And the proud joy of new discoveries, and the caressing warmth of a taiga fire, and frail rafts on ferocious mountain rivers, and sixty-degree frosts, and fiery rings of forest fires ...

Ivan remembers everything.

One cannot understand. Is it possible that he, who defeated hundreds of deaths, overcame a lot of adversity, will be twisted by a ridiculous illness? Does he dare?

At one point, Yegorych asked to call Kuznetsov to him. The doctor came in and sat down on a chair.

How are you feeling, Ivan Yegorovich?

We are not children, doctor! Why play hide and seek? How long do I have to live?

Yegorych…

I know not much! interrupted Larin. - I want to talk about something else. - Yegorych paused, then spoke abruptly: - I heard about all sorts of transplants ... Not a specialist, I don’t know. They say they try it on people. My song is sung. You know this better than me. I have strong, healthy hands. My blood type is the same as his. You understand what I'm talking about. Take a chance doctor! I agree. - Yegorych looked at his hands and again hurried: - I will give written consent. Here it is. Serezha is young, he needs to live. And my days are numbered… The risk is worth it… If the transplant doesn’t work out, it doesn’t threaten him with anything. In case of luck ... I beg you, Grigory Vasilyevich! .. This is my last wish ...

Yegorych, my dear! Kuznetsov spoke excitedly. - I-I understand your feelings. But, unfortunately, there is such a thing in medicine as tissue incompatibility. The so-called barrier... Even if I could transplant your hands into Petrov, they won't take root. Science is on the way to such operations, but has not yet arrived.

Just don’t think that this is a momentary impulse or something else ... - said Yegorych. - Not. I thought for a long time before I decided ... when I realized, I had nothing more to hope for. I consoled myself with the thought that at least my hands ... And you tell me about the barrier ... Oh, how many of them, these barriers, on the way of a person! Here they are, hands, take them, give them to another! Maybe tomorrow or ... no one will need them anymore. Nobody...

Kuznetsov squeezed Yegorych's hand tightly. - Do not torture yourself or me.

Okay I will not. Don't hide the diagnosis of my illness from me. I knew for a long time, from the very beginning ... I have cancer ... I did not come up with a hand transplant. Heard on the radio, the Americans did this...

And I was afraid - I’ll die, I won’t have time ... I wrote a piece of paper ... it turned out, in vain ...

No matter how hard Grigory Vasilyevich and Tanya tried to hide in which ward Yegorych was lying, Sergei found out about it. Through the half-open door, he looked out that it was about seventy steps to go before it.

“Seventy steps!” thought Sergey. “Seventy times to transfer the weight of the body to the bad leg and instantly throw the healthy one forward. Some crutch would be nice! But what to hold? I'll ask you to put more cotton under the bandage. I get fifty steps without rest. Not enough. But it's not resting against the wall! There is a carpet in the corridor. It's more difficult to walk on it, it wasn't enough to crash in the middle of the road. take it!"

The plan for the transition from his own chamber to that of Yegorych was worked out thoroughly, down to the smallest detail. The hardest part remains: to implement it. Sergei already imagined how he would enter a friend's house and, quite calmly, as if they had only parted yesterday, would say: "Hello, Yegorych! I ran to visit you!" Egorych will smile. He will rise on his elbow and exclaim: "Wow! That's what I understand! That is, you walk yourself! Well, sit down, tell me!" Sergey sits down...

“And what time will I go?” a new question suddenly arose. - it dawned on Sergei.

When he walked out the door, the first thing that struck him and made him stop was the extraordinary length of the hospital corridor. Narrow, deserted, it stretched somewhere deep into the building, and it seemed that there was no end to it.

"Is it really seventy steps to that door?" - Sergei was horrified, timidly taking the first step.

Finishing the seventeenth, Sergei saw people at the far end of the corridor. There were four of them. They slowly moved towards him, their heads bowed to each other, crouching heavily on their feet. Glancing below, Sergei noticed a stretcher covered with white in their hands.

"They don't carry sick people like that!" he thought with incomprehensible fear. "What am I afraid of?" - sharply, like a sudden shot in the silence, hit the thought. From her spun in the head, sickeningly sucked in the stomach.

In the next moment, Sergei saw the door to which he was walking. She was wide open.

Larin, - the orderly answered hollowly.

The corridor in Sergey's eyes swayed like a box carelessly touched by something heavy, and, trembling, froze.

Stop! Sergei screamed. - Where did you take him?..

We are all mortal, son, the man said calmly.

Yegorych was lying on a stretcher with his chin held high, and on his yellow wrinkled face there was an expression as restless as his whole life he had lived. Eyebrow bushes stuck out like ash-white needles and seemed to still live, meaninglessly asserting a cruelty of character that never existed.

Yegorych! Sergei gasped and, clinging his chin to the slippery, cold wall, slowly sank to the floor.

And that night he did not sleep.

