... The sun had not yet risen, and Mishka was already in the Badger Forest. There, about three kilometers from the village, stood an empty house of the serogons. Mishka made another trip to the village, brought fishing tackle and, returning back, covered his tracks with spruce branches.
Now he felt safe, flooded a hot potbelly stove, boiled potatoes, ate with gusto.
The sun was already high when he went to the river to set the top. From the high bank, the indescribable beauty of the forest river, covered with snow, was revealed. The bear stood for a long time, as if enchanted, admiring the sparkling winter world. On the opposite side of the river, on a steep bank, there was a snow-covered summer cottage of the former director of the timber industry enterprise, and now a tough businessman, a timber merchant, cut into two floors from a selected forest. Its windows were decorated with ornate carvings, and a spacious bathhouse was attached to the river below. The dacha was not yet inhabited. When Mishka was leaving for St. Petersburg, craftsmen from the city built a fireplace in the upper room and decorated the rooms. There was no one here now. And Mishka even thought that it would be good for him to live at this dacha until spring. All the same, until the snow melts, the owners will not get here. But he was immediately frightened by this thought, remembering that the police should hunt for him.
He went down to the river, cut the ice across the channel with an ax, hammered an ice-hole with spruce branches so that the fish could pass only in one place, and cut down a wide wormwood under the summit.
Soon he had already finished his work and went to the hut to take a break from work. The hut was small and cramped. But there was a special forest comfort in her. Mishka threw spruce branches on the bunks and lay down in all his clothes on a fragrant resinous bedding, rejoicing at the peace he had finally found.
Bear woke up from strange sounds that filled the forest. It seemed that a landing of aliens had landed in Badger Forest, producing incredible, rumbling, shaking sounds of century-old pines. The bear fell off the bunk and stepped out the door of the hut.
Confused, confused, confused! - thundered and howled in the forest. - Moth, but who is to blame?
The music came from the direction of the river. The bear walked cautiously to the shore. At the director's dacha there were cars, thick smokes rose from the chimneys to the sky, a bathhouse was heated, doors slammed, music thundered to the fullest, every now and then a full-blown girlish laugh was heard.
Mishka's heart started beating anxiously. He hid behind the bushes and, restraining the excitement rising to his throat, began to watch what was happening ...
He saw a cheerful company descend to the bathhouse. The director of their timber industry enterprise walked heavily ahead, followed by three long-legged girls, stumbling from a broken path into the snow and squealing, followed by some large, thoroughbred men. Soon the bathhouse was gasping for steam.
From within her came the gasp of the stove, muffled laughter and moaning.
Finally, the doors of the dressing room were thrown open, and the whole cheerful company fell out naked on the pure virgin snow. Mishkin's director, shaking his saggy belly, like a boar punching fluffy snow with its steamed pink body, dragging the company to the river, right into the wormwood, where Mishkin's top stood.
Three defended girls found themselves on the ice, just opposite Mishka's diner. It seemed that you could reach out your hand and get each one.
From this closeness and the sight of naked girlish bodies, Mishka, who lived inevitably in severe abstinence, felt dizzy, and his face flamed with an intolerable heat of shame and unknown forbidden passion.
As if drunk, he got up, and staggered to his wretched refuge. And from behind he teased and beckoned with exciting girlish laughter and joyful squealing ...
In the tarmac hut, he again lit the stove, drank tea with a lingonberry leaf and lay down on his bunk, sighing mournfully over his dissolute worthless life, which now, after the morning announcement on the radio, had completely lost all meaning.
Mishka was left without parents early. Mother drowned on the rafting, father got drunk. They say that the wrong coil was installed on the moonshine still. It was necessary to be made of stainless steel, and Bartholomew put a copper one. That is why the moonshine turned out to be poisonous.
Nobody in this life loved Mishka. After the craft, he walked with the girl and even kissed, and as he went into the army, his love immediately jumped out to marry a shabashnik who came from Transcarpathia and drove off with him forever.
And after the army there was work in the forest, and drinking on weekends. He was a prominent and kind guy, but there were no girls around, only guys remained in Vyselki, the girls all left for the cities. Here you will inevitably drink! It would be better for him to be born as a Sanny goat! I would sit on the stove and eat peeled potatoes. Look, it's chilly in his office!
Mishka felt so unbearably sorry for himself that a combustible tear boiled in his eyes and fell into the fir branches.
... At night he left the hut, the same song rang out in the country and echoed a hundredfold across the Badger pine forest:
"Confused, confused, confused,
A moth, but who's to blame? "
The hundred-year-old pines quivered under the blows of decibels and poured snow from the peaks sparkling under the light of the moon. The moon shone like a spotlight. In the immense abyss of heaven, radiant stars shone, and the night was as bright as day.
The bear, like a magnet, was drawn again to the dacha, music and fun. And he went there under the pretext of rechecking the top. She could be knocked down when they dived into the ice hole, or even pulled out onto the ice.
The director's dacha sparkled with lights. In the wide windows Mishka saw her fabulous feast, laden with all kinds of appearances. Someone was dancing, someone was already asleep in an armchair. Suddenly the doors of the summer cottage opened, splashing out into the frosty purity of the night a flurry of music and electric radiance.
The bear saw how someone jumped out onto the porch in a fiery halo, rushed down into the darkness, the steps creaked on the hill, and in the ghostly moonlight on the ice of the river, he saw a girl, one of the three who had been here during the day. She ran to the blackened hole, in which the icy streams of the vigilant river coiled, and threw herself on her knees in front of her.
Mishka has never seen such beautiful girls in his life. Her hair was loose over her shoulders, her high chest heaved heavily, and tears flowed down her beautiful face.
The country doors opened again, and a man came out onto the porch:
Margot! - he shouted imperiously. - Do you hear? Come back! Apparently, he was calling the girl who was now kneeling in front of the wormwood.
Malya! - he repeated insistently, - Malka! Get home. I'm tired of waiting.
The girl did not answer. The bear heard only soft sobs. The man hesitated on the porch, swore and went back. The girl whispered something and made a movement towards the hole.
Mishka felt unbearably sorry for her. He jumped out of the bushes and in an instant was next to the girl.
Who are you? she asked distantly. She smelled of expensive perfume, wine and foreign tobacco.
Bear, ”he said worriedly.
Are you local?
I live here. In the forest, - Mishka answered in the same wooden way. The girl lowered her head again.
And I'm Margot. Or Malya. Confused.
Is that a stripper or something?
Well no. Confused.
Mishka did not know the meaning of this word and decided that the confused was the girl's surname.
You, this, do not stand with your knees on the ice, - Mishka warned. - Otherwise, you will catch a cold.
The girl suddenly began to cry, and her shoulders trembled finely. The bear, suppressing his embarrassment, took her by the elbows and put her next to him.
Do you hear, Mishka, "she said suddenly and raised her beautiful eyes full of grief." Take me away from here. Somewhere.
And Mishka suddenly felt that the former Mishka was no longer there, that he was now completely at the mercy of these woeful eyes. And that he is ready to do whatever she says.
My feet are cold, ”she said.“ Warm my knees. The bear sat down and wrapped his stiff arms around Mali's elastic knees. Her legs were bare and cold. The bear bent over them, began to warm them with his breath.
Let's go, - she said soon. - Get me out of here soon ...
They climbed the trail to the eel. Unexpectedly for himself, Mishka easily picked her up in his arms and carried her to his forest winter quarters. And she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed tightly to Mishka's chest, clothed in a sweatshirt that smelled of smoke and pine needles, and fell silent.
When Mishka got to the hut, the girl was already deeply asleep.
He laid her down carefully on the bunks covered with spruce branches and sat by the window, listening to the unknown feelings that had settled in his soul half an hour ago, but already rooted as if he had always lived with these feelings and will live forever just like that.
Malya breathed barely audibly. The night was as bright as day. Outside the window, the moon shone with a searchlight.
