What it is possible to love the railroad for?
Probably, such we became thanks to that country in which were born. Also grew. In which it was accepted to be born in one place, to study - in another, to serve urgent - in the third, to work on different percussions and unaccented buildings - in the fourth, fifth and sixth, and to receive a constant registration in some - on - the tenth. And that not the fact that on a result it, really, will be a constant.
Of course, such lifestyle Ivanov, not remembering the relationship, but on the other hand generated a set … When that time of which it is enough to gird and where - nibud in the storeroom or a store-room in a condition of constant combat readiness there was a “disturbing“ small suitcase with pure change of linen, an aluminum spoon and the same mug was enough for the next collecting … Then “road“ and “holiday“ became words synonyms.
Also became them with very best. Still preschool age.
And what, unless not a holiday? Put you in the car, on hands distant familiar or absolutely unfamiliar, on parole (and sometimes and without it) that on such - that stations will transfer you. To the one who will meet. But will not meet? Will not meet then we will think, and now why the head to stuff with different nonsense?
Now … Now farewell beep will give the train, the conductor who got up at an open carriage door will lift a yellow tag, stsepa will clank and …
can tell the Whole day different aunties about winter that nine months. About polar bears that it is direct on streets. And got at night into a candy store last winter and devoured all eclairs. So we without eclairs sat week. It`s all right what they found only in them? Here a sand strip with glaze or “potato“ - that is another matter!
Or it is possible about the subway which is built. And what? Mine - the same same. Only without finishing beautiful, as in Moscow. And these mines at us you know how many? Capital, Northern, Yun - Yaga, Halmer - Yu, Vorgashor … These are only nominal! And still - according to numbers …
Or when aunts are filled up to have a sleep, can stick a nose to a window. And to look, look … Without coming off.
Here. A small white lodge of the trackman, with some long sticks and signs leaned against a wall … And the inspector. Costs at a porch, as well as the conductor - the yellow tag lifted.
Barrier. And cars behind it … Time. Two. Rub … Was not in time. As quickly we rush. And tell - “passenger, passenger“ …
of the Cow … Whole herd. And shepherd near. Sat down in a tenka, at the bushes framing edge of a lugovina, slowly potters with something. Whether the whip braids that was more long, and golosisty. Whether on the shepherd`s cane some pattern a knife cuts out. Far. And he sits inconveniently. From - for even the nekosheny, but already decently grown up high grass not to make out that it at it in hands. Shepherd`s staff? Whip?
And soon and station. It is possible to leave. To stand on the platform. To wait until the grannies bearing along structure hot potato with pickles reach our car. And without bargaining, to buy from them and that, and another. That as soon as the train starts and will begin, at first smoothly and slowly, and then, accelerating and pogromykhivy on joints, to departure back station structures, warehouses, a column of a red brick water tower, to develop on a carriage little table the old newspaper and …
I all that good that just, literally several happy moments are bought at station ago, to lay out appetizingly smelling hill on the disposable, dazzling with headings of articles paper cloth at the end of a meal instantly turning into packing for garbage. But before for a long time. For now … Where we have a matchbox with salt? Here from it and a small gorochka on our newspaper. Near the potato proceeding hot steam and so tasty smelling.
And tea? Unless it is possible about it is mute to forget? About it, freshly brewed, saturated drink with only it an inherent smell in which everything mixed up - both aroma of tea leaves, and a smoke of the coal which burned down in the titan, and the thirst of knowledge which is not satisfied yet new. That that with kaleidoscopical speed changes the pictures running behind a window. And as a reminder on this speed carrying you somewhere in novel - rhythmical percussion of a tea spoon about edge of a glass. And the coaster echoing them in a step.
And all together, being weaved into unique music of a railway orchestra, gives feeling of a bright and light holiday by which if to listen attentively, in any way not to pass indifferently. How? Well, how not to love it?!
Especially as to feel, feel somewhere in itself (can quite be, as in soul which existence is denied by materialists) this festive mood, is not obligatory to buy the ticket and to get into the car.
It is enough to climb a railway embankment and to rise between a rail. On disobedient cross ties. Which - in the wood, on firewood. Or lie so close each other that only frequent steps they can be counted. And that will be taken suddenly and will run up in different directions. Also itself should order: “Step out!“.
But as you try, crossing from one cross tie on another, it is not possible to approach in any way that point in which both rails merge in one, and over them in a hot haze of summer day the air heated by the sun waves. Also there comes the moment when this advance becomes unimportant. Yes, there - ahead, probably, it is interesting, but also here, directly under legs … Between cross ties. The warm balls of an oflyusovanny iron ore pellet which were waking up from cars joyfully giving the energy to your palms.
And on the right - to the left of an embankment an unruly chirr of the grasshoppers hiding in already sun-scorched high grass. Also began to smell … The sated, concerning and promising smell of heated creosote proceeding from cross ties.
Yes, yes! Promising to us that somewhere there, ahead, surely there will be new people, new meetings, and the road will bring us to the beautiful, memorable places and new impressions. Which, I hope, will not die together with us. Just because they can share. That they became not only yours, but also still someone`s. And then, quite perhaps, someone will fall in love with the road too.
The same as I love it …