His whole life, step by step, event after event, passed before his eyes, insistently demanding for himself a new, more capacious assessment. The behavior, actions, thoughts of His growl, which Sergey now looked at from a different angle, became for him a bright standard with which he compared his behavior, his thoughts and his actions.

When the dawn broke, Sergey with difficulty tore his head off the pillow, got to his feet and, overcoming the pain, began to walk around the ward.

"No indulgence for yourself! No! Add fifty steps every day!" he repeated to himself in a tone of indisputable order.

In the morning, entering the ward, Tanya saw Seryozhka lying unconscious on the floor.

Three days of bed rest, - ordered Grigory Vasilyevich, who had come running here. - Complete peace! Excuse us, - he turned to Tanya, we overlooked him in your absence. He went out into the corridor yesterday and met Yegorych there ... in a word, his body ...

Tanya opened her eyes wide, wanted to say something, but couldn't.

There is no more Yegorych, - said Kuznetsov and went out.

Grigory Vasilyevich's fears about the possible consequences of a nervous shock, fortunately, did not materialize. The young body was recovering, quickly gaining strength. By the evening, Sergei was already on his feet, continuing his training in walking. And no force could stop his desire to get on his feet as soon as possible, to break out of the hateful captivity of immobility.

More and more often Sergey and Tanya started talking about the upcoming discharge from the hospital. What will it be like this day? What awaits them there, behind the high gates of the hospital? These questions, like many others, frightened me with their vagueness and hurried me. I wanted to go home as soon as possible, although both of them could not imagine what sorrows and joys life at home would bring them.

And it was difficult to part with the hospital to which they were accustomed. Everything about her became comfortable and familiar in his new position. On this floorboard he first stepped yogis. That's where he fell. And that crack in the ceiling? She knows a lot. The man lies on his back, holding back his groans, and the fingers of his amputated hands burn, as if they were being burned with a red-hot iron. Grigory Vasilievich enters this door every morning, smiles and invariably asks: "How did you sleep?" Then, one by one, the nannies and sisters who came on duty and go home look into it, waving their hands affably, saying hello, or nodding their heads with a smile, saying goodbye. What will happen there? What? How will strangers be met on the street? They will look with pity and curiosity ...

On Saturday, Rafik Mammadov and Nikolay Goncharov arrived, burst into the ward, noisy, agitated.

Earring, you are such a devil! - Nikolai thumped from the threshold. - Your brainchild, the Komsomol brigade, was assigned a communist one!

Well-u-u… - Sergei lifted his head from the pillow. - That's great!

The guys are having a birthday! They don't feel their legs! - Mammadov hurried. - They write the code, tomorrow they will come to you - they came up with some kind of oath.

Kolya, throw pajamas on me. - Sergey sat down, hung his legs. - An oath, you say? Is it possible without showing off? Why is she? Does anyone doubt the guys?

Well, Seryozhka, they consider you their godfather. You are for them ... Yes, what is there for them, for all of us, an example! Understand?

Don't talk about it, Kolya.

No, you must! Rafik slashed the air with his palm. - In life you know how it happens! There are always two roads to the embrasure - forward and backward. Not everyone chooses the first. And it is necessary that everything! Understand! Everything!

Would you choose the second one yourself? - asked Sergei.

I-I don’t know… I didn’t know before, now I know.

What is there ... I don’t know, I know ... If you and Nikolai were in my place then, you would simply forget that it exists, this second path.

On the "five-bis" the conveyor belt caught fire, - Goncharov spoke slowly. - The minder, a boy of nineteen, just graduated from school, got scared and ran away. As soon as he got up, pressed the button and extinguished the fire with a handful of water ... without the slightest risk to himself. The four miners would have returned that day to their families. And they didn't come back. Because that one escaped.

It can't be, - Sergey said with fear. How will he live?

How do traitors live?

Enough of this, - Nikolai suggested. - Rafik hides the most excellent champagne. Let's note, perhaps, the success of your godchildren? Can you, Serezha?

If something were stronger...

Do you want cognac? I instantly!..

No, Kolya, I was joking. From strong I will cry ...

Don't be stupid, Seryozha. Everything terrible is behind. Home soon. They gave you such an apartment there! ..

Guys, I'm not going back to the mine.

How?.. What are you, Seryozha?.. Do you understand what you are saying?!

Unfortunately it's too clear...

No, Rafik, you listen to what he thought! Did you do it yourself or did someone tell you? I won't let you! - Nikolai jumped up from his chair, spread his hands in front of Sergei, as if he was about to run somewhere right now, this very minute. Then he sat down, fell silent for a minute, stared at Sergei with surprised eyes. - Seryozha, I don't understand anything. Are you offended? Your friends are right there, your mine. Understand yours! For her, for us, you ... - Goncharov jumped up again, shaking his hands, - he gave his blood, these ... so that she lived, we lived! No, you were joking. Well, are you kidding me?

Sergei was silent.

Rafik, why are you sitting like an idol! Tell him something!