His name was not Alyosha, he was Kostya Valikov, but everyone in the village called him Alyosha Beskonvoyny. And his name was for this: for a rare in our days irresponsibility, uncontrollability. However, his irresponsibility did not extend indefinitely: for five days a week he was a trouble-free worker, moreover, a diligent worker, skillful (in the summer he grazed collective farm cows, in the winter he was a cattleman, he was a stoker on the farm, it happened at night, he took in calves), but it came Saturday, and that's all: Alyosha got out of harness, He did not work on the collective farm for two days: Saturday and Sunday. And they even forgot, when it was he who introduced such an order, everyone knew that this Venerable Alyosha "like this" - on Saturday and Sunday does not work - They tried, of course, to influence him, and more than once, but all to no avail. Generally, they regretted: he has five children, of which only the eldest made it to the tenth grade, the rest of the garlic was sitting somewhere else in the second, in the third, in the fifth ... So they waved their hand at him. What can you do? Convince him, do not convince - like peas against a wall. Blinks his eyes ... "Well, do you understand, Alyosha?" - they will ask. "What?" - "Yes, you can't allow yourself such things that you allow yourself! You don't work in a factory, you work in agriculture! How is that? Huh? "-" What? "-" Stop making a fool out of yourself! They ask you in Russian: will you work on Saturday? "-" No. By the way, about the fool - I can, too ... give it a head once, and you won't find any article for me for that. We also know the laws. You are an insult to me with a word, I am on your forehead: it is considered reciprocity. ”So talk to him. He didn’t even go to meetings on Saturday.
What did he do on Saturday?
On Saturday he heated the bathhouse. Everything. Nothing more. He heated up the bathhouse, washed himself and began to steam. He steamed like crazy, like a steam locomotive, steamed for five hours! With rest, of course, with a smoke break ... But all the same, this is what an organism one should have! Horse?
On Saturday he woke up and immediately remembered that today is Saturday. And immediately a quiet joy blossomed in his soul. He even brightened his face. He didn’t even wash, but went straight to the yard to chop wood.
He had his own science - how to heat a bath. For example, only birch firewood went to the bathhouse: they give after themselves a persistent heat. He pricked them carefully, with delight ...
For example, there is one such Saturday.
The weather was just boring - it was chilly, damp, windy - the end of October. Alyosha loved this weather. Even at night he heard the rain sprinkle - it tapped softly, fractionally on the glass of the windows and stopped. Then in the upper right corner of the house, where it was always humming, humming - the wind improved. And the shutters went twitching. Then the wind subsided, but still sipped in the morning - snowy, cold.
Alyosha went out with an ax into the courtyard and began to choose round birch pieces for splitting. The cold crawled under the sweatshirt ... But Alyosha went to wave his hatchet and warmed up.
He chose thicker lumps from the woodpile ... He would choose, take it, like a pig, in his arms and carry it to the woodcutter.
Look you ... what, - he said affectionately to the blockhead. - What ataman ... He put this "chieftain" on a wide stump and baled on the head.
Soon he put on a large heap like that ... For a long time he stood and looked at this heap. The whiteness and juiciness and purity of the innermost logs, and the spirit from them is fresh, interior, slightly chilly, forest ...
Alyosha dragged them to the bathhouse, carefully laid them near the stove, There will be a moment later - to kindle them, also a nice thing. Alyosha was even worried when he lit it in the stove. In general, he was very fond of fire.
But you still need to apply water. It’s not so much cute, but there’s nothing contrary to it. Alyosha tried only to train him as soon as possible. So he minced with his legs when he carried full buckets on the yoke, so bent his long figure so as not to splash from the buckets, watch laughter. The women always looked at the well. And we talked.
You look, look how it springs! Purely acrobat! ..
And it doesn't splash!
But where is it going?
Well, the bathhouse is heating up again ...
Yes, it's too early!
Here all day he will be engaged in a bath. He is without convoy ... Alyosha.
Alyosha poured to the brim a cauldron in a stove, two large tubs and also into a galvanized bathtub, which he bought about fifteen years ago, in which all his babies were bathed in turn. Now he has adapted it to the bathhouse, and good! She stood on a shelf, on the edge, did not take up much space - she did not interfere with steaming - and water is always at hand. When Alyosha especially went to the shelf, when the hair on his head cracked from the heat, he smoked his head right into this bath.
Alyosha brought some water and sat down on the threshold to smoke. It is also an expensive minute to sit and smoke. Right there Alyosha liked to look around his household in the dressing room and in the shed, which was attached to the bathhouse, continued the dressing room. What did he not have there! Old Lithuanians without shanks, old rakes, pitchforks ... But there was a workbench, and there was a working tool: a plane, a hacksaw, chisels, chisels ... This is all for Sunday, tomorrow he will practice here.
The bathhouse is gloomy and uncomfortable so far, but the tart, cold smell of the bathhouse has already been diluted with the smell of birch logs - subtle, barely perceptible - this is a harbinger of an imminent holiday. Alyosha's heart, no, no, yes, it will wash away the joy - it will think: "Scha-as". We also need to wash in the bathhouse: even this would not allow Alyosha to do his wife - to wash. He had a small piece prepared, sand in a jar ... Alyosha took off his sweatshirt, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and went to plastat, went to scrub. He washed everything, ripped everything with a barefoot, poured clean water and wiped it with a rag. He rinsed the rag and hung it on a maple bough, the maple grew next to the bathhouse. Well, now we can flood it, Alyosha lit a cigarette one more time ... He looked at the gloomy sky, at the dull distant horizon, at the village ... Nobody else's bathhouse was heated. Then they will, in the evening, hastily, somehow, puff-puff ... They will swallow the bitter fumes and steam, They will not get drunk - they will get ugly, they will come, swear on the bed, barely alive, and thinks this is a bathhouse, Heh! ..
Alyosha threw down the cigarette butt, pressed it into the wet earth with his boot, and went to drown it.
He put the logs in the stove, as they put everything: two - like this, one like this, across, and then on top. But there - in that embrasure that is being formed - there they usually put torches, paper, they still started pouring kerosene over there, - there Alyosha did not put anything: that log that he put across, he was still scraping with an ax in the middle, and that was all. , and then set these sastrugi on fire - it caught fire. And this is also a very exciting moment - when it flares up, Ah, a glorious moment!
Alyosha squatted down in front of the stove and watched steadily as the fire, at first small, timid, tremulous, grew larger and more reliable. Alyosha always thought a lot while looking at the fire. For example: "There you want all people to live the same way ... Two logs burn out differently, but you want people to live the same way!" Or else he made a discovery: a person, dying, at the end at the very end - so suddenly wants to live, so hope, so rejoice at some medicine! .. They know that. But any stick is exactly the same: when it burns out, it will suddenly flare up, so it will light up, it will throw out such a hat of fire that one wonders: where does such a last force come from?
The firewood has flared up well, now you can go and drink some tea. Alyosha washed himself from the washstand, dried himself off and went into the house with a light heart. While he was busy with the bath, the children, one by one, went off to school. Alyosha heard the door - every now and then it slammed and the collar creaked. Alyosha loved children, but no one would ever have thought that he loved children: he did not show. Sometimes he would look attentively at someone for a long time, and his chest ached with love and delight. He was still amazed at nature: what did man come from ?! After all, not from anything, from a little something. He especially loved them when they were still very small, helpless. It's really, really, that the stalk is small: now let's cling with all your might, climb. There will be a lot of things ahead - no mind can throw you ahead. And they grow, climb. If Alyosha had the will, he would have made five more, but his wife was tired. When we drank tea, we talked to my wife.
It's cold now. Snow, look, it will fall, - said the wife.
And it will fall out. It would have fallen out on damp earth.
Flooded?
Flooded.
Kuzmovna came in ... to borrow money.
Well? Gave it?
I gave it. Until Wednesday, he says, and there, they say, he will receive for potatoes ...
Well, okay. '' Alyosha liked that you could, for example, borrow money from them - you somehow look more cheerful in the eyes of people. And then they got better: "Convoyless, Convoyless." Silly. - How much did you ask?
Fifteen rubles. On Wednesday, he says, we'll get for the potatoes ...
Well, okay. I'm going to continue.
The wife didn’t say anything to this, didn’t say that you were going, they say, or something like that, but she didn’t say anything else either. And before, she used to say, it got to the point of swearing: something must be done, it must be done - it’s not a day to heat a whole bathhouse! Alyosha did not give in a hair even here: on Saturday there was only a bathhouse. Everything. Burn everything with blue fire! Let it all go to waste! "What should I cut my soul into pieces ?!" Alyosha shouted then in a voice that was not his own. And this frightened Taisya, his wife. The fact is that Alyosha's older brother, Ivan, shot himself like that. And my own wife also brought it: they were also cursing something, cursing, quarreling so much that brother Ivan began to beat his head against the wall and say: “How long will I suffer ?! " The foolish wife, instead of calming him down, took it and even poked her head: "Come on, come on ... Stronger! Come on, is the forehead stronger or the wall?" Ivan grabbed the gun ... His wife fainted, and Ivan blazed in his chest, Two children remained. It was then that Taisya was warned: "Look ... if it isn't in their family." And Taisya retreated.
