What is an eskapizm? From reflections of the grandfather Egor
- Hellou, the old man! - Hi, puny person! Was chosen, at last, complied the old man. - Grandfather, what I to you puny person? To me forty soon, Petke - thirteen, and you it are a puny person, a sviristelka!
- Sviristelka also is: you jump, you fuss - in this life you understand nothing!
- Aha, you understand in life, the escapist unfortunate much!
- Es …, ek … who? Again you are called foreign words, you in Russian tell.
- And in Russian you will not tell. There is no such concept of Russian. Eskapizm - flight from reality. You to the other end of the world ran away from normal life, sit one, without TV, even without light here. You mean is an escapist. And you have no to teach me to life the moral right!
Such here conversation took place at me with the granddaughter. It touched me.
It is true that I live at the world`s end - to the city more than 100 kilometers, on my site of the dacha, generally thrown, come to an end, further only the wood. It is true, there is no light here. Wanted was the line to pull about twenty years ago, posuyetitsya - posuyetitsya and receded: there is nobody became.
Water at me from a well, good water, tasty. The house is strong, from logs (the felling transported from the thrown village), and put an oven itself, Russian, real, from a polatyama and a stove bench. (When looked for drawings, libraries shoveled all. Then still were such, scientifically - technical.)
Besides a kitchen garden, a garden, bees - three beehives, curia of heels yes a rooster noisy instead of an alarm clock. In the summer - mushrooms, fishing: kilometers in five the lake is, crucians there - in an elbow. And dawns here such that heart is engaged, you look - you will not see enough. It not life? What from it to run?
But touched. I decided to rummage in the encyclopedia. For the last three years to me grandsons all old furniture and all books that we for years collected, transported - bogs, tell, them an oven: are not necessary more. In the computer everything is. I at first gasped: as it, books to burn down! And then thought: books different are, some only in an oven and the place. And another, necessary, honor and respect - regiments made of old cases: technical journals separately, collected works separately - can, still I will re-read. Well, and for the encyclopedia, big Soviet, it was necessary to do certain shelves in a hall - these 50 volumes did not get anywhere. That is, not fifty, but forty nine. The second volume, on a letter “B“, was lost long ago.
In the encyclopedia “eskapizm“ was not: I both on “ýńę“ and on “ýęńę“ looked - probably, there was no this nonsense in Soviet period. And now is. Life, so, such went that from it it is necessary to run.
Here people, sometimes, from life went to old time - to the monastery were shut. Then it was called - “escaped“. It as? Eskapizm or not?
But very few people decided on it. And now from life zapoloshny, vain - exactly like a rat race - every second “escapes“. In own way. Who absolutely lost, that - in vodka. In city - that the house where I to the granddaughter left the apartment, at us something like club of drunks was formed. To eight to shop of men 15 are tightened, wait when open, - to fill in a throat. There is also no my age almost, young people it is more. And all day here so crowd together: one, another behind vodka is equipped. Works, speak, no. And will fill in for a bosom and are happy. It here - an eskapizm.
Or great-granddaughters at me sometimes comes in the summer, Petka, - the whole day sits presses the buttons behind “not beech“. Neither in the wood, nor on its small river you will not show the door until the charge comes to an end. Everything plays the games. Showed me. It, speaks, I. The knight in white. Jumps as the flea, runs - muscles play. Did some shooting all monsters, came to other level, again runs. And itself - granddaughters a fat swam away that. Somehow on the lake took it - it and did not pass kilometer - baked. “I cannot“, - says and breathes as the horse who is tired out. Fie! Unless the man will grow up from it? This the eskapizm also is. Flight from reality.
And his mother, the puny person, that that called me the escapist as she will go to groan: and work - that at it repugnant, and women with whom works, - swine, and the man at it armless yes impecunious. Generally, there is no life! One pleasure - in the book to bury.
Somehow forgot time such at me, I have a look. The young lady fattened fell into a lethargy, and in a year regained consciousness - thin yes fine. Gentlemen of infections in it povlyublyalis, here also suffers - whom to choose. There still it whom - that rescued and he appeared her husband. Oh and dregs! And the puny person did not let go this book, after the journey behind it returned. “To me, - says, - without such book it is impossible. I when read, and I forget all troubles“.
And still calls me the escapist.
No, darlings. It you try to escape from reality which to themselves was created. And I have a life here!