We all - remember war? Did not write
Ya about the old man. To write as is - would not believe. Now in general a little what is trusted. And then began to tell about it for some reason. What for? I felt - they will not understand. I spoke, spoke, and they have empty eyes. Only the computer was reflected in these eyes. And sneer. Opposite such, haughty. I was angry, and I pound - that? They are not guilty. They did not know. And I? I - that from where knew? I do not know. Knew what I know, and all. I know!!!
I was lucky - I still found those who were on big war. I heard how they sang the songs, I endured their melancholy and pain and roared slowly because that they through such time - the whole life - cannot forget anything.
And it I remembered. The old man living in city slums, the old man who was thrown by children. Threw because that he did not earn for the life big money, because, that could not provide them the worthy future in which mansions, expensive wheelbarrows and accounts in the European banks will become a criterion of values. But it could not! He did not know that it can occur! Human life was most expensive to it in this world! Because the old man saw death too much. It is a lot of that life became the main value.
There, in these slums where he lived, life was treasure too. People who lodged in poor tumble-down houses without heat and light had to survive every day. Already almost did not pay attention to someone`s death. Expensively what gets hardly. And death … It should not be earned, she clings a grip of steel, go, be unhooked, try!
And he lived. Existed in the doghouse where there was an iron bed with the torn mattress and a three-legged table. Instead of the fourth leg under a table-top the pile of bricks was enclosed. Even the old man had no chairs, and I had to sit near him on a hilly mattress. To sit on the edge and to be afraid that in a bed it is full of louses, and now this creeping infection occupies my clothes, and I will bring them home, and then I will long get rid of this muck, and in general … And in general, I regretted then that I asked the acquaintance to find to me the picturesque veteran - there were others, with an iconostasis of medals the pacing on parades, comely, well-groomed old men writing pathos memoirs about war! So not, give me the truth! Well, the acquaintance also dug out this old man who sat on the dirty bed, drank cheap sticky port, waving away from a huge annoying fly, and cried, cried, not in forces to stop and tell something sensible. And I was silent because as soon as I gave a hint at war, it began to shake everything, sobbing and pounding plentiful tears on dirty cheeks. These tears did not keep within my ideas of a heroic image of soldiers Domestic at all. Soldiers have to be courageous, courageous, strong! And he sits and cries. Thin, pathetic, dirty … Hero … Well what with it to do?
- You, dotsya, excuse! - sobbed “ hero “ wiping a face an old cover, - nobody asks Me about it! For a long time! And I … Now, wait a moment!
He put a hand under a filthy pillow and got something, wrapped in surprisingly pure handkerchief.
- Here! - shy stretched me it “ something “ confoundedly smiled, - mine! Glory award! The second degree …
Ya was taken aback. It is necessary - the Glory award! Or perhaps at the old man and Hera of the Union is?! Both ragged walls, and the louses attempting upon my clothes became indifferent for me at once. The relic lived in these walls. No, history. No, legend!
- And … As … And for what? - burning shame, I murmured, - Why here? It is not necessary so!
- And how it is necessary? - the old man carefully wrapped an award in a kerchief, - Is living! The main thing - that, it is live! Well, portveshok I drink so, unless a sin? there is no
- Yes, I not about that! I here … You for the Homeland, the truth? For Stalin …
- Eh, dotsya! - sighed “ hero “ thought and hid a parcel back, under a pillow, - Unless so was - that? Well, shouted, of course! It is necessary! For the Homeland - that! And as, it is the Homeland! Mother, little girl! How you will remember, so the evil takes - that fritsa managed? Yes never! It, the Russian man - he unless when felt sorry for himself? Here also went under bullets! And it is terrible, dotsya, it is terrible - that as! Therefore shouted that it was not terrible! Yes …
the Old man waved away from an impudent fly.
- Pshla! See what! Climbs and climbs, damned! You know, dotsya, these flies and here are in the winter! And still cockroaches - an uymishch! And what creep? Is - that at me nothing! Only if brings who …
- So I will bring! - I bethought, damning myself for slow-wittedness, - Now I run! What to buy - that?
- Yes that you! Unless I for this purpose told? No, you sit! To me very few people come! And that you will leave, and all! And I again one, with flies and cockroaches will remain! there is no
- I will return, the truth! - I assured the old man, rushing to an exit.
In the supermarket decked by bright packings of goods I feverishly threw off in a basket everything - milk, sausage, cheese, bread. Threw off and abused herself for sentimentality. Well, who is he to me, this old man to spend for it money? Why to me it is so painful for it why it is so a shame with us why the furious indignation at thought of his children boils?! It is unmodern, unfashionable, devil take it! It is ridiculous! Perhaps not to come back? I will think up something heroic - pathological patriotism, for example, - and I will write a sketch! It is not enough, perhaps, standard receptions!