After drinking tea, Alyosha smoked in the warmth, near the stove, and went back to the bathhouse. And the bathhouse was heated with might and main.
From the door evenly and strongly, it looks like the river turns, poured, smoothly curving upward, smoke. This is the first time, then when more heat accumulates in the stove, the smoke will decrease. It is important to throw it in time: so that it is not already on the coals, but also not to fill it too tightly - the fire needs space. It is necessary that it burn freely, abundantly, in all corners at once. Alyosha crawled under the stream of smoke to the stove, sat down on the floor and sat for some time, looking into the hot fire. The floor has already warmed up a little, soars; face and knees get hot, you have to hide behind. Yes, and it is undesirable to sit here now: you can catch a stupor unnoticed. Alyosha skillfully stirred the embers and got out of the bath. There are still a lot of things to do: we need to prepare a broom, we need to pour kerosene into the lantern, we need to prepare pine branches ... Singing softly something indefinite - without words, in a voice, Alyosha climbed onto the bathhouse shelf, chose a tighter broom from the perch, then cut pine paws on the lumberjack - equally, without knots, folded in a bunch in the dressing room. So, it is. What else? lantern! .. Alyosha dived under the smoke again, took out the lantern, chatted - he had to top up. Yes, but ... so as not to think about anything later. Alyosha kept humming ... What a welcome peace in his soul, Lord! The kids don't get sick, they didn't swear with anyone, they even borrowed money ... Life: when is it the most important time? Maybe when they are at war? Alyosha fought, was wounded, recovered, finished the war, and all his life then recalled the war with disgust. I didn’t watch a single movie about the war - it’s sickening. And surprisingly, people are sitting and looking! Nobody would have believed it, but Alyosha seriously thought about life: what kind of secret is it, you need to feel sorry for it, for example, or you can die peacefully - there is nothing special left here? He even strained his mind like this: it seemed like he flew - high, high - and from there he was looking at the ground ... But it did not become clearer: he imagined his cows on the beast - small, like insects ... But about people, about their life, no illumination It was. It did not light up. How is it all the same: should you feel sorry for your life or not? What if, then, at the last moment, how do you yell that you didn’t live that way, did you do the wrong thing? Or does it not work like that? Others are dying - nothing: quietly, peacefully. Well, it's a pity, of course, it's sad: it's not so bad here. And Alyosha remembered when the thought that it was not so bad here came up, - he recalled one moment in his life. Here's how. He drove from the war ... The road is long - through almost the entire country. But they drove loudly - that is how I would drive. At some small station, still beyond the Urals, a young woman approached Alyosha on the platform and said:
Listen, soldier, take me - I seem to be your sister ... It seems that we met here by chance. I urgently need to go, but I just can't leave.
The woman is in the rear, rather smooth, with a mole on her neck, with painted lips ... She is well dressed. The mouth is small, fluff on the upper lip. He looks - he seems to be touching Alyosha with his fingers, stroking him. He looks a little embarrassed, but still looks very shamelessly, affectionately. Alyosha during the whole war did not touch a single woman ... And before the war, he was also a grief: at parties he only kissed girls. And that's all. And this one looks strange ... Alyosha's heart broke so much, he was so agitated that he was deaf and his mouth cramped.
But, however, let's go.
The soldiers in the carriage were also agitated, but this affectionate one was so stuck to Alyosha that it was somehow awkward to approach. And it turns out that she had to go close: she had already arrived after two passes. And the matter is in the evening. She says so sadly:
I have to walk a little from the station, but I'm afraid. I don't really know what to do ...
Who's home? - Alyosha opened his mouth.
Yes, no one, I alone.
Well, that's how I'm going, ”said Alyosha.
What about you? - the woman was surprised and delighted.
Tomorrow I will go by another train ... There are few of them!
Yes, they go here every day ... - she agreed.
And they went to her house, Alyosha took what he was carrying with him: two pairs of officer's boots, an officer's tunic, a German carpet, and they went. And it was this way to her house, and that sinful night, and Alyosha remembered. A terrible force - joy not joy - heat, and dumbness, and horror fettered Alyosha while they walked with this affectionate ... labor, and everything in my head was flattened. But even now Alyosha remembered everything to the smallest detail. Alya, that was her name, took his arm ... Alyosha remembered how soft and warm her hand was under the rough crepe de Chine. True, he did not remember what color the dress was on her, but the sharp thorns of this crepe de Chine, some of his warm roughness, he always remembered, and now he remembers. He's kind of prickly and slippery, this crepe de Chine. And Alyosha remembered the watch on her hand - small (trophy), a narrow strap cut into the flesh of her hand. That was what stunned him then that the woman herself simply, trustingly - took him by the arm and then walked, touching her soft side with her soft side ... And this warmth - at her hand - remembered the same. Yes ... Well, it was night. In the morning Alyosha did not find Ali or his clothes. Later, when Alyosha rode in the carriage (she did not take the documents), he realized that she was doing the business, that she met the trains and chose the stupid soldiers. But here's the thing - if she had asked that morning: give, they say, Alyosha, the German carpet, give back the tunic, separate the boots - I would give everything. Maybe he'd keep a pair of boots for himself. I remembered that Alya crepe de Chine. Alyosha, when he remained with himself, grinned. Alyosha never told anyone about that incident, but he loved her, Alyu. Here's how. The wood was burnt ... The mountain, golden, hot, was breathing and the heat was pouring down. The fiery mouth no, no, yes, it caught the blue light ... Here it is - frenzy. Well, let’s heat up everything here - walls, shelves, benches ... Then you won’t touch it.
Alyosha threw pine paws on the floor - such will be Tashkent in the forest later, such an aroma from these branches, such a free spirit, damn it, - glorious! Alyosha always wanted not to fuss at the last moment, but could not cope. I walked around the fence, cleaned up the ax ... I stuck my head back into the bathhouse - no, it’s foul. Alyosha went into the house.
Come on underwear, - he said to his wife, trying to hide his joy - for some reason she annoyed everyone, this is his Saturday joy. The devil will understand them too, people: they themselves turn around stupidity after stupidity, do not crawl out of stupidity, but here, you see, they are surprised, snort, do not understand.
Taisya's wife silently opened the drawer, pushed herself under the lid ... This is Alyosha's second wife, the First, Sonya Polosukhina, died. There were no children from her. Alyosha thought least of all about them: about Sonya and about Taisya. He got sick to his underwear, sat on a stool, tucking his bare feet closer to him, experiencing a certain pleasantness in this position, Another would be to smoke ... But he lost the habit of smoking at home for a long time - as the kids went.
Why did Kuzmovna need money? - asked Alyosha.
Do not know. Yes ended - and needed. There is probably nothing to buy bread.
Have they handed in a lot of potatoes?
Two wagons were taken ... There were twenty coolers.
They'll make some money!
Ogrebut, Everyone injects ... Do you think they don't have it on the book?
How so no! The Solovievs have no!
Give warmer pants? Or paper ones yet? ..
Come on paper, while it's not so low.
Alyosha took fresh linen, put it on his knees, sat for a few more, thinking about how it is now, in the bathhouse.
So ... Okay.
Kolka has a sore throat again.
Why did you let me go to school?
Well ... '' Taisya herself did not know why she let her go. And this is how the deck learns through the stump.
Yes ... - It's strange, Alyosha never seriously worried about the illness of his children, even when they were seriously ill, - he did not think about the bad. Just somehow this thought did not come.
And not one, thank God, died. But on the other hand, as Alyosha wanted his children to learn, they would leave for a big city and rise there to honor and respect. And in the summer they would come here, to the village, Alyosha would fuss around them - next to their wives, husbands, their children ... After all, no one knows what Alyosha is. kind person, caring, but those urban, then immediately would have noticed it. The grandchildren would run around the fence here ... No, of course, it makes sense to live. Another thing is that we do not always know how. And this is especially true of the village dolbaks - that's really stubborn people! And take even yours learned people- agronomists, teachers: there is no more arrogant person than your own, the village one, but who learned in the city and came here again. After all, she is walking, she does not see anyone! No matter how small she is, everything strives to look higher than people. Urban, they somehow know how, dogs, and show their culture, and not humiliate anyone. On the contrary, he is the first to greet you.