No need to shout, Kolya. I'm not into jokes. I will not return to the mine.

Can you tell me why? - quietly asked Rafik.

I'm probably wrong. I don't know... You can judge me. And how can I live when the mine siren roars and you go to shift? Where will I hide my heart?

You are a freak, Seryozha! Nicholas smiled. - Don't be idle. Let's find... Let's help...

That's right - you will find, help ... And to the detriment of your affairs, you will babysit me. You are strong, but sometimes I see pity in your eyes... Even now, after everything, "I said, no one jumped up and hit me in the face... And I will have to win the right to slap myself again... myself... all my life. So that as an equal ... shoulder ...

Mammadov got up and walked around the ward.

You are cruel to yourself, Seryozhka.

I had time to think about my decision. I said goodbye to the mine. Believe me, it’s not easy to break a heart, but… I won’t return to the mine…

And soon September swirled yellowed foliage around the hospital yard. The dull autumn rains became more frequent, and the gloomy sky hurriedly drove shoals of migratory birds along with the clouds. The birds flew south. They flew towards a new life. And it was not clear why genuine sadness and despair could be heard in their cries.

These cries haunted Sergei during the day, disturbed his sleep at night. He woke up with heavy thoughts and after a long time could not fall asleep. Wounds hurt. Hands were clearly felt, as if nothing had happened. Sergei bent his fingers, elbows, hands, feeling every fold, every fold of skin. It seemed that a long nightmare had ended, and now he would raise his hands, run them over his face, squeeze his temples that stung with pain, comb his hair with five fingers ... His hands reached for his head and fell, weightless, invisible, searing his shoulders with fiery pain. The soundless, lingering cry of a flock of cranes tore the silence of the dark autumn night, with an invisible vise crushed the heart ready to jump out of the chest.

"Get a hold of yourself!" - imperiously whispered an inner voice, and despair receded.

"Disabled person!" It shouted in the lines of a pension book, "Old women with tears in their eyes will look after you."

"Do not dismiss the nurses!" - the same voice shouted, from which Sergey shuddered and changed the direction of his thoughts.

Entering the ward, Kuznetsov said in a deliberately cheerful voice:

Well, Seryozha! The time has come for us to part. Today was the conference. Considering your request, we have decided: you can go home. Grigory Vasilyevich, without looking at Sergei, walked up and down the ward, went up to the window and, without changing his position, said clearly: - I wish you all the very best, courage, love, happiness. - He turned sharply from the window, hurriedly approached Sergei, squeezed his shoulders. - It will be difficult - write ... write, Seryozha ... - And quickly left the ward.

It was drizzling gray, cold rain, the autumn wind rushed about in the yellowed trees, tore the leaves and threw them on the dull, shiny, wet asphalt. A crowd of people in blue hospital gowns, coats hastily thrown over their shoulders, stood near the hospital and silently watched the two receding human figures.

Sergei walked hunched over, limping, tilting his head down. Tanya walked along, small, fragile, and kept trying to look into his face, as if she wanted to make sure: was it he, resurrected from the dead, walking next to her? A gust of wind blew angrily at the empty sleeves of his brown coat.

Tanya looked back, waved her hand in farewell. Sergei stopped and looked at the people accompanying him. Tanya, noticing the welling tears, gently touched him on the shoulder, and they left.

Yes-ah-ah ... - someone thoughtfully drawled in the crowd of mourners, - To live life is not to cross a field ...

*PART THREE*

Seryozhka Petrov did not think, did not guess, stepping on the platform of the Donetsk railway station for the first time, that he would have to walk along it like this - weak and helpless.

Nothing has changed at the station. The same fuss and discordant noise, the same stone steps, and trees captivated by asphalt, and the whistle of trains, and the voice of the announcer - everything at first sight was the same as on that distant, unimaginably distant day. And was it that day? Could it be that these trees bowed affably and rustled their green branches joyfully, and did not, as they do now, with some inexplicable pain, drop their yellowed leaves onto the cold asphalt? Is it possible that even then, when the Young Specialist's Komsomol voucher burned impatiently, did the announcer's voice speak just as anxiously, as if warning of imminent danger? Didn't there really exist this border that cut all life into a distant yesterday and someone else's today.

And again, for the umpteenth time, it seemed to Sergei that he was sleeping and dreaming. People scurried past him, and he stood on the steps of the station with wide-open eyes and waited: now Tanya would come up and wake him up. "You'll be late for work!" - she will say and fuss, collecting breakfast.

Tanya emerged from the crowd and waved the tickets to Sergei.

To Lugansk? - he asked.

To Lugansk, - Tanya answered and turned away, I was amazed and alarmed by Sergey's concentrated, expectant look.

There's nothing there?

Everyone is with us, Seryozha ...

What wagon?

Eleventh.

Like the chamber...

Only without Grigory Vasilyevich. I gave my mother a telegram. We will be met.

Are we looking for an apartment?

Let's live then...

In the compartment they sat together, friend