I returned. Poured out on a dirty table from a package of purchase and fell heavily with it nearby, on a lousy mattress. For some reason already without fastidious care. You will think, louses! And we their kerosinchik! Or than there now get rid of this infection …
_ Dots, you in vain - I - I, - the old man murmured, with amazement looking at products, - I it am that and did not see! Also I do not know how it … Oh, as shines! Beautifully - about - about …
It carefully touched a forefinger of the right hand the sparkling packing of crabsticks. The finger was one. The others were not. And how I did not notice at once?
- That it, and? It is eaten, and?
- Aha, - I grabbed sticks, hasty jerked cellophane and stretched it an orange sausage. - Try!
The old man with regret was lop-sided on the spoiled wrapper and took a stick the left hand. That is why I did not notice that it has no fingers! He a hand hid …
all the time - Tell, and a hand here, right... It in the war, huh? - I squeezed out, trying to tear off a look from a kultyapka. It was impossible, and it was so awkward! It is bad to examine mutilations!
- Yes here! And so, - the old man was confused, - the Splinter and rezanut. As razor.
- the Award then received? - I did not lag behind. there is no
- Yes, the award is then! And the hand is so, on a nonsense! Products were carried the, and here by firing! To me to sit out, and I - forward! Young! Seven lives in a stock! Well, the shell also jerked near us! Foreman at once on the spot, and me here hand... But I reached, you do not think, a doyekha - it is scarlet!
the Old man shuddered and turned away. Again cries! Well, why I came here?!
- For what an award?
Ya was angry with itself, was angry with it, was angry for the whole world for this dirty peasant house, for the children who estimated the father at copper pennies for the fact that life punishes not those who deserve it. For the powerlessness was angry.
- the Award? Yes for Berlin.
- you reached Berlin?!
- And where you will get to? All reached! Who survived.
- Without fingers?
- And cho … Index is. Main. It is possible to drive!
the Steering-wheel, probably, is possible. And it is possible and to sit out in the back. In total mutilation.
- Tell about a feat for which the award was received! - asked, and right there abused herself for conventionalism. And how in a different way? Zakazyonshchina. From there and conventionalism.
- Yes what feat, you cho, dotsya?! - the owner was surprised, poyorzat confusedly, quietly got from - under a table a bottle and carefully poured in a muddy thick glass tumbler “ portveshok “. - you Will drink
? - asked quietly. I refused. - And I will drink. For those that under hillocks remained. He swallowed
“ portveshok “ carefully bit off a piece from crabstick, chewed, politely told:
- is tasty, - and put a stick back.
I felt that it is already weighed upon me. He got used to the poor room, to the crackers scattered on a table to the lean pillow protecting property of the old man - an award. It was its world. And I here - a being alien.
- So you will tell something about war?
began to irritate Me both his shyness, and briefness, and a habit to loneliness. As someone`s passive detachment, accessory to unknown irritates the active, ambitious person.
- And what to tell about it, dotsya? War does not cost memoirs. Badly there. Terribly. Dirty. It is not necessary to you. You what - bright, young! You about happy should think! About love!
- And here listen-! I when wounded was - not a hand, no, it unless wound? In a stomach me. Thought, kayuk! Survived! Long lay! Three months! In the village, in Ukraine. There the little girl was. Ugly, red! It to me carried milk. Every morning. Pair. Here I also recovered. Round became as Kolobok! And then again on the front! For a steering-wheel. After war married and forgot about ryzhenky! And now I dream it. Often! I and the letter wrote to it. Only did not send. Perhaps you will throw in a box? And that where I on the street, dirty yes weak! It is a shame!
- I Will throw, - I agreed.
the Old man got from - under pillows a filthy old envelope. The address - the name of the village, a name, a surname. Will not reach! And whether she is living, that little girl?
Ya sighed. He will not speak neither about feats, nor about the died companions. It`s all right!
- Is time for me! Thanks! - I smiled to the old man and rose, - I still will come!
I left. What can be a sketch? The editor will gobble up me for “ slyozodavilnyu “ and “ sentimental nonsense “.
I sent the letter. Bought a new envelope. Rewrote the address, and threw into a mailbox. Let flies! Perhaps … Checked houses clothes and hair - whether there are no louses? Did not find. Also jostled memories of the old man in the most far corner of memory. That they did not disturb me others pain.
Well, then why I began them to splash out it? They do not hear me! And eyes at them indifferent …
- Where he lives? - tiredly, haughtily, from a far corner, - So where lives, you will show? Went, boys! Grandmas are? The grandfather should devour to buy! The veteran, x - ha!
was not the old man. We faced with the packages filled with food the door which is driven in by rusty nails. Died? Died …
- Hey, you to whom? - the uncombed aunt of foggy age looked out in a window over a door.
- Yes here the old man lived! The veteran, - I mutter.
- Married your veteran! - uncombed giggles. - Some grandma behind it arrived! Visors! To the village to!
- Long ago?
- Yes month three already!
Well that! Perhaps also the old man was lucky. Perhaps ugly red also received the letter. Perhaps gives to drink to the tell-tale pair milk now in the mornings. Or perhaps is also not present... They cost around me, and the person such depressed... Means, all - remember?! As there is a wish that remembered.