So ... Well, okay, - said Alyosha. - I'll go.
And Alyosha went to the bathhouse. He loved very much to go from home to the bathhouse just in such weather, when it was cold and damp. He always walked in his underwear, deliberately walked slowly in order to freeze. I also found some trouble along the way: he would unravel the dog's chain, the collar would go well to cover it. This is to make you chill.
In the dressing room Alyosha stripped naked, glanced around at himself, still a strong man. And my heart ached - she wants to go to the bathhouse. Alyosha grinned at his impatience. I also spent a little time in the dressing room ... The skin was covered with pimples, like that very crepe de Chine, heh ... Poke your soul into your soul, which only does not happen in life! That is why Alyosha loved Saturday: on Saturday he thought so much, remembered, thought, like on any other day. So for what are such great values to give you this Saturday? A?
I will catch up, I will catch up, I will catch up,
I will catch up with Khabib! ..
Alyosha sang softly, opened the door and stepped into the bathhouse.
Eh, life! .. There was a common bathhouse in the village, and Alyosha went there once to feel it. It is funny and sad at the same time! It was there that the gypsies washed themselves. They did not wash, but mostly drank beer. The peasants grumble at them, and they also swear: "You don't understand what a bath is!" They understand! Though, however, in such and such a bath, as the general one, only beer and drink to sit. Not a bathhouse, but some kind of misunderstanding. I haven't walked well on Saturday yet; on Saturday I drowned my own and washed away all the memories of the public bath to hell.
And life began here - quite concrete, but also completely inexplicable - dear and dear to the brim. Alyosha went to move the pots, buckets ... - began to establish small Tashkent. Any harmful tension completely let go of Alyosha, small thoughts left his head, a certain wholeness, size, clarity entered his soul - life became understandable. That is, she was nearby, outside the window of the bathhouse, but Alyosha became out of reach for her, for her vanity and anger, he became big and indulgent. And Alyosha loved - out of fullness and calmness - to sing while he had not yet gotten to steam. He poured water into a basin, listened to the sky-clear sound of the jet and, imperceptibly for himself, sang softly. He did not know the songs: he remembered only some village ditties and fragments of songs that the children sang at home. In the bath he loved to purr ditties.
I'll take a look at the people
My darling is gone
Alyosha sang, scooped up more water.
Large curly forelock,
Like Voroshilov.
And he scooped up again, sang again:
Mom heated the bathhouse,
Sends to take a steam bath.
I, mother, have no time for a bath
Sweetheart is getting married.
Alyosha brought some water in a basin ... And in another basin, with boiling water, he put a broom for the time being - to steam it. I began to wash ... I washed for a long time, with stops. He sat on the warm floor, on the branches, splashed and purred to himself:
I myself go dear
My thought is by the side.
Early, dear, boasted
That I will be behind you.
And as if he was swimming along the river - smooth and warm, but swimming somehow strange and good - sitting. And the streams are warm right somewhere near the heart.
Then Alyosha lay on the shelf - just like that. And suddenly he thought: why, I'll stretch out like this someday ... Alyosha even folded his hands on his chest and lay there for such a short time. I strained myself to see myself, like, in a coffin. And already something like that began to appear - a pressed pillow, a new jacket ... But his soul resisted further, Alyosha got up and, experiencing a certain disgusting feeling, poured water over himself, And for cheerfulness he sang:
Eh, I will catch up, I will catch up, I will catch up,
Habibu do-go-nude!
Well, to hell with her! Come, come, whose ahead of time to train! It is strange, however: during the war, Alyosha did not think about death at all - he was not afraid. No, of course, he hid from her as best he could, but I did not enter into such details. Well, her to the devil! He will come - he will come, you will not go anywhere. This is not the point. The fact is that this holiday on earth is not a holiday at all, you don’t need to understand it as a holiday, you don’t need to wait for it, but you need to calmly accept everything and "do not fuss in front of the client." Alyosha recently heard an anecdote about how an experienced pimp taught her girls in a mess: "The main thing is not to fuss in front of the client." For a long time Alyosha laughed and thought: "That's right, we fuss a lot in front of the client." It's good on the ground, really, but jumping like a goat - why? By the way, it is much more joyful when you do not expect this joy, do not prepare for it. Saturday is a different matter, he just waits for Saturday all week. But it happens; bad in the morning, that's something disgusting, and you go out with the cows outside the village, the sun will look out, some bush will light up with a quiet fire from above ... And so suddenly unexpected joy will warm you up, it will be so good that you will stand and stand and will not notice, that you are standing and smiling. Recently, Alyosha began to notice that he was quite deliberately lying. He loves the steppe outside the village, the dawn, a summer day ... That is, he fully understood that he loves. Peace in his soul began to knock - he began to love. but he loved children and the steppe, for example, more and more.
Alyosha thought so, but while he thought so, his hands did it. He took out a steamed fragrant broom from the basin, rinsed that basin, brought cooler water in it ... Then he scooped up a ladle of hot water from the boiler and threw it on the stove - the first, trial one. The Kamenka gasped and began to hiss and swirl. The heat grabbed his ears, got into his throat ... Alyosha sat down, waited out the first onslaught, and then only climbed onto the shelves. To prevent the boards of the shelf from setting fire to the sides and back, he doused them with water from a basin. And he rustled his body with a broom. It’s all a mistake people’s make, that they immediately begin to have the strength to haunt themselves with a broom. You must first scratch yourself - walk with a broom along the back, on the sides, on the arms, on the legs ... So that he whispers, whispers, whispers for now. Alyosha skillfully did this: he shallowly shook the broom near the body, and its leaves, like small hot palms, touched the skin, provoked, aroused a frantic desire to be whipped right away. But Alyosha did not allow this, no. He rinsed himself, lay down ... He threw another half-ladle on the stove, held the broom under the stove, over the steam, and put it on the sides, under the knees, on the lower back ... He went down from the shelf, opened the door and sat down on the bench to smoke. Now even the smallest residues of carbon monoxide, if any, will go away with the first wet steam. The stove will dry out, the stones will heat up again, and then you can steam without fear and to your heart's content. That's it, lovely people.
Alyosha came from the bathhouse when it was getting dark. It was all new, it was all floating. He threw off his galoshes at the threshold and walked over fresh rugs into the upper room. And lay down on the bed. He did not hear his body, the world around him swayed according to his heart.
The eldest son Boris was sitting in the upper room, reading a book.
Enjoy Your Bath! - said Boris.
Nothing, - answered Alyosha, looking in front of him. - Go to the bathhouse.
I'll go now.
Boris, the son, for some time now began not only to be ashamed, but somehow embarrassed, or something, - he began to somehow worry that his father was a herder and a shepherd. Alyosha noticed this and was silent. At first he was deeply offended by this, but then he hesitated and did not even show that he had noticed a change in his son. From youth, from great aspirations. Let. But the guy was tall, handsome, maybe God willing, and take it with his mind. It is good to. You see, he is ashamed that father is a shepherd ... Eh, dear! Well, come on, let's aim higher, you look, somewhere and you will get. She studies well. Mother said that she was seeing off some girl too ... Everything is fine. Surprisingly, it's okay.
Go to the bathhouse, ”said Alyosha.
Is it hot there?
What a fever now! .. Good. Well, it seems hot, open the vent.
Alyosha never taught his sons to bathe: they don't want to. In the mother breed, in the Korostylevs. He went to get ready to go to the bathhouse, and Alyosha continued to lie down.
The wife came in and bent over the box again to get her son's linen.
Do you remember, - said Alyosha, - Manya with us, when I was little, wrote a poem:
White birch
Stands in the rain
Green burdock will cover her,
The birch will be warm and good there.
The wife pulled out of the box, looked at Alyosha ... For a short time she pondered his words, did not understand anything, did not say anything, pushed herself back into the chest, from where it was drawing with mothballs. She took out the linen and went into the hallway. She stopped on the threshold and turned to her husband.
So what? she asked.
I composed a poem ... What are you for?
Yes, a funny, they say, a rhyme.
The wife was about to leave, because she did not consider it necessary to waste time on empty words now, but she remembered something and looked around again.
Borovishka must be driven out and given to him - I mixed it there. I'll go to the bathhouse to collect the kids. Get some rest and go and clean up.
The bath is over. Saturday is not over yet, but the bath is over.
Vera served in the bathhouse. I sold pink tickets through the window and, if necessary, soap, a washcloth, a broom.
And Vera's mother, Nastasya, also once served in the bathhouse. It was a family thing for them. Vera lived with her mother on the main street of the regional center. Their house was naively staring at the road and the pedestrian part with three small windows filled with geraniums. It seemed to many that the men more often than others looked at these windows. Well, yes, this is inevitable with a lonely woman's life. No one remembered where Vera had come from at one time, no one noticed how she became an adult. And now, every peasant who passed by, human rumor led to her in the hut. It is not known how much truth was in this rumor, how much of an invention born of a woman's jealousy, which, like fear, has large eyes.
Were a mother and daughter alike as two drops. And, looking at Vera, one could imagine what Nastasya was twenty-five years ago. And as Nastasya's little girls rolled towards sunset, Vera also entered the time of Indian summer, gradually ceasing to be an object of male interest, and therefore, of female fear. New objects of women’s gossip were growing up in the village - this place, as you know, is never empty.
Vera was a good hostess in the bathhouse. Late at night, after a long day of bathing, she looked after two general departments - male and female, two steam rooms, and two “rooms” - separate booths with baths. The booths, by the way, were cold and uncomfortable, but oddly enough, they were still used, especially by the specialists who had arrived in assignment. It was wild for them, in front of all honest people, with potential clients and patients, to be naked and rinse in a galvanized basin, in which anyone had not washed before you. In the room, in the bath, it is true, too, but still not so much.
They could not understand all the charm of common washing, this impatience and joy with which the whole village rushed to the bathhouse on Saturdays.
A large gray stone bathhouse stood on the outskirts of the forest. The road to it ran through a lowland overgrown with black sticks, so the wooden sidewalks had to be raised on piles. And this path from Saturday morning, the farther towards the evening, the thicker, the stream of people moved. With the kids. With bags and baskets, where clean linen is laid on the whole family, rinsed in the river, dried in the wind - the very freshness.
No, it was impossible for the stray city specialists to understand all this. For us, it was a ritual, a sacred act, the highest pleasure.
Here you have washed, cleaned and wiped everything in your house. Last glance I looked around the brilliantly clean room and made sure that the only unwashed object in it is yourself. And he wandered - on half-bent, on ladders on piles, it may happen, and in the rain or in a blizzard - it doesn't matter, he wandered into the bathhouse, with each cell feeling the only desire - to plunge into the white steam, smelling of both a birch leaf and a fir paw, and shampoo, and a little vinegar ...
And grab a free basin, and settle down somewhere on a wide wooden bench, smooth and whitewashed, if you're lucky - in a corner, and not lucky - and it's so good, how much does a naked person need, warm, in a pair, among slowly moving such the same naked, pink, soft bodies. This basin, a little bit of a bench to spread out a washcloth on an oilcloth — that's all you need to be completely happy, wash yourself, splash water as much as you want — there is a tap, don't go to the well.
Having rinsed with the first water, having got used to the heat, breathing in breath, you begin to distinguish those who are nearby. You put a soapy washcloth on the one who is closer - rub it, they say. Without a sound, they will immediately scrape the exposed back - you do not feel it, as if it was washed off along with the foam. Then you just silently accept the neighbor's washcloth and try in response to someone else's back. In the bath, everyone is equal. Raipovsky loader could easily rub the back of the first secretary, no big deal. And then he, the secretary, to the loader. Bath is a bath. There is nowhere to put the certificate.
Having peeled off the first layer, you can look into the steam room. If you don't have a broom, nothing, someone will give you a whip.
At that time, they were somehow not afraid of infection. The bathhouse gave off a feeling of such cleanliness and freshness that it never occurred to anyone to disdain someone else's broom.
In the steam room, the atmosphere was even more confidential. There, while the tap is pouring into your basin, someone whispers in your ear to the sound of the water: "Look at Zina, she’s covered in bruises, again, apparently, he’s been drinking too much ..."
According to other well-known signs, the entire washing department unmistakably made, for example, the following conclusion: I went, my dear, "to the second floor," as we called the women's department of the hospital. In the bathhouse you are naked, open, defenseless ... But that is precisely why you have nothing to be afraid of, they will only pity you here. Nowhere, in any other gathering of such people, there is so much kindness and participation of people for each other, as in a bathhouse. They will rub it, and whip it with a broom, and hold the child while you change the water in the basin. It's warm because, I guess. And running, running warm water. Streams of soap rush into the barred hole in the floor and disappear there, along with the irritation, pain and resentment that has accumulated over a week.
Actually, I jumped right into the washing department a little early, because so soon, right from the ladder on the piles, it is far from always possible to get there, except early in the morning, and in the evening, after you had washed everything, cleaned it, shook it out and I washed, besides myself, just the people themselves. He, the people, had also washed and washed everything by this time. And therefore, the dressing room is jam-packed. All the benches are occupied, people are standing along the walls, and there is a line at the very door.
But who said that this is too bad. The club and the bathhouse are, perhaps, two places where people gathered together in the village. Also in the birch park for the "Flower Festival" in the summer, once a year. Well, even the queues to the store sometimes collected half a village. But was it possible to compare these two lines - to the bathhouse and to the store. The second one, noisy, irritated, in a hurry - what if it’s not enough, but the cattle at home haven’t been fed yet, and the potatoes aren’t polished, and the children do not know where ... run, everything is washed, washed, the children nodded to their side, warmed up, tomorrow is a day off. And only buzz, buzz, buzz in the cramped space, but not offended by a quiet conversation - all the news in the bath has come together, everyone will now, at the same time, wash the bones.
The door now and then opens, along with the puffs of steam, another figure appears, zhu-zhu-zhu falls silent for a minute, then starts up again.
Animation is caused by a couple of young specialists who do not join the gatherings, but go straight to the room. Numer is a separate cubicle with a bath, shower and toilet. The ceilings in the bathhouse itself and, therefore, in the dressing room are high, and the booth is fenced off from the dressing room by a plank wall that does not reach the ceiling by almost a meter. It seems to the young that, having closed the door to the latch behind them, they have fenced off from the whole world, from this uneducated village audience, who likes to swim in a herd in one basin.
The audience can hear absolutely everything. How a trouser belt tinkles, how coins rolled out of a pocket, how all kinds of fasteners click, how a washcloth rustles against the edge of a bathtub, which the young woman carefully rubs before pouring water, not trusting the cleanliness of the bathhouse attendant, who has washed everything here since the evening.
As they warm up in a close warm bath, the young begin to forget themselves altogether. And the silenced queue listens attentively as they fiddle around there, giggle and squeal. At this time, even the news is somehow forgotten. But - the hour of washing set for fifty kopecks expires quickly.
The attendant goes to the door and knocks softly: "Finish, the time is up! .."
Returned from the heights of secluded bliss into the harsh rural reality in the face of a dressing room full of patients and clients, they go out, hiding their eyes, and hastily disappear behind the door. The line sees them off with glances, not without regret. But - again some topic pops up, and again the conversation started flowing.
Needless to say, how much Vera liked her work. Here she is sitting in her little fence with a window, tickets are at the ready. And everyone goes to her. Bosses, subordinates, poor, rich, evil, kind, talkative, silent, married, divorced - everyone needs to go to the bathhouse. And for two days - on Saturday and Sunday - Vera has a holiday of the soul. And she will see everyone, and she will learn everything about everyone, and see and hear enough. And everyone needs it. Someone asks to warm up the lemonade, to whom to hold the baby, washed, defrosted and screaming, while the mother dresses, to take out the sled, to lay a mattress. Again, time to mark, in order to inform the intelligentsia that an hour has already passed. And Vera knows everyone, even knows when someone comes to the bathhouse. “The Nikolaevs haven’t been there yet, but they should have,” she will say, looking at her watch, when there’s a sudden pause in the conversation. And everyone will remember about the Nikolaevs, and the conversation buzzed again. Good...
This is how Vera's life went from Saturday to Saturday. She somehow did not feel her loneliness among the people. Although looking from the outside, Vera was sorry. Old Nastasya, in her declining years, has someone to give a glass of water to, and Vera's woman's age is short - the baby never happened, with whom she will stay when Nastasya ...
And then an event happened that turned Vera's life in a different way.
A new specialist has appeared in the village. Not young, it is true, it is clear that not after the institute, but after what and why he came to our village, no one really knew. He got a job at the local editorial office, and soon his sensible articles were already noticed by the local readers. He lived for two weeks in the house of visitors, and then his boss brought him into the house to Nastasya and asked to take them as lodgers - it happened that guests lived with Nastasya before.
A month has passed, another. And then the village gasped: Vera and her guest submitted an application to the registry office. They whispered in all the queues, discussed the news.
But - the gossip made noise, made noise, and even dried up, and at Vera's wedding, the entire editorial board of Svetly Istok was walking around. Vera was in a blue dress and with a white bow in her hair.
And from that day on she became a husband's wife, Vera Ignatievna.
For the first month, on weekends, people poured into the bathhouse, on new faith Ignatievna take a look. And after a couple of months she did not work as a bathhouse attendant. In her place they put Irka Tarasikha, a thin red-haired girl - her grandmother tearfully asked her to attach somewhere so that she would not go astray.
And soon the village again threw up its hands in unison: Faith lies in preservation.
She has become completely different.
Ever since she woke up behind her curtain with her husband's wife, woke up before him and watched him sleep for a long time - chubby, with full lips, all soft, with a bald spot on the crown - in the daytime he covered her with a strand from somewhere from behind ear, and now the strand threw back on the pillow and everything became visible, from that very morning she got up from her bed completely different.
She did not believe her happiness, when she sat opposite at the table and watched him eat, when she accompanied him early in the morning on a business trip to the collective farm - for her it sounded like “into space”; she would be quiet in the kitchen when he pushed aside a vase with an artificial bouquet on the round table and sat down to write - this activity for her was completely out of the realm of fantasy.
He spoke little to her about his affairs, came most often late, read the newspapers, wrote. Her minutes were while he ate what she cooked up. Well, in the end, after all, after all, I went to her behind a flowered curtain - not a whole night to write.
Actually, he was not very quick behind the curtain. Faith was saddened by this, to tell the truth. And before everything happened, he did not show the initiative for a decent time, unlike others, who - no, there were not so many in her life. How many times Vera tried to catch his gaze, even if it glittered slightly, when she accidentally bumped into him in the doorway or took out a cup from the highest shelf in the dish. No. He was polite, courteous, but nothing more. Vera, however, was not a predator either, to hunt down the peasant, and then launch her claws at him all the way to the ridge. If so, I would have caught someone long ago. There was no trick in her. But she liked this guest, really. It seemed to her that he was some kind of homeless, lonely, chilled. Vera wanted to warm him up. Not young already, but alone. What he had there - before he came to them at the regional center, she did not know, and she didn’t want to know.
She wanted him to come to her bathhouse, see how everyone needs her there, what order she has there in everything. He would have liked it. But he did not go to the bathhouse, but washed on Saturdays with his colleague, who lived in a "city" apartment with conveniences. Four such houses have already been built in the regional center - with conveniences, but the residents, despite the presence of a bathroom, still went to the bathhouse. And the lodger did not go.
And she once invited him herself.
“I don’t like it when there are a lot of people ...” he refused at first.
“Come back later, when no one is there,” she said timidly.
“There will be no one - and the bathhouse will be closed,” he objected.
- They won't. Who will close something? I'll close it when I want ... Come on, come on Sunday, I'll disperse everyone early. Come at eleven o'clock. There won't be anyone.
And he went. He walked along the ladders to the bathhouse against the stream of steamed people. And some politely warned:
- Hey, man, don't go, it's already closed, it's closed early today ...
Looking around, he hesitantly opened the heavy door and entered.
It smelled of damp warmth and the smell of a birch broom. There really was no one. He stepped to the door with the sign "Men's department" and entered the dressing room. In the depths in front of him, in the muddy, steamy air, another door could be seen, and behind it he could hear someone rattling with iron basins.
The door flew open, and in the clouds of steam in the milky-white doorway, Vera appeared - simple-haired, in a thin chintz dress and rubber slippers on her bare feet. The dress was wet with steam and clung to Vera's thin figure.
- Have you come? She said, smiling happily. - Well, take off your clothes and come in, don't be afraid.
She had already washed everything in the men's department, the basins stood in a sparkling heap in the corner on a bench, and only in one of them a birch broom stored up from the summer was heading ...
What Vera wanted most of all for her guest, Vera could fit in one word - to warm him up. And the bath was best suited for this. Bath, where she was the hostess, where she felt confident.
The washed-out regional center slept soundly, and no one could interfere with the action that took place at night on the outskirts of the village, right next to the forest, in an empty hot bath.
All her rich experience of washing - from babies to young people, for whom everything is not enough, no matter how much you stroke the back with a broom - Vera applied to her dear guest, such a dear one that she did not dare to expect in her bathhouse.
Oh, she paired him! Has evaporated the man. I didn’t get lost during the long journey through the frosty night deserted streets.
And he went, like a dear one, behind the curtain ... Nastasya was asleep, did not hear anything. And when I got up in the morning, I saw. She didn't say anything.
Well, yes, this is all a matter of the past. Now Vera has become a husband's wife.
She walked now in a completely different way, and did not laugh loudly, her head thrown back. As if she was afraid to spill something, frighten off, upset. Quiet dignity sounded now in her voice, restraint shone in her eyes, concealing what there was fiercely shining and splashing in all directions, if it were not for wrapping itself up all the time. This is how thin curtains on the window hide what is inside the house. There, inside the house, it is light, but outside you will not see anything, and do not look. This restraint has now become her new feature. It seemed to her that if she, as before, would want to chat with someone, - although now there were so many hunters to chat with her, she wondered how she grabbed a correspondent for herself, and even, look , she got her belly in her forties, and so, it seemed to her that if she did something like that, then tomorrow she would wake up alone behind her chintz curtain.
In the meantime, her position was approaching the date. And then one night, waking up from some kind of inner impulse, she felt that it had begun. While she pushed her peasant, while he was sleepily realizing what was the matter, while they wandered in the woods, stopping every now and then, to the hospital, she no longer saw the light of God from pain and horror.
The midwife on duty ran, pots and buckets clinked, the nurse groaned, frightened mothers peeped out of the wards ... Something there she did not succeed. And the attacks of pain, tearing in two, did not in any way relieve her womb from the burden.
Of course, they will then scold the doctors: it was necessary to immediately do a caesarean, what can we expect when a woman is over forty, and the first birth. And they said that she had a narrow pelvis. And the bones have already turned to stone, how can you ...
While they ran for the surgeon, while he came, then and there ... The girl, little white, plump, pretty, was taken out to be lifeless.
He brought a photograph to the editorial office. Like a doll, all in bows, lace and flowers, the baby lay in a tiny coffin. Everyone felt sorry for her and her mother. He, too, was evidently sorry, very much.
Vera immediately, as they said about the girl, realized that it was all over. She still didn’t wake up alone behind the curtain, he also sat next to her bed in the hospital and clumsily stroked her shoulder through the blanket, and tears glistened in his eyes, she still knew that it was all over. And obediently waited - when. Because she blamed herself for everything. I couldn't give birth. A peasant at fifty, he never had a family or children. He married her, made a belly for her. And she couldn't give birth. It would be better if she went to the hospital in the city before the time. I didn't want to leave him alone. Now she left him alone, and herself alone.
He left the regional center as imperceptibly as he appeared two years ago. Didn't leave right away. While Vera recovered, while the yellowish pallor on her fallen face disappeared.
Everyone was very sorry for her. Still, whatever you say, the girl would be alive, everything would be easier for her, albeit without the man. For some reason, everyone was sure that the correspondent would have left her anyway sooner or later.
No one thought about the correspondent, that for him this little girl, too, perhaps, was hope, the last straw, that with her birth he really hoped to change his life. Nobody knew anything about him. Vera didn’t really know either. So he fell behind the curtain to her, and from where - what's the difference, probably from the sky ...
The editor knew where from. After all, he took him to work. Only it was by no means possible to talk about it. Firstly, it’s a shame, and secondly, in the regional center they didn’t even hear about this, they wouldn’t understand anything anyway, it would take too long to explain. What for? And it’s a pity for the man. After all, he already suffers all his life. And the worker is a good one.
It is now they are showing off their "peculiarity", and at that time they were ashamed to talk about this. Well, in general, there was a man. For a bad article. When I got out, I decided to drive away from the old places, I decided to try like everyone else - family, wife, child. Did not work out.
On the eve of his departure, he bought a bottle and went to the editor. After a glass of some sort, a peasant broke through - he cried and kept repeating: if the girl were alive, he would live for her, not young, after all. And so - no. Faith has nothing to do with it, he cannot be with a woman, even though you do what.
So he stunned the boss. It was also marvelous to him - how it is: he cannot be with a woman. Well, for youth, for stupidity - which does not happen. Now you can and forget, not a boy. Bald over there already.
Yes, apparently, not everything can be erased from life. As the saying goes, I would be glad to heaven, but sins do not allow ...
Well, and left. The editor fired him day after day, did not force him to work for a month. Such a thing, well ...
Poor, poor Vera went to work in a laundry - it had just recently been rebuilt next to the bathhouse, a log hut. They put big cars. Vera even went to the city to study for two weeks.
But the local people did not have time to get used to wearing their underwear in the laundry, as it burned down one night along with the cars.
Vera suspected of this event some kind of not at all good sign for herself. But the sign was - not to say that it was very kind, but also not quite so evil.
Irka, the one who was appointed as a bathhouse attendant while Vera was getting married, took a spree and went to the city for someone. Here, too, a redhead, all freckled, thin as a board, with an always wet laughing mouth, but all this does not prevent her from walking - now the women scratch their tongues on her. Here, on you, I whistled into the city, there is no one to take care of the bathhouse. Yes, and when it was, it's all the same that it was not. Some complaints - and dirty, and rude, and late for work. In general, the bath is not at all the same.
And the head of the kommunkhoz called Vera: come on, Vera Ignatievna, back to the bathhouse, we have a hole here without you.
And she went to the bathhouse. And again everything became as it was. She will clean everything, wash it, rub the basins of soda, pour it over with boiling water and sit in her little fence with a window, tickets are at the ready. And everyone goes to her ...
And was this really married, or did she dream of everything? And this guest, and the little white girl, all in flowers and circles?
She would agree that it was all a dream.
Only here is the scar ... You look and remember - no, not a dream ...
I was overwhelmed by the warmth and dozed off with half an eye. The hot board stopped burning my back. I didn't even want to stretch. There was a kettle at my feet on the shelf; the water was steaming. It was too lazy to sit down and satisfy curiosity - is it boiling or not?
Sasha entered the steam room without knocking with a torso wrapped in a sheet, with two brooms in one hand and a mug in the other.
- Oyk! - I vyaknula and briskly rolled over on his stomach.
The hot air from the rapid movement burned the knees. I carefully adjusted my felt hat and began to furtively watch Sasha from over my shoulder, from under half-closed eyelashes. The guy turned out to be well-built, in body, with curly hair on his chest and stomach. My lips parted in a shameless smile, and I hid my face.
- Well, how? Oh, Irinka? - asked Sasha.
- Will you beat? - I asked slyly, lifting my head.
- What did you think?
Sasha put on roughly sewn mittens, poured kvass from a mug into a ladle of water and poured it into the hole at the top of the stove. Transparent steam with a sharp noise rushed up and to the sides, doused me with a hot wave. The tantalizing smell of bread filled the little steam room. Sasha lightly patted me with two brooms, waved them, driving a hot spirit of bread around me. The harmless pats became stronger and more persistent, the air burned his nostrils, and it became difficult to breathe. I asked for mercy.
“Lie down,” my tormentor ordered.
- I ... Oh ... Oh ...
I groaned, unable to utter a word. The owner gave the steam again.
“Roll over,” he said.
- Uh!
- Turn over to whom you said!
It was an order. I obediently rolled over onto my back and covered my nipples with my palms, not because I was shy - I was already indifferent - but because they were unbearably burning. I was out of breath, there was not enough air. The lungs contracted almost idle.
- Oh...
There was only one thought in my head in panic: "I will die ... I will die ...". Sasha laughed softly and continued to whip me mercilessly with brooms. What was happening seemed to me fake, the walls of the steam room - cartoonish, drawn. I already did not understand anything when Sasha put down the brooms, firmly took me by the forearms, lifted me off the shelf and put me on my feet. I caught a glimpse of the water boiling in the teapot. The guy, still supporting me by the forearm, took me out of the bath - in what she was, naked - and pushed me into a bath with spring water, which poured there from a natural source. The water is clear, cold, with a pigeon, sweetish in taste. I did not feel the cold.
I got out of the bath on my own, Sasha delicately returned to the bath. In the dressing room, she somehow threw the sheet over herself and collapsed on the bench in complete helplessness. Stretched out on it, as far as the length allowed. Thank you, I stayed alive ... Only now I discovered that I was wearing a bath cap. She pulled it off, slipped it under her head. The body was flooded with a hot wave - a consequence of the ice bath. I seemed to be breathing out fire. From the steam room came the biting blows of a broom - my attendant now took over himself. There is no comparison with the city bath, with its crowding, cold locker room and unpleasant smell in a stuffy steam room.
Sasha jumped out of the steam room, in two steps passed the washing room and rushed past - burgundy, steaming, with a birch leaf on the buttock. From the street came a powerful splash and a valiant hoot.
He returned, hiding his dignity in a handful, slouched like a penguin. He pushed his ass behind the washing room door and called:
- Come on, Irish!
- Where?
- How where? Wash.
Water dripped from a steamed face, one eye blinked, the other rotated. I suddenly realized that I was ashamed of nudity, both him and mine. Was surprised - that it was I, for no reason, no reason, became shy?
- Not...
- As you want. Drink kvass and go wash, I'll rest for now.
So we washed ourselves - in turn, belatedly embarrassed by each other. Sasha went to the steam room again. The bathhouse worn me out so much that I did not know how to get out of the washing room, how to dress. She wandered into the country house, where she fell on the bed.
I prepared dinner in advance, before the bath, in the summer kitchen. The kitchen is neat, with a landscape painted on the entire wall, with curtains. There was a guitar on a stool in the corner. Now Sasha and I had dinner and told each other about ourselves. We met two years ago. More precisely, they only saw each other on the ship, where Sasha was the third mate at that time. I brought customs declarations to the captain. Then I saw him at a corporate New Year's party, he was just written off to the shore. We even talked about something. And since then they began to say hello if they saw each other in the shipping company or on the street.
Now he admitted that he was afraid to approach ... I was surprised:
- Why?
- Well, you are so ... So ...
- Come on ... to the bathhouse. You are already the second assistant, and you are talking such nonsense, - I laughed.
Sasha is a prominent guy. At New Year's Eve, the girls from the next department "hung" on it like dogs on a bear.
- Shh! Don't make a noise, ”he hissed. - If you disturb the brownie for the night, he will not let you sleep, it will frighten you.
- Yah?
- Do not believe? The brownie lives here. As a bro comes with friends to rest, they make a sensation, and then all night long they listen to how the brownie walks around the country house and drops everything.
I laughed, did not believe. But my brother is already interesting.
“I also have a brother, three years younger,” I said.
- Mine is also three years younger, - Sasha rejoiced. - Did you notice that we have the same moles on our hands? These four things?
The moles did match, and it seemed important.
- You know, and I always liked you. Smiling like the clear sun.
“And also kind and aggressive like a man,” I added mentally.
The guy reached for his guitar, but I stopped him:
- Sasha, I'm a little alive after the bath. Let me wash the dishes and go to bed. You will sing to me tomorrow.
He laughed:
- Did you like the bathhouse? Go lie down. I'll wash the dishes myself. You will have time yet ...
I ignored the last remark and trudged to the second floor, where there was an old, old sofa, forever unfolded. I liked the dacha. The village is small, quiet, with neat dilapidated houses, mostly two-story. There was silence, only a restless bird was whistling outside the walls and the muffled clatter of dishes could be heard from the summer kitchen.
Sasha came in twenty minutes later. Hastily undressed in the dark, climbed under the covers. I huddled in the very corner, turned away from him, frightened and happy.
- Where are you? - Sasha asked in a broken voice. He found me, grabbed me across the stomach with his hand and pulled me towards him.
I was floundering in a dense web and could not get out of it. I'm scared half to death of the web, how did I manage to get into it ?! Gasping with horror, I frantically waved my arms. Sasha came up from behind and pulled me out of the snares. A cry of horror escaped my throat, I heard it from the side and did not recognize my own voice - there was nothing human in the cry. She sat on the bed, breathing heavily, sweaty, cold and sticky. Sasha woke up, sat down, hugged me.
- Dream, Sasha ... I dreamed ...
- Brownie, brownie, why did you scare her? This is my wife ... Don't scare me anymore.
What kind of wife?
- It's a brownie, don't be afraid, Ira. He is harmless, only frightening.
Now I was ready to believe anything.
- He will not frighten any more?
- Will not be. Once, that's all. I told him ...
- I never scream in my sleep. I watch my nightmares in silence. For the first time, honestly!
- Everything, everything, do not be afraid. Sleep.
We went to bed. Sasha immediately fell asleep, and I lay awake, wondering why he called me his wife. Has been looking after me for only a week. All this is frivolous. Of course, it was time for me to settle down, to decide something with my chaotic, stupid life. I enjoyed my personal freedom and enjoyed it as I please. I didn't like life in a civil marriage. Deep down, I wanted to get married - “for real”, because I didn’t appreciate an “unofficial” marriage. She parted with her partner, yearned for and forgot. I no longer wanted to fulfill the duties of my wife. Kitchen, dishes, cleaning drove me into anguish. What kind of wife am I? I will marry Sasha - I will not only have to cook, but cook deliciously, there will be twice as many dishes, cleaning too. We'll have to wash his socks and iron his shirts, adapt to his preferences, shortcomings and endure a lot. I don't know what exactly yet. He also said yesterday that he wants two children. It's horrible. The thought that for several years I would not belong to myself, every cell of my body protested. No, I don’t want to.
I listened to see if a brownie was wandering around the dacha? There was such a silence that it buzzed in my ears. I nestled against Sasha's hot back, still unfamiliar, and fell asleep.
The Sakhalin June night chilled out the air, the morning covered the dacha village with fog. I woke up early. She lay quietly under Sasha's side, listening to bird chirping and chirping. She smiled. I didn't want to think about anything. The bones and muscles steamed in the bath were still languishing in bliss.
Sasha woke up. I haven't opened my eyes yet, climbed to kiss - Ira, Irishka ... He crushed me under him. There is a joyful smile on his face. The sweetest intercourse of love is in the morning, when the body is only half awake, the blind passion is a little dimmed during the night, but the sighted tenderness does not sleep.
Tired, Sasha reluctantly released me and got up:
- The stove must be heated.
I threw back the blanket with the intention of getting up, gagged from the cold and ducked back.
“Not May,” the owner joked, dressed quickly and went down to the first floor with a crash. I lay warm, listening to him fire the stove. Thoughts wandered nearby, sensible and not so, I lazily drove them away.
When it got warmer in the house, I got dressed and went to wash. I went out to the doorstep and stood there. Fog enveloped birches and Christmas trees around the dacha, covered a massive table with benches and long beds. The gray smoke from the chimney mixed with the whitish mist. Lilies of the valley grew next to the porch, a little further away - a huge carpet of forget-me-nots. “When I marry him, I will plow in these beds,” I thought, ruined my mood, shivered from the damp cold and went to the bathhouse.
It was warm and dry there, and I washed my face with pleasure. It was not possible to comb it. Hair from the spring water became soft, fluffy and did not want to obey. “Why did I decide that he was going to marry me? - I thought. - We're not in a fairy tale. He calmed me down at night so that I would not be afraid, that's all. Yes, and you have to marry for love. And the heart is silent. " Satisfied with this thought and completely upset, I wandered off to the summer kitchen to prepare breakfast.
The stove was already heated there too. I started croutons. Sasha came, possessively grabbed my sides, so that I squeaked, sat down on a crumbly stool.
- What was your dream?
- Oh, - I waved it off. - Cobweb. As if I was floundering in it, and you pulled me out. I'm so afraid of her that my legs are already taken away.
- Found something to be afraid of. I’m - you’ll laugh - I’m afraid of geese. As a child, a goose attacked me in the village, the fear remained.
- And what did you call me wife? - I could not resist.
- So you are here for a long time!
- Why?
- The brownie only scares his own people. When we bought the dacha, we all had terrible dreams at first. They shouted in turn. Then they stopped. How many guests spent the night with us - no one dreamed of anything. So, Ir ... - Sasha threw up his hands and laughed. - Think what you want. When should I take care of you? A week later - at sea. Will you wait?
“No, Sasha, you think what you want. Your brownie was wrong. And why did you get a walking girl? Not only is she a walker, she is also a greedy person, a drunkard and a show-off. "
- I'm terrible, Sasha, you just don't know.
- Glorious, kind! And you cook deliciously.
Sasha drank tea with croutons and began to play the guitar.
What can I say about Sakhalin?
The weather is normal on the island.
The surf salted my vest,
And I live at the very sunrise ...
(Words by Mikhail Tanich)
I acutely felt a thin, ghostly thread that stretched between us a week ago, and was afraid to move so as not to break it with an imprudent movement, a sigh. And Sasha sang, looking at me with loving eyes - velvet and oil, and his strong, free voice tore me off the ground ...
A year later, in May or June, I talked to the brownie. I thought I was talking to Andreika, Sasha's eight-year-old cousin. A light bulb in the house on the second floor has burned out. In the evening, in the twilight, I was sorting out the linen, who had what to lay, and chatted with Andreika, who got up after me. Rather, I spoke, but he did not answer, only smiled slyly and silently paced back and forth. As it turned out later, my cousin had been talking downstairs with his aunt, my mother-in-law.
But it is not without reason that the brownie's face was so cunning - after all, he was right.
Well, and the bathhouse ... It has not gone anywhere and has not lost its sweetness. One of the joys of a difficult married life.
"Not a soul ..." thought Sophia, wandering to the bathhouse along the path, slightly outlined in the melted snow, and it does not smell of spring ... "
The sound of the train slowing down reminded me that the Yaroslavl road was not far away. But the courtyard, where Sophia had moved a week after being depressed by chronic homelessness, stood very much apart and did not enjoy good fame. She lived in it ten years ago, not to say that it was a friendly, but, it seemed, a strong family. By the time Sophia appeared, almost all the inhabitants of the house had died out - some from old age, some from illness. The house was empty for a year or two or three, reluctantly visited by the owner-sisters, who found themselves a modest abode in the capital. They did not like their father's house and more and more often talked about parting with it forever.
Sophia understood their doubts, but she could not imagine a better place when she needed solitude.
She entered the bathhouse she had just flooded and bent over the cauldron set in the stove. And then, behind her, someone tore open the front door, so energetically that a hook, casually thrown by Sophia, flew out. She shuddered, dropped the wooden circle that covered the cauldron on the stove.
- Drunk! - Sophia cried out, not addressing anyone. Nothing more terrible at that moment came to her mind.
- I would like to! Why, it's not up to the good, - the youthful voice answered mockingly.
To the next cry from Sophia:
- What do you need?
- The stranger in a quilted jacket answered evasively:
- This is according to the situation.
- Well then, tell me who you are.
- Isn't it visible?
“I don’t know how to guess, excuse me ...
- What to guess about? Who should be afraid of whom?
- I'm not afraid of you.
- But in vain. I escaped from prison.
- Have you killed anyone? Or...
- As I understand it, "or" is less acceptable for you ... No, and not "or", and did not kill. Yes, I will not touch you with a finger! Are you a teacher?
Sophia was offended:
- Not.
He realized that the question was, to put it mildly, unflattering for her. Finally he pulled out of her that she was an artist.
- Are we still going to stand here? The bathhouse is about to get cold. Honestly, I probably won't even have enough for a bathhouse ... I'm falling from fatigue.
It was semi-dark, a stearin candle was burning on the window, the stove occasionally illuminated the dressing room with an instant dirty pink light. Sophia sat her exhausted guest on the bench and went to add some steam to the steam room. She let off some steam and sat down, almost losing consciousness, among the gangs and birch brooms.
The guest appeared, tied around his thighs with a waffle towel. Sophia got the idea that she had seen him more than once somewhere, but then he gave such a steam that not a single thought remained even in the embryo. She came to her senses when he poured cold water on her, but no longer tried to interfere in the course of events. He skillfully wielded gangs, brooms. For the last time, Sophia only thought sluggishly that she remained, it seems, in what her mother gave birth. Finally, she opened her eyes only when they were already sitting at the tea table, he was in her terry dressing gown, and she was in her toe-length nightgown with the master's Orenburg shawl draped over her shoulders. She was not at all sure that she had dressed herself.
He asked:
- What is your cup?
- Blue.
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